#NovemberNotes Day 3/Saturday Mix: Poem – Quadrille – “Lay Me Down” #poetry #saturdaymix #dVerse


Today’s November Notes song is “All the Pretty Girls” by Kaleo. I’m combining the song prompt with WhimsyGizmo of #dVerse Poet’s Pub Quadrille prompt on kick and MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie SaturdayMix Prompt on using synonyms for these words: odd, fight, start, weak, tired. 


Jacob Townsend Unsplash
Credit: Jacob Townsend Unsplash

 

“All the Pretty Girls” – Kaleo 


You sail in the sky,

Float back to earth.

I’m meekwaning, 

Waiting for you —

To let me in.

Strength has vanished,

Battle inside aches.

I’m kicking passed eternities,

In strangeness. 

Pretty girls fall,

Without fuel to recharge. 

Please lay me down,

Lay with me tonight.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

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Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Healing Touch” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt challenge.

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Credit: Laura Williams

———

Many faces have I, but don’t let me evaporate.

Too many masks I wear within to cover the scars that bind,

The twisting vines of ruined skin,

Not even plastic surgery could heal.

And the whispers of the dreadful night,

They haunt me in my sleep.

Each nightmare worse than the last, entrenching me in madness.

Crying and shaking, in a world I cannot escape.

My screams echoeing from the domed ceiling,

In St. Peter’s Basilica, my heart a kindled pyre.

Does God hear me, my fervent prayers without pride?

I know if He did, he would answer what I seek,

Provide relief from the cruelty of my suffering;

Of the ache and the burn in my skin.

He’d be a cooling gentle wind to end the burning flames,

I hope in my meekness for God as Elijah knew.

I try to forget. to move on, hiding behind masks so I’m safe.

My scars are not physical but they hide beneath skin,

Where plastic surgery cannot salvage a broken soul.

I’m a wretched bloody mess and my stomach is churning,

Why are the worst injuries, the ones you cannot see?

Why do people only see skin deep?

Not many will peer beneath the perfect layers of white ivory,

To see the layers underneath charred and scorched.

Many will not look past the words on your lips,

They are not interested in how a person says certain words,

Or why they say what do.

Many people hear only what they want to hear,

And if you choose to scream,

Than you’re the crazy one seeking attention.

But many screams are silent,

Before they are ever heard out loud,

This is why we need listeners and those with empathy,

To overcome those overflowing with ignorance and apathy to life;

To realize there is meaning in helping your neighbor out.

For we all have hidden scars and screams,

And most of them are dug deeply within our souls.

They wind around a person’s heart, a choking vine envokes —

A cry for help, so please hear it, long before we shout out loud,

Be still for a moment and listen well.

Respond before the masks hide many other faces and mine;

Act before you start cutting into our hearts,

Doing much more harm than good.

Watch your words and carefully avoid —

Assault and battery, for refusing to help those in need —

Refusing to help those lost in their pain. 

Heal with laughter and conversation,

A piece of your precious time.

Do not forget the meek and lowly,

We all need help discovering pathways into stardust.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Cowboys and Indians” #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge.

——

Credit: Elizabeth Anna

——-

Face so black, eyes green-blue, a warrior stood, 

In forest, playing games, children not meek.

On the faces of cliffs roam, hide and seek,

Cowboys with guns, face arrows of wood. 

Her hair is in braids, she’s taller and could, 

 Take out any boy; her face paint it streaks;

Black oil paints stain her pink dress as she seeks, 

Unafraid, with bow ready, arrow’s wood —

Will strike at any movement and set fly, 

Weapon which could hurt, but that’s life she sighs.  

Hopes her arrow might hit a deer — dinner, 

For a family she can’t feed, as a child. 

Only a girl, no parents but she plays, 

In this strange cowboys and Indian brave’s game. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.