Poetry: Free Verse – “Woman On Fire” #amwriting #poetry


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———-

Animosity conspires within her belly, 

Her reactions fast, lightening sparks. 

She stalks through corridors and hallways,
Blood boiling, melting inner warmth of heart. 

No one speak of  what’s right or the truth.

The bottom line — what is right or true, 

Meant nothing when they used her. 

And the fire flits through her system, 

She’s wants to burn the world down, 

What made a gentle song bird, claw back viciously? 

The wrath of Maleficante, innocence stolen. 

Now, the swagger of her hips, 

Is a femme fatele arising, 

Wingspan of dragon, breathing flames of fire. 

Beating down the masses, burning pyres, 

Magnificent rage multiplying. 

Try to stop her, it’s in her being now. 

Her heart is blazing flare of woe. 

Be watchful and be wary, 

Someone, something, hurt her fiendishly —

A soft woman breaks most brutally, 

When her inner demons burn in wrath.  

She’s diligent and mean — so lost, 

All her love sprung and fled. 

Appears as if she should be wimpering, 

But when she talks her words scorch

Heavy smoke will make you cough and choke, 

It’s a dense whirling mass, 

That sends ruthless cowards to their knees. 

Before fire can blister and raze you, 

The smoke will leave you dying, 

No breath of life in her has forgiven. 

Don’t hurt a soft smart woman, 

She’s most dangerous;

Because when her dams break open, 

All hell leaks forth. 

Demon woman, betting on retribution, 

No absolution, no temperance, 

They’ve flown away, murdered by spite. 

A reckless beauty in pink, with pearls, 

Diamonds changed for rubies, tinder red glare. 

Her price for life is costly, 

Sparked by a wreckless cause, 

Anger building, layer open layer molds. 

She’s become the wretched clouds, 

Above the Valcono seething. 

And sulphuric rain’s in her power, 

No water to save and cool you, 

From a dragons lair or breathe of flame. 

Another way to die —

 Like she dies inside, daily,

Consumed by all her hatred;

Marked by vengeful ire. 

She’s become her indignation, 

She’s fury and resentment. 

A witches pot brewing, 

Antagonism, tears, and vexation. 

She will set afire and raze her foe. 

Dangerous and furious words, 

Melting magma from stones. 

She burns inside, and all that’s left —

Ashes killing, if exhaled. 

Dust she compresses, from the barren world, 

Her flame, herself broken once too often.

Wretched soft woman, 

Destroying the world and herself.

That’s why kind gentle women, 

Should never be screwed with, 

Once destroyed —

They bring the world down with them. 

——
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved 

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Photo (Collage) Challenge: Poem – Tankas – “The Mountain’s Wrath” #amwriting #poetry 


Thank you to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s double prompt:

Laura Bloomsbury

———

Black and white can change, 

Become the most flaming bright of —

Colours; yet we’re like —

Dorothy on her Kansas —

Farm, not realizing life is grey. 

Never seeing technicolor.

——–

If mountains are but smoke, 

No one who said those words knew, 

How burning orange and —

Yellow looks when your skin is —

Seared; the mountain spit lava clear.

Blew her top, melted downwards. 

——-

On to the town who, 

Had little idea but should —

Have known this day, 

No technology clued.

Their mountain could release Hell,

Sulphurous smelling, burnt Hell.

—-

Poisonous gases, 

Leaking down to the town folk, 

No chance had they when, 

Ashes fell like snow.

The worst kind of snow signals, 

The ire of the mountain’s breath.

——-

In stores, on boardwalks, 

Going about their day the same.

When she erupted, 

No one cared at first.

But the ash and gases came, 

Killing to begin, before —

—–

Lava reached familiar,

Buildings, the library.

Homes, grocery stores, work.

Yet the sky was filled, 

She billowed out her smoke rings, 

And she was just beginning.

——-

Threy should’ve known to —

Leave earlier but no one, 

Takes responsibility;

To late to lay blame.

Run far and fast, lava spews.

Keep going magma flows, kills.

——

No Dante’s Peak is —

This; only mother nature’s, 

Roaring and giving, 

Life as she takes it.

Many die unaware, don’t see, 

Never knew today would be —

The end: waiting done, 

Here comes the promised one near.

Yet some survived it.

Never took lightly, 

Those words: A Mountain is noth –

ing but smoke — they lived through it.

—–

Those who rebuilt knew, 

As the lava and fire burnt their —

Homes, loved ones to crisps. 

Beware the mountain;

Geologists trained don’t know, 

When she’ll yield furious wrath.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reseved 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – The Island


The volcanic island sat there dormet, or so everyone thought.

We had come to L’Isle to enjoy the lush nature around us, the lovely beaches,and hauntingly beautiful ocean. There was scuba diving, off-roading, fishing, shopping, and time to lay in the pure white sand.

Sometime around 1:30 pm we heard a rumble. The local news said it was nothing, that the Volcanic Island made noises sometimes but the rumbles continued from the volcano and people began to evacuate. My mother decided it was time to fly home.

I remember that day as we took off from the small airport on the island the sky was so clear you could see tropical birds flying. But then the volcano blew its top. Magma and fire rained down upon the island and animals and people were caught in its trap.

The smoke was thick but we flew in the opposite direction back towards Europe, away from the smoke and destruction. When mother nature exploded she came a part mercilessly.

L'Isle before the Volcanic Eruption
L’Isle before the Volcanic Eruption

Thanks to Priceless Joy for organizing. Want to participate?

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/04/14/fffaw-week-of-4-15-2015/