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: Gram’s House


” Look what I found?” Tia cried, from her Grandmother Ida’s attic.

“What? I can’t believe people use to ride bikes like this, talk about instability” Shauna replied.”What are you doing up in Grandma and Grandpa’s old attic anyways?”

” I was just look in’ around” said Tia, “I love to see Grams but she’s ninety-three and starts to repeat herself after a couple hours. Glad you came with me this time, where is Grams anyways?”

” Taking a nap in her room,” Shauna replied, “She’s doing really well for her age. I think that bike has got to be older then Grams, it must have belonged to her Grandparents or something.”

“It seems pretty sturdy, the pedals still turn, and nothing is rusty. I think we should take it down to the front of the house and ride it. I don’t think Gram’s would mind.”

” Okay,” Shauna said and both sisters managed to maneuver the bike downstairs to the front drive. Shauna helped Tia up on the bike and held a hand to her sister’s back. 

Suddenly, there was a buzzing sound and a flash of light. Both sisters blinked in wonder to see their Grandmother’s house not in it’s dilapidated state but painted white with blue trim.They examined their clothes, shocked to find themselves in 1930’s dresses. A woman came out of the house and put her hands on her hips. 

” Who might you be? ” cried the young woman, “I’m Ida Sinclair and what are you doing with my Great Uncle’s bike.” Shauna and Tia were flabbergasted.  Somehow they’d gone back in time to when their Grams was a young woman. 

” Well” Tia replied, “that’s hard to explain, but we’re relatives who have come for a visit. . .”

“You talk strange,” said Ida, ” But I guess you can come in for tea, and tell me all about yourselves. I do seem to remember you two from somewhere.” Tia and Shauna carefully, put the bike in the front yard and went to join their young Gram for tea.

” We’re going to need that bike to get back later,” Shauna said. 

“No, I don’t think we’re going back Shauna,” Tia shrieked, as the bike disappeared before their eyes.

  
Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting!