Tale Weavers/Saturday Mix: Poem – Free Verse – “Snuffed Out” #amwriting #poetry #TaleWeavers #SaturdayMix


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting TaleWeavers and a prompt/theme where light is the focus. Also, combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie May 12, 2018 Double Take Saturday Mix Prompt on the homophone words: cedar – an evergreen tree with seeder – one who broadcasts seeds, and days – more than one day with daze – to bewilder.


Credit: Samantha Lynch via Unsplash


I’ll never trace the curve of your lips,

Where it dips, and lick my thumb;

Your nip, a playful bite.

Your brows wiggle; eyes sapphire.

While we slide past maybes,

Sleek condos and greenery;

Cedar trees that sway,

A seed in my heart nourished.

Sharp grass intoxicating —

You claiming my mouth;

Sweeping of lips,

Slow and exquisite.

Sweat makes us stick.

I ache as I’ve never.

Your hand rests ‘neath my throat,

My pulse rapid and wild.

You’ve etched my heart,

I’ll never forget.

The wind rustling, and the flapping of wings,

Our breath in syncopation.

Fighting for air against —

Little deaths.

In a moment, a few minutes,

On a train—

Where we two met.

Potential flared; I turned —

Flustered.

The pain in my chest,

Will it lessen?

Dazed as the days drift,

I didn’t know your name.

Know the flame you kindled,

Would burn me.

My hearts lit with your light,

But the mischief in me,

Craves you both in deepest night,

And the blinding day;

Beneath the Mexican sun,

On tequila beaches.

Daylight to overwhelm,

The throb of pain,

Of possibility snuffed out.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Sonnet (Nurado) – “Forever Burn” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Also thank you to Bjorn of Poet’s Pub #dVerse prompt for hosting a poetry prompt on Pabulo Nurado’s sonnets.

” Nurado’s sonnets have no rhyme scheme, are meter-free, and are 14 lines, with a volta when you go from the two quatrain into the the concluding tercets. This is consistent with an Italian (or Petrarchan sonnet). ” 

——

Credit: Yarnspinner
——–

Here he sells his wares, the sidewalk his shop, 

He’s weary of unlookers, keeping his clay jar’s burning incense. 

I stand nearby, asking myself, “For what reason, 

Do these fires burn? What wares has he purloined today?”

And stones gathered against the burnt sienna fence, 

Mark that, this is his place, where he works and lives. 

Hocks his wares, keeps the fire’s in the jars stoked, 

Tiny stoves remain lit from dawn until midnight. 

His goods move quick, I’m quite surprised, 

To me they’re nothing much, yet, I buy a wood carving. 

With a crumpled bill and pocket coins, freely given. 

My fingers slide over dips and ridges, measure his small carving, 

Such intricate, minute detail; but never have I found —

Why the clay fires forever burn, incense floating to the heavens. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Tale Weavers: Poem – Alouette – “Entrapped” #taleweavers #poetry #amwriting 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s Tale Weaver prompt on having a dark side or the dark side of life. 

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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” . . .Don’t get to close its dark inside. It’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide” – “Demons” by Imagine Dragon

——-

They’re people we meet, 

In them darkness keeps. 

A veil over haunted eyes, 

Something telling weighs, 

Light badly betrays;

Shadows lift, they’re undisguised

—–

Putting on a face, 

Something’s hidden; pace —

Steadily, you’re caught thinking. 

Truth can be harmful, 

Darkness it swarms. 

Seeming ruse has us shrinking. 

——

To start, talk awhile;

Some demons revile

Other darkness isn’t asked for it’s, 

Unfairly gifted, 

Souls broken, shifted;

Waiting for light at home lit. 

——-

No one is so lost, 

They can’t be reformed. 

Shadows hold tightly, a hand —

Gives hope in the dark,

Heals bruising black marks. 

Keep helping, say: “Here’s my hand.” 

—–

Though darkness found can —

Be fearful, programmed, 

In those with no conscience led;

Most people are sought, 

It happens a lot;

We’re trapped in nightmares dread

—–

But the light of hope, 

In dawn always glows

Derelict souls need help, change, 

Is possible;

Not impossible. 

Leave no one entrapped; estranged. 

—–

©Mandibelle16 (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

3 Line Tales: Tales of Sunlight and Darkness


Samuel Zeller

——

1.Surrounded by darkness, yet bathed in light; the sun holds us rapt through the window and illuminates us with it’s cheerful presence; yet behind us is the office, the blackness and blankness of that space I sit and toil in depresses me, but here in sunlight I find a few moments of freedoms with my colleagues; I don’t know them and they don’t me but here we are neighbours in luminescence, at liberty from the chains waiting to be replaced in our cold shadowed offices.

2. This classroom is different from the others I’ve had courses in, for one thing there are gigantic glass windows and open space where I don’t feel as if I’m some mole in a depressing dank hole of a classroom; in this space I feel inspired, I feel hope that I can learn, and do the work the class requires; the open feeling extends to how students treat each other,we laugh, banter, and we trade ideas back and forth (the professor is merely a mediator); at the end of class I’m refreshed and ignited with a passion to learn, a passion I could carry into a career, at least into my school work.

3. I haven’t been here, at this place too long and it’s a new setting for me to become used to; usually, I have worked in silence, now there are the voices of many people spinning and weaving with the sunlight from the huge windows; I’m not used to the light either, it is a warm blast of suppression, making the sunlit tables more stifling; I like the darkness and I am at my best in it, so I watch my new environment with people talking excitedly, observing how these persons thrive in the glow of sunlight, and I thrive in the shadows, the tar black places of the mind.

—–

Thank you to Sonya for hosting the 3 Line Tales challenge/prompt. I know these are long sentences, but I feel with this prompt it’s okay to do that, even though in other writing it is not 🙂

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: “The Good.”


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A personal matter, what you believe,

What is the fire in your furnace,

And why keep it a secret, if you think you’re right.

Perhaps, you’re afraid that you think the wrong thoughts.

Perhaps, you’re prejudiced and say the wrong words.

Maybe you talk, about that which you don’t understand.

Maybe, you don’t really know what you believe.

It’s okay, but you shouldn’t be ashamed.

—–

Where does the good go? It isn’t for reward,

It’s because you believe in a God who is the word ‘good.’

People aren’t good, don’t you see the news?

Sin and badness is within us — from Adam innate.

Even when we try, the good isn’t always good.

It’s hard to explain, but I won’t keep quiet,

Why should I keep my faith locked up, when others could benefit? 

Good deeds have no reward, but they make you feel good.

They are needed in a world where many things are wrong.

And are to be done because it is for the moral good to do.

Also because it was commanded by God to be good neighbours.

—-

You may not believe in a heaven.

Good deeds won’t get you there, but faith could be the cure.

Didn’t you ever wonder where the good came from,

Don’t twist what is truly good, evil is simply good twisted.

Don’t tell me faith is personal and should be hidden.

That’s like being caught in the darkest deepest blackest hole,

And having a candle that could light the way out,

But never lighting it because that candle is ‘personally yours,’

Someone else might find your light, and benefit from its glow,

I share my faith, because my light could lead others home.

So, where is your light, when your candle isn’t lit.

You’ll never find your way out of prison walking in black pitch.

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers –  Child Like 


Caleb had been floating in a raft at sea for days. He thought he was dreaming when his raft washed up on a sandy beach. When he awoke, it was nighttime and he needed to drink water.

Caleb rose haphazardly to his knees and began to shuffle through the foliage. A purple glow grew brighter as he walked until it was almost blinding him. Looking up to the blackness of the star lit sky, he noticed that all around him were palm trees. They were massive and appeared to be lit with purple, white, and pink light.

Caleb walked until he was barely touching one of the lit trees. He slowly laid his hand onto one tree and the colours that lit the tree shot through his body. Caleb felt his aching bones healing, felt the ravages of the open sea disappearing from his gaunt form. He felt happy and full of laughter.

Caleb let go of the tree when children came running out of little palm leaf huts towards him. A little girl with curly hair touched his nose and laughed. Caleb looked at his hands, they were a small child’s hands. “I’m a child” he wondered.

“We’re all children. We are stuck at our best age in childhood. The year we loved the most,” the girl said.

Caleb joined a group of kids, playing red-rover. It was so much fun. The little girl with curls pretended to get caught at his arm and she grabbed his hand. “See” she started “we’re adults stuck in our kid bodies forever, were in a kind of Neverland. The trees have made us immortal children.” Caleb was disturbed by this but the price of immortality wasn’t apparent to him until much later in his life as a child.


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting!

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: A Night at Home


alone girl
http://www.pixhome.blogspot.com
On a lonely Saturday night she sat at home, turning textbook pages. She was supposed to be reading but the words blurred before her.

Like any other night she was at home, no place to go when you have limited energy. No place to go when your friends are coupled up.

The night outside was peaceful, and it was warm for November. When the darkness rolled in, it was fast a midnight sky.

And the stars twinkled down on her, she hadn’t seen them glimmer in ages; she felt as if they knew her secrets, that she longed to be strong again.

But the stars had heard billions of pleas for change and prayer to prevent suffering. They reigned down supreme as many begged to Him ‘on high’ for relief.

The snow lit the ground so it was slightly easier to see. When you drove home it shone, a white neon sign that was to remain until April.

And the houses with their lights off were slightly alarming. The world was out celebrating that the holidays were here. But some people were just stuck, marinating in their chairs.

But not everyone could party on warm nights. Some such as her, had things to do and places to be tomorrow.

But what she wouldn’t trade to be as most everyone, to not have to worry when the clock struck midnight. Not to have to feel a sickening in her stomach.

To not feel a terrible exhaustion hit her and feel herself fading away while the people around her move like puppets, never knowing that for her something isn’t right

The sound becomes to much, her ears are hurting. There are too many people here now. And she runs for the door only to be stopped by a woman she knows little, slurring her words on Bourbon.

Yes, better to stay at home and have a glass of wine. Better to stay at home and ace the exam on Tuesday. Better to be well for tomorrow and do some Christmas browsing. Better to be well.

But she can’t stop from wanting what she knows she can’t have. She prays every night but He ‘on high’ keeps whispering for her to go on, how she is. She’ll be fine.

And for her, that’s not an option. That’s not a choice. That is a sentence given and she lacks the power to change her direction.

Flipping pages is alright some of the time. But some nights are for party dresses, and high heels. Some nights are for music and a fantastic meal.

Some nights are for friends and staying up until dawn. Some nights are for memories that keep carrying you on.

But some nights are for typing and writing a poem. Writing on the screen what she is thinking and wondering if anything will change.

Or if the world will keep on spinning endlessly, ignoring her prayers. But she keeps on writing because it’s an escape from her mind.

Where the wheels are turning and the clock won’t go round, wondering when she can again begin; to begin anew, does that take until New Years?

—–

 

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Photography 101 – Day 9 – Warmth by Candle Light


Warmth can be appreciated by anyone and any living creature. We all search for something to keep us warm and/or give us light at one time or another. Think about puppies and kittens or baby animals of any kind who pile on top of each other and burrow underneath one another just to be warm.

A candle as I showed in my day 1 picture can represent a sense of home but also radiate that sense of warmth that home gives. Home is hearth and fire as I said. And in this picture the candle is lit showing a fantastic sense of warmth and adding that to a sense of home and togetherness.

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