Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – ” Yaya Mockingjay” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s photo challenge: 

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http://www.pixebay.com

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Have you cast all your doubts? 

Decided what’s best? 

An old women has regrets, 

There is no life without them. 

It’s difficult, knowing what’s right, 

I just tried my best. 

Listened to my elders, 

As my mother always said.

But there are days I know, 

My best is not enough.

I’m pushing and pulling,

No strength in my bones. 

I’m yelling and shouting, 

But my words aren’t enough,

“We don’t speak your language Yaya.” 

My grandchildren laugh. 

They always need more,

More than dry-bones can provide. 

I feel drained and drowned, 

In lost potential. 

Yaya down and she can’t raise herself up. 

Drenched in such evil, 

Of those with no conscience;

Their knowing looks, eyes that know nothing.

They’re missing my years, my wisdom learned, 

But I’m stuck in thick sticky mud, 

And no one helps an old woman up. 

There’s no hand to help comfort Yaya, 

Her life was tough and unsparing. 

The mud is the only spa I know or ever have, 

A facial mask of sludge and worms. 

An archaic beauty mask. 

Somebody hear, what I’ve learned — listen: 

Your mistakes and your ills you repeat, 

Each day I try to tell you but it’s not enough. 

You smile at me empty eyes, 

My words pass through your ears, 

The wind blows loudly there.

What’s enough? 

Until I’ve drawn my last breath? 

Until I’m lying here still — dead, 

Knowing some journeys such as mine, 

Must be made alone and for naught. 

A solo expedition, my entire culture lost, 

Must I stay on the roads of antiquity? 

Can I grow with the changing world? 

Give me a reason to deviate: 

I must stop the mudslide from coming.

Spitting sludge from my lips, 

Lord, why don’t they hear? 

The roar of doom and pain approaching. 

It will wash them away, 

When I’m safe in the heavens. 

Does being old make me invisible? 

The crevices of my face are a map, 

And my eyes the lights to yesterday. 

Learn from the past, I pray. 

Where is the light? 

Where is the hope? 

I’m just an old bird, a simple sparrow, 

How do I become a Mockingjay? 

I saw her fight in the movies, 

We need a Mockingjay today, 

A bird of pray who acts, 

Not sleeping through each day. 

How do I bring hope, become a symbol? 

How do I teach my young, 

To mimic a wisdom long past. 

You won’t like what I have to say I know, 

But you would hear, a Mockingjay. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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Sunday Photo Fiction: Colour Theory


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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A Mixed Bag

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“Today we’re going to learn about secondary colours on the colour wheel,” Miss Michaels the art teacher said to the grade three class.

“For instance, if we mix the primary colours blue and yellow together, we get green.” 

Miss Michaels poured a little blue and yellow water from their respective wine glasses into an empty wine glass. The liquid in the new wine glass was green.

“Depending on how much blue or yellow I add, determines what colour of green I will get. If I add more blue, the green will be a blue-green such as a teal. If I add more yellow, we will get a more yellow-green such as grassy green.” Miss Michaels explained.

“Let’s try another secondary colour. Jennifer, what colour will I get if I mix red and yellow together equally?” 

“Um, you’d get orange,” Jennifer said.

“Correct Jennifer. If I add more yellow to the orange it will be and orange-yellow like flames of fire but if I add more red it will be an orange-red, like some of the lipsticks your Moms with warmer toned skin wear.” Miss Michaels said.

“Charlie, tell me what will happen if I mix red and blue together?” 

Charlie stammered, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Think about it a moment.” Miss Michaels was patient.

“Oh um, Purple?” 

“Yes Charlie you’re absolutely right. If we add more red to the purple it is more like a red-purple, a plum colour. If we add blue the purple is a blue-purple like. . .” 

Miss Michaels was interrupted by Charlie waving both his hands in the air.”Yes, Charlie?” 

“In the glasses, the water is slanting.” 

“How strange,” Miss Michaels remarked peering down at the wine glasses and then the table. “I think the table . ..” 

It an instant, the table crashed and wine glasses full of food colouring covered miss Michaels who sighed and then giggled.

“Remember what happens when we mix all the colours together?” She asked her grade three class.

“Mud,” they shouted.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.