#NaPoWriMo Day 10: Poem – Free Verse “Despite” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 10 I’m writing a poem not based on that days prompt.


Credit: Pinterest.com

Wake me in vermilion and peach,

The sunset explodes, but I’ll sleep through, gaze as it blends with cerulean sky.

The beauty of a light –I’m awake and have the energy of a thousand years in hours.

Wake me up, when my bones aren’t stiff and my mind not muddled.

For healing, offer carmine apples, lush lemons sour;

Hot pink tulips leaning towards sunshine, the omniscient glimmer.

A liberty in nature’s art, space to breath and become;

God, don’t let me drown,

Or tumble; don’t let my mind muddle, my body betray.

Never return to those darkest hours, the hurt of anger, such rage;

The storm that swallowed me; yet, created me as ‘me’ today — whoever I’m becoming,

As I tread, swim through cement waves and air seethes into my lungs when I surface.

Aid me as I discover, my rhythm in life, melodic movement to overcome the dim.

Let me meander verdant forests, trails of enlightenment, peace to wander and laugh,

Picnics, wine, and beaches in the sun, with my friends and loved ones.

Leave me in tranquility to amble amongst wild fuchsia flowers,

Let life not be rigid, placed in rows upon rows of suffering.

As the wild flowers bloom in every direction, soothe my soul every way it leans.

For I fear that it will never grow upright, gain the suppleness of a giant oak;

Perhaps, I’m flimsy, but you renew my strength.

And whichever way I’m swept, let the daylight warm my petals; my flexible stem let it bend.

Though white skins burns, let your healing burn brighter, as sleep soothes all wounds;

Let not little strokes, those choking quakes, break me from my journey.

So, I’ll keep pushing, the blue bird unafraid to try to dive;

My stomach aches and falls to the ground, the shadows swim closer, yank me under the waves.

Yet, in your hands I’m safe, there’s no harm, my wingspan lengthens,

I may limp, but that’s never meant I cannot fly, achieve possibilities despite misery’s woes.

Despite — I’ll always take flight despite.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry


Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.


Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash


I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 7/Photo Challenge: Poem – Bop – “Sanguine Souls” #amwriting #photochallenge #poetry #MLMM


For NaPoWriMo Day 7 the Prompt is: writing out a list of all of your different layers of identity. These are all ways you could be described or lenses you could be viewed through. Now divide all of those things into lists of what makes you feel powerful and what makes you feel vulnerable. Now write a poem in which one of the identities from the first list contends or talks with an identity from the second list. Combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie photoChallenge.


Credit: Vincent Bourhilon


Woman child in graceful state flounders through,

Exhausted with curves of words, ink’s flow construed.

A sweet child, and a scarred adult struggling,

Methodical but scattered, spilling tears troubled.

Poet writer, editing with distaste,

In the Sky muses flow, balloons marking pace.

Creative idealist, survivor with wings,

Intrepid dreamer, with art that thrills, sings.

Facade masks, trembling limbs — nothing left,

Free-spirit, heart-thinker, world spins bereft.

Inexperienced, too much experience,

Judgement quick, while thick walls erected fence.

A fatigue that’s indescribable; it wanes —

A day, then spontaneity — pink blooms raise.

Sheets entrap, day comforts in blissful bed,

Tomorrow I’ll flex limbs, do yogi bends.

Serenity centres, pain released,

Rising — the artist designer concedes;

Inspired empathy, words can’t define,

Freedom in art from pain; sanguine souls climb.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Olaf’s Thoughts #amwriting #3LineTales #flashfiction


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Jacco Rienks via Unsplash


Olaf lifts his head as the droplets wet his snout and soak into his umber hair. He snorts searching for that sharp scent; a mildewy-humid aroma that hangs in the air ensuring tomorrow will be sweltering. Olaf moos as above him the brilliant azure turns a threatening purple-black onyx; then, it arrives, not droplets but sheets of intense downpour that soak through his coat, massaging his soar muscles. He flicks out his tongue, lapping up the rain that is life to him such as the sweet verdant grass that nourishes his body, providing both serenity and security of life.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction/Taleweaver:  The Down Pour #flashfiction #taleweaver #amwriting 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver #137 on the theme of opening and what that word could mean. Also, thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction September 10, 2017. 

———

Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

———

Min peered at the downpour outside her front window. The rain added to the river’s violent movements beneath her house. 

When she and her son, Sam had moved here, Min hadn’t thought the river below them was dangerous. She’d believed the quiet river had brought her serenity. It’s gentle babble once opened Min’s mind to dreaming. 

However, later that night the river water was at the bottom of Min’s house. She groaned when water began trickling in over the wood floor and carpets. 

“We have to leave now,” Min told Sam, “The water keeps climbing and if we leave it too long we’ll be trapped on the roof.” 

Sam tried his mom’s cellphone. “The cell towers are down so we can’t even call for help. We shouldn’t have stayed, Mom. We should’ve left days ago.” 

Min rubbed Sam’s shoulder before they both grabbed their pre-packed bags rushing out the front door. They had no choice but to wade through water that was hip deep. They sloshed down the bridge/walkway created between all the house’s built above the river. 

When Min and Sam had reached higher ground away from their neighborhood, they sighed collapsing on cots in a school where some of the city’s refugees had began gathering. The river water had been up to Min and Sam’s neck before they had been able to climb uphill, away from the bridge. 

Thank God they had taken the opportunity to leave when they did. Having a moment to spare Min stepped outside and prayed her thanks beneath the open sky and endless rain. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Music Prompt #10: Poem – Quadrille – “Memories of Red” #poetry #dVerse #musicchallenge #TaylorSwift


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for the music prompt challenged based on Taylor Swift’s songRed” from her album Red. I’m combining this with Born of Poet’s Pub #dVerse Quadrille poem on bliss. 

——-

Sam Burris Red Love
Credit: Sam Burris via Unsplash

——

“Red” by Taylor Swift

——

Souls fused, 

Luminous Rouge. 

Nos coeurs, 

Gleam as one. 

Connection pulsing. 

Palms grasped tight. 

Bliss, serenity, 

Passion never replete. 

Forever yearning, 

Skin caressed. 

Conversations ’till dawn. 

Before sultry bodies meld. 

Passionate sins, 

Red cinders. 
Cold words, 
Haunting gray, 

Your stone heart, 

Sculpted of ice.

 Yet Red love, 

Throbs in —

Stomach’s hollowness, 

Hearts stabbing. 

Memories,

Blood Red. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Writing Prompt: Poem – Quadrille – “Sound of Memory” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to Oriol of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this writing prompt from June 4, 2017. The words: Glass, Darth Vader, napkin, cellphone, lighter, book, anger, trouble, and mind, need to be used in this writing piece. 

——–

Credit: Tom Pumford via UnSplash

——-

Shattered glass urn, 

Anger when my,

Blood flows. 

Troubles compound,

Glass splinters, ashes; 

The lighter

Sets fire to your coffin. 

Memories profound, 

Death Vador sounds, 

Cellphone number remains, 

Your forever voice, 

Last message, 

Words memorized. 

My mind finds serenity, 

In your gifted books. 

Handwritten notes, 

Nostalgia. 

Until we meet again. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weaver: Poetry – Bop – ” The Forest Sweet” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weaver Prompt based on forest creatures, a couple weeks back. 

——-

Credit: Google Images, Reusable

———

Fly with me to the forest enchanted, 

Where all magic life is fair transplanted. 

Lacking peace in cities it’s ungranted, 

Fly to the faeries for those sweet romantics. 

Into the gleaming marsh of enchantment, 

Forget  pain with tranquility granted. 

Come fly with me, to the magic forest. 

You may not believe me, you may not care, 

Let me lead, you’ll never be disparaged

Blue birds tweet-talk, sweet advice they share, 

Deer bow low, demand fur be stroked right there.

Behind their ears, on their bellies so bared. 

Nymphs stunning, gorgeous come out they’re aware, 

You’ve paid a visit, they chatter, wine shared, 

Ambrosia sweets flow, your body’s repaired

Come fly with me, to the magic forest. 

Visit anytime, day or night, be pleased, 

Someone’s awake with wine or cold tea. 

Faeries they greet with moonshine and they tease

You’ll never admit, this place is your peace, 

The magic in your heart, is to believe. 

Come fly with me, to the magic forest. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Free Verse – “The a Hobbit Hole” #poetry #flashfiction #dVerse #amwriting 


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF. Also thanks to Paul of Poet’s Pub for hosting a #dVerse poem in the form of a blessings poem. 

——-

Credit: Erick Wicklund

——

There are days,

I cannot think, I’m trapped, 

Cornered as a sleek red fox, 

The Predator’s main course. 

Searching for my escape, 

Running through the woods. 

Tripping on my, 

Shaking aching legs. 

Adrenaline quicksilver, 

Sliding through my veins. 

Lungs gasping;

A haunted, hunted child. 

By chance, by divinity, 

A blessing found, 

My ‘hobbits hole.’ 

My home sweet home;

A hiding place, 

To wait out enemies, 

Gnashing, clashing, 

With pointed teeth. 

Vicious men of ill repute, 

Fortune or fate despise. 

A crook in a fallen tree; 

A hole to spy for danger, 

As I veil myself beneath, 

Thick leaved branches, 

Cut from surrounding trees, 

Snuggled in my hobbits hole, 

Wishing Lord God, 

Bless me in my tiny hiding place. 

Leave me unconfronted, 

Unfound, an illusion —

Of invisibility to threats.

Basking in your security, 

Graciously provided, 

Let this not be the end. 

And I could’ve been wrong, 

I could’ve lost hope, 

I could’ve been dinner;

Torn apart by savage beasts. 

But serenity entered, 

On angel’s transparent wings, 

Calmed my heart, quickening. 

While the peace that —

Passes all understanding; 

Surrounded and enfolded me. 

When the dread made, 

 My skin crawl. 

When I bit my lip drawing blood, 

Sharp teeth approaching, 

A beast breathing  heavily, 

A brutal carnivore. 

Wickedness sure to devour; 

But he found me not, 

I was blessed, I was safe. 

Invisible to the lion, 

Remaining in my hobbit hole, 

Fortitudes fortress, 

My hiding place. 

And when all was safe, 

 Morn’s light illuminated. 

The dread of frights, 

Of the forest night, 

The predators that maim, 

And kill, disappeared into, 

The earth’s bowels. 

I prayed, gave thanks, 

And into sunlight I fled, 

The prey who survived. 

So blessed with life, 

Living to fight another night, 

Another beast, 

Serenity my companion, 

My relief. 

——–

©Mandobelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Killing A Snake #amwriting #flashfiction #fiction


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

—–

Credit: Grant Sud

——

Leonard was absorbed by the red hues of the wide Arizona desert. It was hot outside in the late spring, the cascading layers of rock enthralling and the green shrubs and cacti complementing the red cliffs. Here Leonard could be alone with his thoughts, far from the problems of his life. 

No one was chasing him in the desert. No one was telling him he wasn’t allowed to set fire to buildings. No one was insisting Leonard couldn’t punch a guy in the face and start fighting because Leonard didn’t like how the guy was looking at him, or that the guy had a hot girlfriend which Leonard did not. In the desert, no one knew how much money he’d stashed away in offshore accounts from the company where he’d been an accountant with a falsified identity, these past two-years.

Out here in the desert, there was serenity and quiet. Leonard would in an hour, catch a private plane and reclaim his offshore funds. But he wasn’t counting on the rattle snake who bit his leg when he stood up and stepped on the snake accidentally.

The snake’s poisonus venom made Leonard numb in minutes. Quickly he was fading into obscurity and death; the bright red Arizona desert claiming him for all his wrongs. How curious a snake would kill a snake

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.