Fiction, Free Verse, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

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.

——–

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.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Rictameter – 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2 – beg/end same, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Rictameter – “The Angel” #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry  


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——-

Credit: Louise – The Storyteller’s Abode

——–

Here’s she,

His sweet angel,

Wearing her frothy gown,

She’s beautiful, elegant,

A wife any man could love or desire.

She’s the epitome, the standard,

What women should be like,

Humming music,

Here’s she.

——–

Her hair,

Perfectly coiffed,

Mother of six children,

Few lines on her face, she holds up.

Although, life’s pressure can be confining,

Her lips smile a gesture rehearsed.

What’s underneath in her —

Boarding school mind,

Her hair?

——

Model,

She’d wants all to —

Perceive she’s the perfect wife.

Society expects her to —

Set perfect example because —

She’s upperclass, the lead in the charade.

Acting as the moral —

Center, she must

Model

——

Portrait,

Of the great dame,

Her family, pride, joy,

Madame’s smile is slipping because,

Performing all the time is exhausting.

She wonders if she might sit with —

Port to sip, not thinking,

Herself; not a —

Portrait

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: Practical Juliet


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.


SPFJuliette
Credit: A Mixed Bag

*****

O, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore —

Art thou Romeo?Why are you here?

I’m not interested in death for love, clear?

I’m a smart girl and you’re kind of boring.

You talk about love, I’m just passed fourteen.

I think that I’ll ‘live,’ a little more, dear —

Before I settle; I’ve no choice, you hear,

Dad will kill us both if you insist more.

*****

So leave me be, a young girl who is free

Keep your responsibility, see —

I’ll spend time with the girls and when —

I’m twenty, I’ll choose the richest guy known,

Who’s nice to me; there’ll be no bloodshed then.

Go play with your friends, be young, O Romeo.

*****


©Mandibelle16(2017). All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables, Writing, Writing Challenges

Collage Prompt: Poem – Tankas – “Not Perfect and Better For It” #amwriting #poetry #fiction 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt.

——-

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——-

Poor little Anne tried,

So hard to fit in; she can’t —

Conform to their look.

Sense of presence in her glance,

Terror; they don’t know freedom.

——-

Yet Anne tries and tries,

To be a cardboard box just —

Like all the others.

Left alone at recess eating,

Ripe oranges, she’s exotic fruit.

——

But they don’t invite —

Her to their parties, Anne cries,

She doesn’t see why,

She has to be so different,

A plant from foreign soil torn.

—-

Anne grows into her —

Self; she stops being afraid,

Sees her beauty is —

That she’s unique not like all,

Those other girls, loathing her.

——

In grade school there’s this —

Small boy painted in war paint,

His Dad went to war,

He didn’t return home, saddened —

Anne helps him; he remembers —

——

So years later they’re —

Attached — those girls all want him.

But his friend is his —

Love; she was with him,

All along; the handsome man,

Love’s different, not perfect Anne.

—–

Though she struggles hard,

Hoping for female friends, he says,

He loves imperfect her,

Because she doesn’t have to

Be ‘like them’; she can be good.

——

Then she starts meeting —

Others, women who become —

Her tribe, with her guy.

The gazes of jealousy —

Double, but Anne doesn’t care.

——-

Anne is as a bird,

A swallow singing sweetly.

She’s lively, vivid;

Her eyes shine bright; he loves his —

Anne, contently, completely.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Children/YA/Family, Etheree - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 syllable count, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Collage Prompt: Poem – Cascading Etheree – “The Inner Child” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt.

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie; Bottom Right – Jeremiah Morelli

———

You might think it peculiar to let kids,

Be small, to let them be silly, weird,

When most of their life is spent in,

‘Adulting,’ learning how to,

Be big, responsible,

I say as Auntie:

Let them be them,

Creative,

Full of,

Fun.

——

Let,

Them be,

Wild beings,

Think of stories,

Imaginative,

And implausible, but —

Believe them because you’re,

Playing along, taller tales,

Demonstrate creativity,

For kids, it keeps them young, growing older.

——

Think of tilting towers, Big Ben in blue –

Green prairie sky, a storm brought him here.

But he bends, tilts just because and,

Storm brought along a grand,

Gothic cathedral roof,

Pointed top I’m sure —

Missed somewhere; hot —

Air balloon,

Holds our,

Dreams.

—–

Where,

We live

With such rich,

Possibility.

Imagining,

Tall towers floating in,

Moon lit skies, princesses,

Saving themselves, jumping from,

Clouds, the moon indeed smiling so proud,

Girls and boys — escape from their own towers.

——

Locked fortresses floating, new challenge,

Escaping by flying pirate ships old,

Never turning back to the light,

Of a trapped home, wishing most,

To be little, secure,

Not worry about,

A dragon’s fire,

A port in,

Mid-air,

Light.

—–

Sought,

In night’s,

Binding grip,

All children search,

For understanding,

A hug and kiss when they’re lost,

Hurt, or at least a safe place works.

For home; mom’s gentle touch when,

Nightmares thrive; become to real, kids hide;

But parents are there, provide a haven.

——-

So encourage kids to harness their,

Creativity, to paint and draw,

To find their passions in life, so —

Maybe they can live them too.

Or find a haven in,

Their talents, their skills,

Urging away,

Stress; relief,

‘Cause life,

Hurts.

—–

So,

We teach,

Live your dreams,

Let them unwind

You; be as free as

Butterflies; don’t be tacked,

To a board on the wall kept.

Fly lovely, safe, remembering,

Humanity is indeed so —

Delicate at times; you’re not invincible.

—–

But in the power of the imagination,

You can always escape the threads,

Binding you to reality.

You can have liberty,

Smile, eat your cake too,

And hopefully,

Your partner,

The one who,

Loves you,

Most.

—–

Has,

Their own,

Inner child,

Understands and,

Knows, love is gentle,
Love is fiery, bold,

Love and creativity,

Both hold; let you be dauntless, free,

Full of life, security to —

Be held; be wild both as adult and child.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Crossing the Veil #amwriting #taleweavers #fiction


Thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s prompt: A tale which takes place beyond the veiled mist. 

——

Credit: Adventures In The Wild

——

Kyria had been warned since she was a small child, beyond the veil was dangerous. Her older siblings had told her monsters lived there, that there were witches waiting to eat a young child. 

What the adults said wasn’t much better. Her Grandma Iris said she’d lose her soul if she was caught in the veil beyond. She talked about shape shifters and immortal creatures of the dark such as vampires and werewolves.

One day hanging the laundry on the line at her grandmothers, Kyria gazed at the veil nearby. She hadn’t thought of it for a long time and she wasn’t sure why it called to her now. She’d never admit she could hear the whispers of the creatures which lived their. They were tempting her and she knew it.

 Did everyone in the village see the veil as she did? Kyria believed they had no idea where it physically was, that to them it was was only folklore for children and not a real thing; it was extremely real to Kyria and she knew for her grandmother as well. 

Kyria was twenty-four and long past the age of adulthood. Her parents lived together and her siblings with their families. She hadn’t found a suitable man to marry so her father decided she should move in with her ailing Grandmother and care for her. He thought she needed to be of use somewhere since she hadn’t married quickly as her sisters did. 

The more Kyria thought about the veil and the mist shrouding it, the more she thought about how she’d never put herself out there in life. She’d always done what she was told and when others failed she was the one who took their place, who filled in so everything went smoothly. 

It was how she made up for her so-called “selfishness,” still being single and not having children for her family and village. She wondered why she had never pushed her boundaries and was tired of being ruled by her father’s and her grandmother’s whims.

Kyria loved her Grandma Iris the most because she understood Kyria better than anyone. But her grandma still cautioned her to never cross the veil daily. But grandma was inside sleeping and Kyria heard the whispers from veil more and more these days. They were a sirens call to her. 

She ignored all she had been told by her grandma, her family, and her friends as a child. She decided today she would cross the shrouded veil into the other world. Dropping the laundry Kyria walked towards the veil and into the mist surrounding it. The veil shimmered as she came closer and sonorous voice could be heard singing on the other side. 

When she reached the line where the spiritual and natural worlds met Kyria stopped for a moment and stood. She smiled and with both hands raised in front of her she was able to feel the mystical energy she was about to pass through. 

She stepped into the shimmering fog and breathed deeply. Her long blond hair flew out behind her and it was the last thing her grandmother saw as she watched her granddaughter cross into the other world. 

Grandma Iris sighed in frustration but she knew as it had been with her, the veil had been too much of a temptation for Kyria. She knew that adventure and discovery awaited her sheltered granddaughter. As it had been with Iris, the veil and it’s magic was in Kyria’s blood. Grandma Iris was the only one besides Kyria who actually could see the veil, she had made herself guardian of the gateway and hoped Kyria would take over for her one day. 

But as the last of Kyria’s blond hair slipped through veil and disappeared, Iris couldn’t help being thrilled for her granddaughter. What awaited Kyria would shape and change her. It would motivate and hurt her, it would be an experience far beyond the scope anyone in the village would ever experience. 

Iris blew a kiss towards the veil and whispered a blessing for Kyria. The feelings of excitement in Iris were so intense it was as if it were fifty-years-ago and she herself was crossing the veil. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Quatern - four quatrains, line a repeats moving down each stanza line until it's the last line of the last Quatern, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

Poem – Quaterns – “You Are Not The Girl” #poetry #amwriting


Credit: Marcus Baccatti – http://www.pinterest.com

*****

You are not the girl I always knew,

The person I was most like, you flew –

No longer my number two,

You’re the girl I defended too. 

—–

At every step abandoned I grew, 

You are not the girl I always knew.

You say one thing, you’re actions show,

You’re not a dependable though.

——

I disattach so you won’t hurt,

Make the marks of neglect so curt.

You are not the girl I always knew,

I relied too much on you it’s true.

——

You’re not such a good person, though —

I put you on a pedestal, so –

I took care of you, and trusted you,

You are not the girl I always knew.

******

You are not the girl I always knew,

Life it changed, with it we both grew –

Forced apart at first by you, then thrown,

Hurt so much, but I’ve always known –

—–

I can’t completely trust you through –

You are not the girl I always knew.

So involved in yourself, stopped thinking,

Stopped caring, it made my soul shrink

——

To think of where life takes us, knowing —

One day you’ll leave, forever going.

You’re not the girl I always knew,

You just look like her, there are few –

—–

Who could ever replace this girl,

But she is stuck in her own world.

Changes, hoping friendship renews, 

You are not the girl I always knew.

*****

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Etheree - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 syllable count, Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, November Notes, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

November Notes: Poem -Day 13 – Etherees Cascading – “I Don’t Understand” #poetry #novembernotes #amwriting #writing #music


Today’s song prompt is called “Shell Suite” by Chad Valley.

——-

“Shell Suite” – Chad Valley

——-

http://www.pinterest.com

——

Signs written on the walls, handwriting no —

One reads such a language anymore.

But you saw the signs, the moment —

Words in my head untangled. 

I don’t understood us, 

Myself, in this mess. 

My feelings confused, 

Time was short. 

Now we’re —

Gone. 

—–

Signs, 

Are so, 

Clear to you, 

I don’t need some —

Gifted seers dream.

Echoes in my head rhyme, 

Tapping my foot along in —

Rapid time, and I wonder where —

My search will begin, if I find us? 

Quarter past, rustle up — we fit or we don’t. 

——

Somehow I’m the one in control, I choose, 

I decide; I want to just go with —

The flow, not worry, not decide;

But at least I have my say. 

Yet life works out your way. 

Grand design heart beats, 

Perplexed by these —

Sounds, friends, foes, 

Yourself, 

Dazed. 

—-

It, 

Mattered, 

Not, writing —

So vivid and —

So crystal clear I, 

Felt resilience in, 

My chest; down to the beach, 

Our getaway, but rhythms ting. 

They keep echoing, it’s exhausting, 

Figuring out your charms, while packing for the sun. 

—-

You’re packing; feel the heart attack we live, 

A life I want not, I’m looking for the shore. 

For a place to get of off the flooding —

Boat before it carries me down. 

Where are you, where’d you go? 

Writings on the wall, 

Said it all well, 

They’re erased. 

You’re gone, 

Fled. 
——

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Pushing Daisies” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

——

A Mixed Bag

——-

Little Lana, stood with her Mommy saw —

Flowers thought, “daisies,” over grave grew tall.

Thought Dad was here, never saw him at all.

Mom had tearful eyes, emotion made her raw.

Why’s Daddy pushing Daisies, where’s my pa?”

Lana asks fragile Mom; had heard phone call —

Nana said Dad’s, pushing daisies, new calling.

Mom cries at question, by the grave she bawls.

——

Pushing daisies, what did that mean? Girl knew —

Not the phrase, but thought it’s Daddy’s new job. 

Papa came, Lana asks, “Why Dad now grew —

Daisies? Wasn’t doing business his job?”

Tears trailed down Papa’s eye, his nose he blew:

“It means your Dad is dead, to heaven flew.”

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.


My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Quatrain -- abab abba ccdc dddd., Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Quatrain – ” Not Empty; Complete”


Quatrain Pattern: abab abba ccdc dddd

—– 

wwwimgur.com
 

——

Some nights I’m always broken.

I try to pick-up the pieces,

Motions occur unspoken. 

I only shatter more, unceaseless.

—– 

Finding the words, then I spoke. 

Asleep nightmares gave no peace,

My puzzle has no fitting piece

Regretfully, I’m feeling choked.

—–

Water rising to my aching throat,

Sipping the liquid as I float,

The more I drink, I may not —

Drown; perhaps, I’ll find a life boat.

—–

Questions I ask, answers I know not,

Seeking the knowledge, mind don’t rot.

Functioning dot to dot,

Puzzled girl, completeness she sought. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.