Music Prompt #6: Poem – Free Verse – “Not My Defeat” #amwriting #musiccprompt #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Friday Music Prompt. This week’s song is “The Cave” by Mumford & Sons. 

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Credit: Rosemary Valadon

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“The Cave” – Mumford & Sons

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Your broken walk, your deceptive talk, 

You meat-eater, man-eater,

Frigid walls of your heart echo without beat. 

Cowardly harlot of bitter teeth,

Take all your bites, 

Leave the bones picked clean.

Starving the peasants,

In your shallow retreat. 

Malice, miscalculations, 

Your sins they visit your neighbours. 

The harvest is barren,

No fruit bursts eaten. 

Devouring the land,

You think no one knows,

But I know your shame is complete. 

And for some odd reason,

I pity the weak.

I pity your barren soul attacking, 

Then, retreating.

I’ll not be the swimmer,

Drowned by your weighted pulls, 

Clawing acrylic fingers. 

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So I will hold on to hope, 

No noose will scrap your delicate throat. 

I’ll find strength in pain, 

I will change my ways. 

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat. 

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My faults, my fears,

Pummeling my face.

But I am numb, 

I weather the war. 

The suffering you’ve caused, 

Tears droplets from heaven. 

You are not forgiven,

You cannot make me deaf, 

I see all your faults and all your fears,

You cannot mask wretchedness, 

Not change until it’s admitted. 

——-

So I will hold on hope, 

No noose will scrape your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways.

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat. 

——

I’ll invade the darkest cave,

Find your hiding place. 

There’s no safety in your chambers, 

Come out walking on your hands.

Do you comprehend,

The nature of dependence

When you see the Creator’s plans

The makers hands? 

So much mightier than your, 

Waifish fingers wringing. 

Crawl and then arise,

I’ll ignore your Siren’s call,

Your voice a hollow sound,

Wounds my ears. 

Aches my heart, 

Heart of diamond rock.

Freedom’s a melody that calls to me,

A treble cliff in the sky, 

Floating music notes that speak of remorse. 

Your siren’s lure,

Has been escaped. 

The magician knows, 

Reality’s illusions. 

——

So I will hold on hope,

No noose will scrape your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways. 

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Funkey Monkey in The Funky Munky #amwriting #flashfiction #magic


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. 

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TJ. Paris

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The Funky Munky was a magic shop owned by Velma. She lived in the first apartment, above her shop. 

Curtis walked into Velma’s shop one night, he was hallucinating and ill. “Please help me,” he begged, “I think I’ve been poisoned and I’m going to die.”

Velma felt his forehead: “You’ve come to the right place. You’ve been poisoned and I can help you for a favour in return.” 

“Anything.” 

Velma began to add liquids to a glass. She handed the ‘potion’ to Curtis who downed it and passed-out; he awoke the next morning on a couch.

“Do you feel better?” Velma asked him.

“Yeah, I feel fantastic. What did you give me?” Curtis said.

“A Funky Monkey,” Vera said smiling.”It contained Banana Liquor, White Rum, Malibu Rum, Pineapple Juice, and magic dust.” 

 “It was a drink, not a potion?” 

” You were poisoned Curtis. The drink was magical and removed the poison from your body, hydrated you, and made you sleep deeply.” Velma said.

“It’s my favourite alcoholic drink, Curtis. I became ill because I drank too many of them once. Your favour to me was taking away my repulsion for my favourite drink. However, a Funky Monkey will now make you ill if you even smell one.” 

Curtis had no words but Velma had pity on him and snapping her fingers, sent him home to his own bed where he would remember nothing. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: Winged Nike


In the silence of the graveyard where Nadia stood, most people would see a statue of an angel, chaste, with arms crossed. But remembering the Art History of sculpture, Nadia could see a goddess. She could picture the statue she was thinking about now. She saw one of the greatest Hellenistic statues carved by the ancient Greeks: The Winged Nike of Somothrace.

Nadia had seen the Nike at the Louvre in Paris. She could imagine the arms (no longer existing) one flung out, the other at the Nike’s mouth, shouting for victory. The Nike had been a part of the Somothrace Temple and had stood on a pedastal, the prow of a ship. She commemerated a great navel battle. The Nike captured both wild momentum and absolute stillness.

Nadia looked with pity on the angel presently. It had no movement or flare. She caused Nadia to feel only heavy misery. Perhaps, the difference was that beneath the angel lay no victory, only a small grave. But if Nadia pictured her daughter, she would rather see the winged goddess Nike and her victory song, then the angel who showed chasteness, covering the grave of a baby who never even cried. 

Word Count: 205 words (sorry!)

 

  

“Winged Nike of Somothrace,” http://www.en.m.wikipedia.org

Thanks to Priceless Joy who is our host for FFfAW.