Animals/Pets, Fiction, Finish Off Fridays/Saturday Mix FlashFiction, Flash Fiction, Free Verse, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 17 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/ First Line Friday FF: Poem – Free Verse — “Full Moon of Neurotic Night” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #FLF #poetry 


Thanks to Dylan of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie‘a First Line Friday Prompt. The first line from last Friday was: “I’m going to tell you how I lost my inheritance.” For NaPoWriMo the prompt is to write a nocturne which is a poem/song about the night. For A to Z Challenge, today’s letter is O for a GoodRead’s quote.  

——–

Credit: Arial Estrulin – Travel and Landscape Photography

——-

“You don’t have to be dead to leave a legacy. — Onyi Anyado”

——-

I’m going to tell how I lost my inheritance, how my legacy rides in tides as the full moon rises, 

How the night stole my humanity and hammered my soul a blow. 

The dusk covered the light, liquid tar blanket bestowed, 

The sun hid himself away, way down in western wilds of woe. 

A sinking feeling settled in and a certain chorus began to ring,

A range of notes, a rising crescendo of riveting lyrical prose. 

A poet’s words possessing her, when she knows full well, 

The powerful pull of the midnight hour. 

And the pressing provocative lure as the moon glows, 

A white orb that won’t warble, a strong luminious light, 

Residing over all as every full moon does. 

To be host over the howling wolves, the healthy youths as they prowl, 

The dark delights of the night distend into the dimest parts of every soul. 

A choir of banshees brazenly taking souls salaciously, the maids from their beds,

The hour of the demons drawing back to their victims with wet bloody lips;

The incubus raging and awaking the wild within their prey. 

And all is a lure, an image not clear, all this is imagined, 

All this is frightening, foretold in nightmares. 

The affected awake in the morning from the pleasure and pain,

From satisfied appetites, appalling in the dank aptitudes of night. 

Night swells and swallows herprey wholly, partaking and doping with her starry glow, 

Inviting the worst from the wise, even ill from the innocent. 

Yet a moral being cannot mean to say, night has had her way and ‘I’ had no say; 

It’s easy to give in with ease, to isolate one’s self to enthralling entertainments, inscribed darkly now on souls. 

And what’s done in the night when the moon is full and fat, cannot be told for it stays hidden on those nights, when the wildest ones escape.

The vampires and the wolves, the creatures we know not of, and humans do not stay humble ether — they choose to fly with the fallen. 

A nocturne of night will tell you what power presumes to hide beneath an inky black veil,

It’s not pure evil, it’s the usual kind, who chooses to dance with the devil, and forget their choices their choosing for charm and wine. 

For tequila and vodka, for him and her, and whisky burning down your throat as the howls of the night combine with a loss of memory; 

And we all awake mid-afternoon, no one knowing the peculiarities of such a night, a full out frightening moon. 

Only a feeling, a shiver, a prayer, as the moon fades from brilliance, she is trapped, unwillingingly held as she wanes us back into morality. 

The light of the sun salutes from the east and all is forgiven in harmony and health, angelic nebulas, skys of blue birds, and Bambi deers galloping. 

Woe is the wicked night on the full moon, but how much greater is the morn after malevolence is perpetually destroyed,

Yet oh, how we miss the fun of bliss in the dark — no thoughts, no reason, just acceptance to absorb the pleasures of night’s nocturnal nightmares. 

———


——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Actor/ Actress, Beauty, Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Free Verse, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

Poem: Free Verse – Thoughts of the Mockingjay #amwriting #poetry #fiction #symbolic 


Credit: Wikia

———

Mockingjay, pretty bird or elegant deadly queen? 

A woman, a creature of dystopia and mythology

If there’s one bird to be, it would be a Mockingjay

Though I know they’re imaginary,

Mockingjays are real as symbols of courage.

Birds which don’t break, they carry on;

Nature outlasting outlandish experiments,

Reinventing, Mother Earth evolving and re-working, 

What humans would call a mistake; 

Yet these Jays cannot be hidden away, they’re fierce warriors risen. 

——

As a Mockingjay, could I fly close to the sun? 

Icarus (I think) burned off his majestic wings doing such a deed, 

 I’d think a celestial queen of Mockingjays is smarter

She’s a stealthy bird whose whistle, repeats any tune heard, 

Her mimickery can be confusing to her enemy. 

A Mockingjay queen, would keep her scars hidden, 

Safe beneath feathers which float, as hope; 

Now fuzz, falling furiously as she grows, dropping downy —

Fast, no longer a chick adorned with puffiness

Now a full-blown black and white glory who sings life’s story, 

The story of pain, betrayal, and loss;

Your average adventure and most tantalising tale. 

Oh, what a Mockingjay can truly be, 

When her heads adorned by sunlight and truth,

Choosing her battles and using her melody

The Melody you’re humming to yourself. 

The sweetest songs of tears, quicksilver and liquid gold, 

Molten metal glimmering

She burns with fire in her soul, though she is no mythical Phoenix;

Yet she rises from the ashes of society and science

She repeats your tunes, the echoes throughout her wild lands. 

——

Credit: http://www.nerdist.com

—–

You’ll never catch a Mockingjay, there’s wrath in her footprints, 

Her anger caused, ignites an inner flame brilliant. 

She’ll swoop from above and end you below, 

The dignified woman, no longer laughing,

Going to battle, her war song a trill

The Mockingjay flies her wings fluid, her form grace designed. 

A legendary bird of modern times,

Survival of the fittest crossing genetics; 

Nature re-designs better than a science lab of horrors

Mockingjay is more than bird she is the huntress

The symbolic warrior of Ancient Greece and Rome – Artemis;

Bow with blazing pyrotechnics and lethal skill, pointed at her kill. 

She lives and she dreams of the day, the war is long ended, 

Where revenge and the cold stone hearted have no meaning. 

Her desire is the melody so beautiful it thrills and heals

Enraptures a soul with clearly sung words. 

She’s a warrior with golden platted lashes, winged at her pray;

A sultry seductress and and goddess flying free. 

Mockingbird walks, she sways, feathers flocked close, 

She’s as precious as the sparrow, calling lonely for her love.

She’d scarred, her heart torn

So strong but in need of help most of all. 

Even symbols of strength such as her, 

Who mimick a fictitious tune with ease;

Need more than survival to hope for. 

She needs more than, a gilded bird cage. 

—–

Credit: Laces and Tiaras

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Free Verse, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Free Verse – “Heart Song” #amwriting #poetry


wwwsharinmarieklein.ming.net

———

What songs do you sing?

As the evening bell peels, 

What notes make your heart feel real? 

What melody do you go to sleep by? 

The softest and most beautiful voice, 

Singing in your ear, 

A mother to her child, 

Rubbing your cheeks.

What songs do you sing?

As you play your favourite tunes? 

Those remembered from bygone days?

The most popular hits, fantastic or plastic?

What notes invade your mind? 

Parts of a song playing over again, 

Because you love a section so much, 

You could hear it fifty times.

What songs do you sing?

To guide your heart through pain, 

What songs make you heal?

Make you angry and feel used?

Such a brilliance of tunes and melodies exist,

What’s your heart song? 

The one only you and God know,

The most beautiful words, 

Your Grandma used to sing, 

Or your Dad made up for you as a child.

What songs do you sing? 

May they be be sung load and clear, 

For within music we find a soul connection, 

With each and every person alive.

It’s that favourite song on a Saturday night, 

Everyone belts out and sings.

It’s the song of you and your beloved together.

It’s the song as you pass from this life to the next.

What songs do you sing? 

Only you know the vital songs, 

The tunes you won’t forget, 

The ones that tremble out your lips, 

On the brink of death, 

Your heart songs are clear,

In the end let no one ask, 

What songs do you sing? 

For knowing you they will know, 

The melody of your life, your purpose met.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Free Verse, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Travel, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Free Verse – “A Visible Living Melody” 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

Word Count: 170 words.

——

Swritings

——–

Murals are magnificent, brightening up space, but so far —

Many people doesn’t understand why you’d paint a mural on your car?

It’s tacky, to some people an ‘eyesore,’ the car driven colourfully,

With images, impressions, photographs, painted cities, tattoos inked wondrously. 

You’d never hear a judgement from my candied purple lips, 

When it comes to art, I’m not a lady who needs to come to grips,

With the reality of modern art; it’s whatever way the artist feels.

He or she say may paint their ideal — their art, to them what’s real.

For art, though it appear tacky and weird in some people’s eyes, 

Has the ability to make people shine, make them laugh, and to surprise.

Especially to aid a person living beneath the shadow, depressed, and sad, 

In a moment, the car arrives, awash with colours and scenes glad.

So, if you see a painted mural driving down the highway a while, 

Remember art is a visible living melody, with its ways of helping those who need, smile.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Minute - 8,4,4,4 aabb ccdd eeff, My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Minor FT Creature – Minute – “Twittering”


  

And now, for our prompt (optional as always!) Just as Rosa Jamila’s poems often sound like they come out of a myth or fairy tale (and not always one with a happy ending), today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth. Instead of writing from the point of view of Cinderella, write from the point of view of the mouse who got turned into a coachman. Instead of writing from the point of view of Orpheus or Eurydice, write from the point of view of one of the shades in Hades who watched Eurydice leave and then come back. Happy writing!

For more information please see NaPoWriMo

—–

The bird who sings melodically posed,

Twitter exposed,

Singing with notes,

Snow White songs wrote.

—-

Voice of angel, bird sings lyrics,

Fly spherical, 

No matter when,

Melodies send.

—- 

Eating crisp red apple, evil hag gives,

Her eyes wide strive,

Eat not apple,

Eve’s own pupil. 

—–

Dimly lit girl, breath of life left her,

Creatures of fur,

Point to a Prince

This Prince, I wince.

—–

A bird, Snow calls, tweets melodies.

Kiss. Two lovelies.

All well, I’ve heard.

Stop calling birds.

—–

A birds, not just harmony.

Mates eventually,

Songs for blue eggs,

Snow White she begs —

—-

Let the birds be free,

You’ve no need of our twittering.

Look online now,

Our page is overpopulated.

——

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Writing

Poetry – ” Rise Up “


When the notes begin to play, hum along and sing the chorus if you may.

The sounds of silence lowly rising as the tide, a gentle splashing growing;

Voices raised in some kind of nameless praise, pick up the pace now begin the melody.

A child’s vocals raised in anthem sweet and dolce as the hum begins its throw;

Begins to rise the chords of voices heavenly, putting out the call to one another.

Alto, Tenor, Bass, then the Soprano’s join in the shockingly beautiful voice of the child.

The piece comes together now, can you feel it rising, it gives me shivers this singing.

The breathing of the talent on a cold, and moonless night, bring sounds to the darkness.

Acapella gently then the bass begins to tremble and delighted sound takes on the wind and trees and brings us to our knees;

Put out the call, put out the call, everyone’s going to rise up and the power of the sound simply out of bounds growing as the tears they ripple.

Out of the lonely mans eye and he sings along in tenor softly giving praise to earths majesty to heavens winged Angels.

Put out the call, put out the call, it’s time to take some action.

And sound surrounds in blessed harmony and tears flow like water pouring from the faucet;

Raise the living and the dead with this song we sing – something’s going to rise up, rise up, dead bones are gonna rise up and her themelancholy. 

The voices are fading out, slowly as we breath, tears and sniffles as we sing ever growing quietly.

Something’s going to rise up, rise up, and we go back to dolce and the mournful sound of a child’s voice the last note to be sung.

Something’s going to rise up, rise up you’ve woken it with your song;

Dead are going to rise, the spirit of the voices woke them with your sound.

Go back to sleep, the song is complete, be careful what you raise up today.

  

NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Writing

Day 19 – NaPoWriMo – Landays – ” That Song”


I think if you saw the world through my eyes I think you would be surprised that we share,

Vividly beautiful melodic music and the rushing of sound as it goes by and we try;

To capture a moment, a harmony, no cacophony, but pure unadulterated sound

You would look at the morning, the twilight the dawn, and see it in ways you have never seen before.

You could capture the melody of a serene soulful day and put it in words to say,

The awe striking beauty of nature and glory, the pull of music as it drifts and carries you in.

The hilight of every bird is its song, and as it sings, stand motionless and hear it coo,

Of rain, and the flowers, the trees, and nector, of an essence that drugs you with delight and;

The call of the ages, the dawn of time, it reminds you of Edan, though you’ve never seen it;

It’s a memory deep inside of your being as old as time itself and starlight dances and,

The moon beams high, the day is ending goodbye, goodbye come back with me to glowing places in sky. 

Return with me tomorrow morning to that sound that shivers and quivers with life.

Poetry, Writing

Dear Ones and Dark Ones


Dear, you are the center of this dangerous circle.
The compass rests on you, and points to another but who?
Dear, you tried to control your own destiny, as if you had a choice.
But the maker spins the wheel and lands in every slot we ought to go.
Trying to bet at a losing game boy, that’s a sure chance to fail.
Girl, you are his consolation prize, only because he could get what he wants.
But things don’t add up, he only cares about himself.
You are an off shoot a tethered branch on the tree for his convenance.
But does he know that you’re not playing his game anymore.
Does he know you found yourself respect, flow back into you like diamonds retrospect.
The howl, of self-indulgence flowing through the body, freedom from the oddity that’s plagued you.
And snow goes by, blinks light into my eyes, I’m seeing clearly for the first time.
I’m no sad bad song, I am the melody, the creator created carefully.
When I jump off key, he sets me back right, oh how good to flow harmoniously.

You never met me yet, but you stare into my soul, cold selfish eyes.
You want all control, you think it’s funny playing games, playing poker with a pro.
The river is flowing, turning, and churning, my heart is burning for the mistakes I made.
If you developed some morals, some hope for tomorrow, you’d be so much happier.
But your afraid of me, your afraid of what I offer and what I take away.
You’re afraid you might have to care about my feelings.
You’re just waiting for the next one to come along, man child.
I am the breathe of God blowing, he’s set me in place.
I made my mistakes, now I’m flowing, breathing air in outer space.
You’ll never see the laughter, you’ll never see the joy, you’re not a good person
But you could be if you tried in life just a little more.
So you’re heart was broken, so it will mend, but not if you destroy it piece by solid piece.
That beating, that heating of blood, that is the journey of life you feel.
You could be so much more why do you be so little, act so small.

There is hope in the beating of wings, in the crescent of the moon.
When you see in glory, you can see it all.