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: A Terrible Beauty


On an acre of land behind my Grandparents acreage and Church, was a decrepit house. My Grandpa swore it was deserted.
One day when my Grandparents were both napping inside, I crept towards the decrepit house behind our land. 

I tiptoed slowly to the door of the ramshackle house and the door creaked loudly as I opened it. I saw a fireplace burning and in the corner a dirty bed with worn blankets. I noticed off to the side an ancient brass stove. It was hot when I touched it burning my finger. 

Suddenly, I bumped into a filthy old woman with pale eyes. She smiled at me with menace.” Just what I needed” she said, “God has granted me new life, he has given me you. I needed the heart of a young girl so I could be young again.”

I began to cry and back away but the old woman, a witch, was behind me fast.  I felt myself falling into a deep sleep. But I could see what was happening to my body. The witch reached in my chest and pulled out my glimmering heart and pressed it into her own chest. 

Instantly, I could see she was both terrible and magnificently gorgeose. She kissed my face, “Dear one,” she murmured and my body disappeared into thin air. She had a cursed beauty.

I awoke suddenly. I was in a tranquil place. My Great Grandmother, Molly, was brushing my hair.” She’ll kill again,” I murmered. Molly looked at me and grabbed my chubby cheeks in her hand.

 “Anna, she will receive her punishment in the end. Remember she is darkness, and light always drives out the darkness.”

Alistair Forbes
 
Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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“…though truth and falsehood be / [n]ear twins, yet truth a little elder is… (72-73)” – “Satire 3” John Donne.

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©Mandibelle. All Rights Reserved.