#NaPoWriMo Day 22/Tale Weavers: Poem – Blitz – “The Thirteenth Hour (Dim of Chase)” #poetry #amwriting #TaleWeavers #MLMM


For NaPoWriMo Day 22 the Prompt is: ” to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens: ‘The clock can’t strike thirteen.‘”

I’m combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver Prompt #166 on the theme of “exploring the sensations of being lost, not knowing where you are and realizing you are wandering aimlessly. How and/or who do you ask for help?”


Credit: Mara Eastern. Used with Permission for MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.


The clock can’t strike thirteen

Thirteens the witching hour dim

Dim as the black soundless night

Dim as every street’s the same

Same as the last and same as the next

Same figures leering in an unfathomable maze

Maze where I don’t know where here is

Maze where each turn is the wrong way

Way down cobblestone paths

Way down roads with naught but silence

Silence without comfort

Silence that hastens quivering

Quivering and deciding to go back

Quivering as I wander in circles

Circles towards the same stuccoed shops

Circles to windows with signs reading, “Closed”

Closed as midnight has long passed chimed

Closed no matter my banging on houses

Houses red-bricked, idyllic in day

House white-fenced unhearing of strangers

Strangers as I, but I am no harm

Strangers as they who follow and whisper

Whisper that I’m lost and cannot escape

Whisper of this hours unholiness

Unholiness as the demons mock my steps

Unholiness as the graveyard headstones crack

Crack as stones splits with moaning

Crack as hands reach, bloodied and fragile

Fragile as my skin sweating and chilled

Fragile as heels broken — left in bare-feet

Bare-feet blackened from putrid streets

Bare-feet cut by pebbles with each step

Step here, step there, no where leads home

Step into the inescapable hour trapped

Trapped as the chants drew me far

Trapped as I bewitched scampered

Scampered away from the party’s delights

Scampered into the sudden mist further

Further into the labyrinth, a sweet dream in daylight

Further into the hour my grandmother warned

Warned of those of dark intent who wander

Warned of the hour so few remember

Remember the creatures who frighten

Remember the creatures who chase

Chase in the thirteenth hour’s delusions

Chase me, knowing I knew better

Better despite my heart’s rapid fluttering

Delusions fade, a light burns — the wicked-hour passes


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 14/Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Italian – Sonnet – “Dream Wisps” #amwriting #poetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 14 the Prompt is: “to write entries for an imaginary dream dictionary. Pick one (or more) of the following words, and write about what it means to dream of these things: Teacup, Hammer, Seagull, Ballet slipper, Shark, Wobbly table, Dentist, and Rowboat. I’m combining with SPF hosted by Alistair Forbes.

—–

Credit: Alistair Forbes

—-

Teacup held in hand, she murmurs vespers,

Ballet slippers lifted, a child’s fond hopes —

A tutu twirled, spun, clouds that gleam and float.

She dreams of diving seagulls, their whispers,

Voices, sharp tongues drill; sharks with winged-flippers,

Sailors, those unafraid steering rowboats.

Hammerheads drift, they alter in remote,

Albatross’ signs of woe, slight wisps;

Reality and memories weave lost thoughts.

Wants, needs, and everything time forgotten,

Awaking to find the Albatross cawing.

As ethereal moments wake, warble —

Albatross unblinking, sailor he shoots;

He quakes and trembles within blackened boots.

—-

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Saved by A Song” #100WordWednesdays #poetry #amwriting


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.


Credit: Matthew Henry via Unsplash


On the path you get lost ’cause you can’t find —

Your way; no doors through the puddles find sway.

To open, reveal the road; thus, engraved —

With the direction, you’re hunting; rain blinds,

No better journeys exist than chill times —

Where your wet, but exhausted you find ways.

Though angry winds, with freezing sleet berate,

Wandering lost, you’ll burn in your mind —

Slippery trails, bricks steeped in sludge, than trills —

Of harsh winds chiming against grim sign posts;

Metallic melodies haunt, notes crescendo, thrill —

Calling to you, as you pray soulfully;

That your mind won’t panic, but think calmly.

Enlightened, finding Home through the rain’s song.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo – Day 4 – Wrapped Refrein (1) – “How Words and Poetry Hide” #poetry #amwriting   


The Day 4 OctPoWriMo theme is based on the prompt between the clouds and water and where poetry hides

——

Credit: Patrick Fore via Unsplash
——

You’ll not find it in cotton clouds,

Words don’t linger much to astound. 

You’ll not find poetry in socks, 

The drawer where secrets remain lost.

You’ll never find it in your locker, 

Or in any safe, secret box. 

The poetic muse she’s a tricky one and you’ll not —

Discover the secrets of words never caught. 

Sure, search my shoeboxes your —

To discover old love letters torn; 

As if their archaic paper had —

Poetic words; handwritten glad, 

Yet these lost words are so barren, 

You’ll not find poetry here glaring. 

You can wish hard for the words to flow and burn within, 

Spark inspiration, fulfill writing dreams, whims.   

——

As the words can be impossible, 

Leave you feeling epically lost. 

Choosing words is hard, improving —

Their form, their shape, tone soothing. 

Poetry hides, clashes wickedly, 

Now, I’ve no liking for such tricks. 

You can wish for words to form melodious speeches, 

But you’ll not find poetry it’s a falcon screeching. 

Gaze inside marshmallow white puffs, 

Clouds or into caverns dark, rough. 

You can explore the ocean’s depth,  

Or rest upon a beach breathless, 

While poetry’s playing games taunting, 

You’ll not discover the words lost. 

You’ll only find poetry in locals that are mystical —

Where sun, moon, clouds ethereal rise, poetry still sits. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poetry – Rictameter – “Streets A New” #amwritimg #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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Credit: J. Hardy Carroll
———

Empty, 

Thoughts with empty —

Dreams; never meant to inflict,

Such pain, no anxiety, hurt —

done unintentionally

Not considering, 

Empty. 

——-

Bare streets, 

Abandonment, 

No one comes here, danger —

Lurks in sun’s zenith and night’s chill.

Lost lonely souls wander, 

Hopeless; shifty —

Bare streets. 

——-

Broken, 

Boulevard with —

Dreams in smithereens; pieces —

Of what could’ve been, deserted. 

Littered streets, none tread 

Improvements left, 

Broken.

——

Why fix? 

Somewhere no one —

Ventures? Bring beauty to  —

Dank tenements abandoned? 

Some people still live here, 

Shuffling through, 

Why Fix? 

——-

Broken, 

I can’t hull stones, 

Nor restore past glories, 

I’m no architect with dreams of —

Organic design where the 

Forgotten dwell, blurry —

Eyed and hopeless, 

Broken. 

——

Hope means, 

Skilled developer, 

Notes potential in ruins, 

Will see masked brilliance beneath the —

Treachery; Boulevard —
Where someone sees, 

Hope is. 

——-

Anew, 

I can’t remould, 

Your splintered heart, pristine, 

I can stitch the pieces together, 

So in time, stitches fade,  

Heart heals almost, 

Anew, 

———

©Mamdibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Quadrille – “Condemned” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for holding last week’s SPF. 

——–

Credit: Mike Vore

———

Tenement halls, 

Here they —

Breathed; died. 

Rasping voices, 

Calling  ‘Mom.’ 

Struggling, 

One last breath, 

Wheezing, 

Spirits released. 

Polio, Scarlet feaver, 

Consumption, measles, 

Tuberculosis. 

No matter, 

The disease, 

Many breathed, 

Their last. 

Forgotten, lost, 

Sound of silence. 

Condemned to ruins, 
Now the ruins are —

Condemned, 

Tenements called, 

A prison, 

Too late. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Living Small Dreams” #100WordWednesdays #flashfiction #poetry


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting this week’s #100WordWednesdays.

——-

Credit: Jessie Williams Via Unsplash

——–

Deep night and the darkness should seem mean, 

But in day time light exposes, reveals. 

The tranquil night holds me and conceals, 

I’m finding that black pitch, it redeems.

Souls in the day ashamed of life’s greeds, 

Broken, lost, but I’m more than what I seem. 

I’m like you, I have fond hopes and wild dreams.

More basic, I just want to have life’s needs. 

Water, food, health insurance, no delusions. 

Meds so I’m like you, not fearing night screams, 

Not having nightmares on cold streets mean. 

A homeless woman, battered, unseemly, 

Wishing for small things, a roof and hygiene. 

Wishing you’d help, want out of here, achieving —

Life where I don’t struggle but live small dreams. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Writing Prompt: Poem — Quadrille — “Silver Violinist” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this writing prompt to choose a title to write a poem or story about. I chose the title The Silver Violin. I’m combining prompts with a #dVerse prompt on a topic of our choice. Thanks to Bodhirose for hosting open link night. 

—— 

Credit: YouTube – Mario Sarto

——-

Haunting music, 

Tunes unearthly sweet. 

He’ll wring emotion, 

Notes disturbed. 

Depressing songs blur; 

His heart aches, yearns. 

She left him lost,

She left him first. 

Each night at Luna’s height,

He plays those notes,

Draining his being. 

Souls quiver knowing —

Ballads the silver violinist,

Plays, plucking sorrow,

Into sunrise, 

A final despairing note. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

First Line Friday: Fiction – Stenham House #amwriting #fiction #FLF


Thanks to Dylan of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s FLF.

——-

Credit: http://bigproof.ru

——

“Stenham house was an ancient locked thing and nothing returned there except for crows.” 

Lost in the forest Marybeth was charmed by the crumbling facade of the ancient mansion. She wondered what the house looked like on the inside as she slipped through the rungs of a creaky black gate.

“What’r you doin’ here, Marybeth?” her older brother Winston cried, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

“Mom’s worried. Said you’d been out so long she was ‘fraid you were lost in the woods for good. You know you’re too young to be out here alone.”

“What’s in there?” Marybeth asked Winston pointing to Stenham house. 

” You don’t want ta go there, ” Winston said matter-of-factly. “Tommy Johnson went in there and never came out the same. He’s a touched now.”

“Well he still lives in the neighborhood,” Marybeth argued. “I see him at school. He doesn’t play with the other kids much but sits in a corner and reads. There’s nothing wrong with that. What happened in that house?”

Winston shook his head, “You’ll have nightmares Marybeth, I can’t tell you. Mom’ll kill me.”

“S’okay I’m a big girl now. I’m seven. I can handle it.”

Winston sighed,”They say a family was murdered there. An axe murder came in and hacked them all to pieces. Grandma, Grandpa, the parents, and worst of all the children. There were four of them and the oldest was eleven.”

Marybeth gasped, “That’s bad. I saw the curtains moving I think someone still lives there.”

“There was a fifth child, he was a tot. The nanny hid him but was butchered herself. Even though the little guy was adopted, he always woke up with nightmares about the murder, even as an adult,” Winston whispered. 

” He lives there now, I think.” 

“He decide to live there when he ‘came  an adult. It was the only way he could face his demons. That’s what Aunt Sally told me.”

“Does Aunt Sally know him?”

“Yeah, they were in the same grade.”

Suddenly the front door to the delapitated house flew upon. Winston and Marybeth saw a gaunt middle aged man standing at the entrance. He motioned them over but then the crows began to fly and circle around the children, diving at them and pecking them when they tried to reach out to the man. 

Marybeth screamed batting at crows as she ran all the way back home to the safety of her mother’s arms. Winston followed his sister, his screams even more terrified. 

He swore to his sister, later, he saw the man at the door to Stenham mansion disappear into thin air. Marybeth believed him and decided to stay away from Stenhem house until she was older and wiser. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.  

Sunday Photo Fiction: Crazy Memories #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

——–


Credit: Alistair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

——–

“You forgot it again, didn’t you?” I ask Gillian 

“Yes,” she said exasperated. “You know I’m always forgetting it, losing it, or damaging it permanently. Phones don’t like me.”

“I’ve known you twelve years and I’m pretty sure you’ve gone through more than twelve phones.”

Gillian starts to laugh. “Yeah, so true. My Dad would get so upset at me in university. I think I broke like six cell phones.”

I laugh at her memories. “One time you lost your new phone down the sewer. You were crying because you were drunk and wanted to go back for your phone. Melissa and I kept telling you it was gone.”

Really? I don’t remember that?”

“You wouldn’t,” I tell Gillian giggling. “I had to physically pick you up and place you in the cab. I told the cab driver to ignore your pleas to go back to the bar and I half carried you into Melissa’s apartment where you passed out.”

Gillian giggled, “Those were crazy times. Thank goodness my phone is just on the kitchen counter, not in the sewer.”

We both grin at each other. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.