Three Line Tales: Fiction – Plashless and Fated #amwritingfiction #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Nattu Adnan via Unsplash.

At twilight we scramble past rocks and moss-filled beaches, as our feet skim the lake’s surface, squishing into pillow sand; we crouch in anticipation for a silver scale to gleam. The setting sun blinds, but neither of us are scared for we know now, is time to catch glittering fish-dragons; we’ve lost enough to ensure we grasp them all. They’re shadows leap into the marmalade sky, plashless but fated the moment we spotted them.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Tale Weavers: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) — “Full-Hearted” #amwritingpoetry #taleweavers #MLMM


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver’s this week with his theme: all things bright and beautiful & what it means to us. Also, thanks to MindLoveMisery’s MenagerieMindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Music Prompt #41 “This Is Not the End” by MILCK.


Credit: Joshua Fuller via Unsplash


This is Not the End by MILCK


All things bright and beautiful cleanse; this is not end.

Star’s leap, shrinking violets shimmer tall, lively bend;

Despite storm’s ahead, summer’s heat,

Deepens azure; the sky still beams,

Wide-eyed giggles, cherub children;

Bells tinkle joyful, dreamscapes mild.

Your schemes aren’t the end, despite a shameful purpose;

Sickening plots — lies, your ugly’s gone; I’ve more worth.

****

This isn’t the end, of all things bright and beautiful,

I’m not afraid of monsters, your cunning half-truths.

I’m a survivor furnished,

In sweet trappings of God’s spirit.

I fear not your Slytherin tongue;

I’m a warrior inspite your drugs —

Candy words, lethargy, crafted bitter-bliss —

You’re daft, such a nasty trick; too late — you missed.

*****

All things bright and beautiful, life moves, expands,

Beneath snow spring trickles in streams; ice cracks, your damned.

Wicked man against roaring lion,

His might rages, light that defies.

I’m not afraid of ruthlessness,

For I’ve inhaled His brilliant truth.

You can’t snuff it out, you can’t beat it’s flames; feasting on–

Destruction, your falsehood revealed; I’m no man’s pawn.

*****

Sweet lamb am I, protected from plots; your slaughter —

Without regret, dishonest; I win you falter.

This lapse isn’t the end; I’m free.

Once blind, I stare eyes pitying;

Your tricks are done, for I have sun.

Wild winds, tangled grass and I’ve won —

Space to wander in aqua dawn, white sands beautiful.

All things bright, I’ve chosen a door and key — heart-full.

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: December 2018 Part Two #notablequotes #quotes #pinterest #poetry


December’s passed. Happy New Year 2019‼️🥂Keep going. ‼️🥳


1.

http://www.pinterest.com

2.

http://www.pinterest.com

3.

http://www.pinterest.com


4.

http://www.pinterest.com


5.

http://www.pinterest.com


6.

http://www.pinterest.com


7.

http://www.pinterest.com


8.

http://www.pinterest.com


9.

http://www.pinterest.com


10.

http://www.pinterest.com


11.

http://www.pinterest.com


12.

http://www.pinterest.com


13.

http://www.pinterest.com


14.

http://www.pinterest.com

15.

http://www.pinterest.com


16.

http://www.pinterest.com


17.


18.

http://www.pinterest.com

19.

http://www.pinterest.com


20.

http://www.pinterest.com

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry


Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.


Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash


I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poems – Lunes – “Untamed Reality” #amwritingpoetry #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Joshua Coleman via Unsplash.


Streetlights, sunshine succulent Daisy’s swim,

Beneath backsplash hues,

Blends rainbow-blues; happiness mellow.

*****

Smiley-face smirks, sunflower haze,

Artificial artifice; installation,

Pales before dawn’s authentic azure.

*****

Happiness hides, sunshine succumbs —

Night she divides;

Darkness delights, oozes untamed reality .

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Tale Weavers/Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Stardust Love” #amwritingpoetry #TaleWeavers #PhotoChallenge


Thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver’s on the concept of night or the evening. Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting photo challenge.


Credit: WeHeartIt


Starry night, veil across smooth skin.

The evening tide arrives,

Darkness rides on velvet wings of charcoal-black.

A midnight hour lit with dreams,

Stars that glisten and glitter;

The star of all stars shines truest.

Jewel of golden light, snarled in a crown of thorns.

Hope of tomorrow, every child, & every person passed;

For ages awaiting an infant mild.

Mirth in the twilight, the evening passes,

With brushes and paint,

A muse of mystery and dancing light, crosses the canvas of your skin.

A rare and glorious place,

Where painted medium engraves each curve.

The dip of your back, shoulder blades relaxed.

Breath respired as the paint dries; the lense snaps your beauty.

A Vangoghesque masterpiece, and the light of a brilliant star.

Our Christmas miracle in a moment,

For now, left adrift by the pendulum of time.

A lover’s dusk for —

I with my brushes and cherished paints;

You humming centuries old melodies.

A Holy night, Angels crying glory, as Three Kings journey.

Miracle in a stable; thus, miracles for mere humans.

They’re what we breathe and live,

Blessed in evening tide,

With stardust love;

Gloria Excelsis Deo.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poem – Lunes – “Carnival Memories” #amwritingpoetry #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Harpal Singh via Unsplash.


Carnival night’s flash ethereal; dreams —

Hope’s gossamer moments;

Merry-go-rounds, buttery popcorn.

*****

Glory-days, infused cotton-candy,

Familiar sweetness; children’s —

Giggles echo beyond Winter’s cage.

****

Mini-donuts melt mouth-watering,

White lights; Cherub’s —

Gallop, neighing horses, summertime’s myth.

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Fiction – Future Change #amwritingfiction #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Jan Genge via Unsplash

There’s a butter gingerbread house peeking through the refinery basins. An out of place dwelling reminding me that all eras and styles of design must merge; the essence of past centuries meet in the present. A chemical acridness fades at the refineries as residents don’t comprehend efficient and green technology used to refine oil today; people forget merging the old and new is a necessity for future change.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: Part One, December 2018 #notablequotes #pinterest #quotes


Welcome, this is late, better late than never I suppose. This week is my last Steeped Tea Event for December, except maybe Boxing Day. My last 2018 charity event is Monday, called the ‘Snowflake Ball’ for a children’s hospital wing, in the University Hospital in my city. I’m excited, but I know it will be a long one by the end of the night. Enjoyable too. There are so many worthy causes out there and I love that I can be apart of them. Looking forward to the fashion at this one too.

I have a couple of stops left to Christmas shop before the 24th, & also Christmas baking, cards, and special foods, those kinds of things to prepare once work is done for awhile. This year has turned out to be so different than many other years. Both, in ways I’m glad about and also in taking giant leaps — I’m still in the process of figuring life out. I wish this involved writing more, but I’ve gained experience in other areas I hope will be useful in the future. Here and there I get to write a poem, and comment. These are the most relaxing times for me. Sometime I will have a lot more to say then, what I can say right now. But it’s been a good year — answered prayers, and time to catch up on some quotes.


1.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

2.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

3.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

4.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

5.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

6.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

7.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

8.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

9.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

10.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

11.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

12.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

13.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

14.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

16.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

17.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

18.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

19.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com (Erin Hanson)

20.

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

©️Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 31/Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem — “Plain Sight” #amwritingpoetry #SundayWritingPrompt #MLMM


For OctPoWriMo Day 31 the Prompt is the word endless. I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt based on the Sylvia Plath letter quote: “I talk to God, but the sky is empty.” so glad to be done OctPoWriMo two-months later. It took awhile, but I’m happy it’s done in time for Christmas. Lol.


Credit: Paulo Brandao via Unsplash


Words in the tumbled breeze,

Chatter of birds in early light;

Blinding my ears to fright.

Intense azure glows, I cover my eyes;

It burns, it burns,

What a fright, what a fright.

Restless, my ears ringing as if I’ve spent all night,

With giant speakers, there jarring blare.

And oh, my eyes how they sting,

Such terrible light blinds me in fear.

How can such gleaming light be wonderful?

For me, it’s a curse.

No afternoon delight, but hellish nightmare.

The hammer’s swift; I the rock pit —

It’s pulsing, the rhythmic pain seething.

Lips moaning pleas,

Make it stop, but its unceasing.

Not after strong coffee as my stomach lurches,

Nor over toast I spit-out disgusted.

My skin, elephant tusks envy such paler.

No wine or liquor could cause,

A tinge so blue as the veins in my wrist.

Such hopelessness,

A putrid cycle of faithlessness.

Once I believed, now I am lost;

Lamb to the slaughter, must I too sputter?

Have my heart carved,

Gurgling water, blood in the tide.

But the tawny bird near my ear,

He flew inside my broken pane.

He cocks his stubborn head,

Eyes rapid; he mutters, words pained.

His left wing slops,

Tossed from the nest, now he rests near me.

I’ve not the heart to twist his neck,

Though his wing be his death.

But oh, he chirps, eyes rapid,

He sings despite his tepid clawed-steps.

Tiny talons gripping my pillow.

He sings, peers outside,

Aware he can’t fly;

We both can’t.

So, we stare in confusion,

Peering at each other, eye to eye.

Both defenselessness,

We know will soon be cut down.

Yet, while I groan, bird tweets,

The funniest chirps, as if conversing.

He’s livid until I arise, bring him a saucer;

Sups his water, munches sunflower seeds.

He try’s to flutter, my heart leaps —

He flails to the floor.

His eyes see cerulean horizons,

Not wretched revolt.

I’m mad at God,

He made the bird disabled.

But as I curse — bird’s tawny head shakes, beak twerps.

It occurs to me,

He sees more than ‘something’ out there.

If he can chatter at me unperturbed by my size,

Then, fling himself towards the sky —

Only to fall,

Perhaps than, faith can also fly again?

If God can mend my wounded heart,

With nails, grit embedded deep,

Can my feathered mate,

Have his wing set straight?

Perhaps, yes?

Then we can both soar,

And peer to the azure, the Heavens.

Recognize that this ‘something,’

Isn’t intangible, isn’t hiding,

It’s in plain sight,

Crystalline truth sudden,

In opulent morning breeze.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.