Animals/Pets, Books, Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Rictameter – 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2 – beg/end same, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.


Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Flash Fiction: Shadowless


Peter Pan taught me that it is vital to keep your shadow close; it can be an easy enough part of yourself to lose. Sometimes, I think I would rather not have a shadow but then I consider, that would be like a vampire looking into a mirror and not having a reflection because they’re a vampire. Without a shadow or a reflection, you would be something inhuman.

That’s why I’ve never understood how I remain human but my shadow went missing one night. People don’t notice, but I do. It doesn’t matter the source of light, rays of the sun or a glow from the light bulb, but I have no shadow;  it left me in my sleep.

I had this nightmare I don’t remember. I was sweating and I woke up screaming and I’ve never done that before. I’m sure it was the Sandman, or maybe the song,”Enter Sandman” by Metallica had me uptight.

But in the night, ” [I] sleep with one eye open, holding [my] pillow tight,” so when the Sandman comes in my dreams, I can steal back my shadow and sew it to my body as Peter Pan did.

I’m not sure how that will work yet, but I’m tired of being a freak without a shadow. You think I would have superpowers at least, but losing your shadow doesn’t work that way. Dogs don’t like you anymore, cats hiss, animals at the zoo all go wild when you pass by.

It appears I’m some unholy being, and I don’t even know what I am.

——

Shadow
Alistair Forbes
—–

Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF each Sunday.

—–

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Sky Haven 


http://www.pixebay.com

When each night a passage of poetry can be written, you stand in the darkness and for a second or two listen.

There are many ways to say what you want. You are waiting for the correct words to form, to blossom as buds do and give birth to splendour.

A whimsical ethereal story, of the magic that cannot be understood by all. The painfully slow process of making words live.

Try as I might, I can’t sleep right now. I came home so worn; but I think I’ve repaired to listen to the dishwasher hum.

And to hear the flame that burns eternal at the plants in the distance; the sound the outside makes, when wind wallops window pane.

If that doesn’t lull you to sleep, the cars racing by will; and the tiny ones stuck in their cribs will not sleep and they can relate.

What it is to be wide awake and not know how to say: I need to be entertained now; you in your own house know how to make time shift.

You know what moments are like as you fall to the dreams; the sandman comes whisking you into a nightmare, behold.

And the moon in the sky, an orb of glass above, paints the starry sky in pinks, greens, yellow, orange, and blue. Light fills the abyss of the night.

Standing below a painting gifted by nature, you stare and you wonder. What words will satisfy to describe a blend of paint on the largest canvas. Can my words do justice to a haven in the sky?

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Writing

Poem: Hiding In Sleep


The narrow escape at the end of the day,

The time we call sleep and survive on dreamscapes, 

I sometimes cannot wait to fall into this bliss.

But now I’m awake in the deep of the night,

And I cannot but feel the realiness of being wide eyed and sleepy,

But then I find beauty, when I finally find peace,

And wake to a day that I will complete 

With the veil of slumber tucked under my eyes.

And then I will see if the next night drifts by in the blink of a moment,

Maybe, this night will bring a surprise,

When terrors are lost in the sandman’s hand,

And sleeping is floating on clouds way up high.

And the moment I wake up and find that one day,

Sleep has left me replete and how thankful I’ll feel.

That I can go about my day with no worry,

And do all the things that I need to do,

And have all my wishes and prayers come to fruition.

I’ll be so happy, I’ll be so alive, until I go to sleep and find,

I’ve been living my days in my head while I dreamt,

And tomorrow’s activity is more of the same,

An absolute train wreck that no one can hear.