Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Jolly Sailor Boys” #amwriting #movies #mermaids #poetry


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Photo Challenge. 

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Credit: Natalie Fedajeva

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I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea.

My sisters cried and sang for me;

But no siren’s song, 

Could sway those ‘Jolly Sailor Boys.’ 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea. 

Said I had to walk and run, 

But my legs were far too weak.

I stumbled, I fell,

These legs are pure Hell;

Some incantations, my tail was gone.  

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea. 

My tears required for eternal life, 

They fell in floods and showers, 

I drowned them in my tears. 

Gaia’s answer from the sky, 

Her thoughts of ‘Jolly Sailor Boys.’ 

My teeth tainted razors, 

Ripping throats for dread,

Of what a Captain would do to me, 

A creature pure, unperverted, 

Mermaid tears were dredged. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea.

A siren’s ancient rage awoke, 

Became my new morality.  

And though I long for waves, 

My sisters who live below;  

I cannot even swim in the corner, 

The ocean’s rejected me.  

It seems to me, my tears did mix,  

In some fountain of ancient yore;

My only place to freely swim, 

So I swam all the more. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea, 

Now I bathe in this youthful fountain, 

No immortality I wanted;

Only my home in open seas. 

I wasn’t given a choice, 

Only vast eternity. 

Forever I was altered, 

And one by one they drank; 

Those ‘Jolly Sailor Boys’ dead fell, 

Into the sea, their bodies compelled. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from the sea

Brought me to gates of immortality,  

Trapped in a glass crate. 

And when some old spells, 

Had me walking regularly; 
I hummed my mother’s tune, 

Singing for the lost men, 

No more ‘Jolly Sailor Boys;’ 

For Gaia turned on them. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea

Though, I’m now no mermaid, 

I sing the same old tune, 

I’ll sing it long, in a siren’s song, 

Luring ‘Jolly Sailor Boys,’ 

That tore me from my sea; 

Because when I was once a mermaid, 

Those ‘Jolly Sailor Boys’ stole me. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Tale Weavers: Fiction –  “When Mom Was Taken” #amwriting #fiction #travel #taleweaver 


Thank to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this #Taleweavers photo challenge.The theme is lost in a foreign land. 

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Credit: Mara Eastern – Used with Permission.

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“Madam, you and your children need to come with me,” a police officer stated. He was from the police nationale. 

Mom gazed up at him and asked: “Why, what have we done? We’ve only been sightseeing here on vacation. We have our passports and travel Visas.” 

“If you come with me, right now, this will be much easier,” the officer said. I shivered at his cold impersonal accented tone.

My Mom attempted to speak but the officer squeezed her arm tightly and picking her up, deposited her in the back if his police car. 

My sisters and I peered up at the officer scared spitless. “We didn’t do anything,” I said. “I’m twelve and my two sisters are ten-years old twins. We aren’t bad kids.” 

The officer nodded at me. I could hear my Mom crying and banging her hands against the window in the police car. My sisters Paige and Monique were crying silently. 

 “What’s your name Cher?” The officer asked me. His French accent was thick when he spoke English. 

“I’m Brianne, what did my Mom do?” The officer didn’t say anything, but he nodded to one of his fellow officers.

“We need to talk to your Mom about some things for a while. This is officer Carson, he’s going to take you back to your hotel. You girls can watch movies and swim in the pool. Don’t leave and always ask Carson when you want to do something. He’ll take you for repas du soir later on,” the officer said. He smiled at me and I could tell his smile was forced. 

“But our Mom . . .” Paige and Monique whined. It was no use. Officer Carson herded us into his vehicle and drove us back to the hotel we were staying with our Mom.

We played in the pool, pretending we enjoyed it. We watched three movies on pay-per-view and then some cartoons on TV. We played on our Mom’s tablet, emailing our Uncle Reese and asking what we should do. The message always came back to Mom’s email, saying the email address was wrong, but we knew better.

At 4:00 pm Officer Carson came back from the gift shop with chips, popcorn, pop, and chocolate bars. Paige and Monique were happy to eat what they could; mom didn’t let us have much junk food, even on vacation. I had a square of delicious Belgian chocolate and almost threw-up. 

Later around 8:00 pm, Carson told us to put on nice clothes for dinner. We dined at a trendy restaurant and the food was magnifique. By this time the smell of the delicious food in the restaurant and my hunger had surpassed the twisted and nauseous feeling in my stomach. 

“My Mom, what if she can’t afford all this?” I asked Carson referring to all we’d done so far. Our family had scrounged and saved to travel to a few countries in Europe this year. Mom thought it was vital for us to have the experience traveling to see history, and other cultures. 

Officer Carson appeared thoughtful. “It’s okay Brianne. Ne tu inquites pas. We’ll take care of things until your Mom returns. I nodded. I didn’t know what else to say. 

That night we went to bed sleeping fitfully. The next morning Carson awoke us and told us we would be sightseeing today. He told us about various places we could visit and let us choose a couple of them to see. We went to the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. We didn’t have to wait in line at all; we immediately were able to see what we wanted first. 

The four of us continued site seeing for the next week, never seeing our Mom. We always went out to dinner at a different restaurant each night to dine. Carson enjoyed eating well. 

One day, Carson even took us to H&M and some clothing stores for girls our age and let us each have one-hundred-and-fifty Euros to shop. We didn’t question Carson on this, even though it was a lot of money to us. We decided to spend eighty Euros and save the rest of the money for emergency. 

Caron seemed to know, “Vous etes des files intelligences pour economiser de l’argent. Bon les files.” He smiled at us, a rare occurence. We understood a bit of French from school and found ourselves picking it more with Carson. He brought us back to the hotel to spend the rest of the day watching movies and swimming. 

Three-weeks later our Mom returned. We cried when we saw her. I thought I’d never see her again and I gathered Paige and Monique thought the same. 

Mom appeared awful, unkept, and waif thin. She immediately went to bed, waking up in the middle of the night to shower. A wardrobe of various designer clothes and shoes was later delivered to her that week and Carson handed her a cheque for a large amount of money. My Mom’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. 

“For all your troubles Madam,” Carson told her and disappeared; we never saw him again. 

After Mom recovered for a couple of weeks, she decided we should continue to travel. A Doctor which had come to see her every two-days declared her fit and well. 

“Now that we have the money, we can travel throughout Europe and see many countries, not only three,” Mom told us. She smiled almost like her old-self and arranged for us to go everywhere we  wanted and stay in nice hotels. 

Later I thought back to this and realized Mom was running from the demons chasing her inside, from her nightmares, and her flashbacks. 

On a beach in Grenada, Spain, Mom finally said: “Girls I suppose it’s time we go home, you’ve missed a month of school already.” 

We didn’t want to leave. We were worried about or Mom. She hadn’t been the same person since the police first took her away. 

I’d given her space and only asked once or twice what happened to her. She ignored me. She wouldn’t talk to Paige or Monique either.

” I can’t tell you. That’s why we’ve so much money now Brianne,” she finally said to me.

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Years later, I’m thirty-six and visiting my Mom. She is paging through a scrapbook of our European vacation. 

“You never said,” I began,”You never told me or anyone what happened to you in France. I know the memories give you nightmares still. What did the French police do to you Mom?” 

To my surprise she answered me. “Your Dad, you never knew him. I divorced him when you were only three-years-old and the twins one-years-old. He was a bad person, involved in things even in Europe which were awful and illegal.” A tear slipped out my Mom’s eye.

“When we came through France, they thought I was there to see your Dad. They promised they wouldn’t hurt my daughters but treat them well, if I told them everything I knew about your Dad. I told them I hadn’t seen him in almost ten-years that he was a terrible low-life, wanted across the North America.” 

“They wanted more. The police thought I had to be in contact with him. They were sure I was here to see him. For a week they tortured me, wouldn’t let me sleep, and other worse things. Eventually, they believed me and promised to let me go if I helped catch your Dad and draw him out from hiding so they could arrest him. Their plan worked, your Dad’s locked up forever,” my Mom said. 

“Mom, how could you not say anything all these years? How did you manage to travel around Europe after being . . .” 

She cut me off. “Money Brianne. Millions and millions in US funds. Enough to send my three daughters to the best universities and give you everything I couldn’t before. Enough money to wipe out the misery of that time in my life.” 

“Did it work? I asked my Mom.

She sighed tears forming, “It’s money Brianne. It makes things better and hides the truth. But in the end, the truth of what I went through is always there behind my eyes when I close them. I’m thankful Carson took care of you Brianne and Paige and Monique. He treated you well as the police promised he would. Above all, I was grateful and am grateful for that.” 

Mom closed her eyes and the tears continued to streak down her cheeks. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – ” Thoughts Spinning Before Thursday Night’s Sleep” #amwriting #poetry



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Spinning rhymes it’s my design.

I don’t why I am inclined.
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I’m elated to write and tell my stories,

Truth and falsehood, real and imagined glories. 

But tonight I think, I’m drained; editing all day.

Functioning through each line in my own way,

Build a dream, imagine a story which could be told,

Hope I don’t have to show my hand and fold.

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Spinning rhymes, it’s my design, 

I don’t know why I’m inclined.

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So much to research and to discover, 

Learning a never ending process and a dangerous lover.

Once you’ve tasted knowledge, it’s hard to forget the flavour;

Addictive, sweet chocolate, dark and soft inside, dissolving in my mouth; I savour. 

Cannot forget the price of knowledge, it needs to be applied. 

What good is knowing if we never use and try.

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Spinning rhymes, it’s my design, 

I don’t know why I’m inclined.
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Knowledge becomes experience and while we’re alive,

There’s need to know, about the paths which lead us to thrive.

They’re places which ensnarl our lives and never let go,

A wise person learns, to not tumble down, into a black hole.

The complexity of knowledge so vast, 

Keep stumbling through life; it goes by fast.

———

Spinning rhymes, it’s my design, 

I don’t know why I’m inclined.
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Help others whenever, wherever;

Let the words flow, and never let goodwill sever.

I’m alive and I’m well;

Though the summer heat already swells.

Not built for hot weather; ancestors from climates snowy.

But, I’m not a fan of bitter cold either you know.

——

Spinning rhymes, it’s my design, 

I don’t know why I’m inclined.
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Autumns the time with fresh air and red leaves floating;

But in summer sometime, I’d like to try house boating.

Down the river flowing, all the showers I want;

Soaking in the sun, a life less daunting.

Realizing in my bathing suit, I was skinny when I thought I was fat,

And I miss being as fat as I was in my younger years past.

——–

Spinning rhymes, it’s my design, 

I don’t know why I’m inclined.

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When I was in my early-twenties, we drank and ate all we pleased,

Know we count are calories, eat little, as if eating were a disease.

It’s problematic to let the children see how their parent’s party.

But I’m sure in a short while, they’ll have their own parties start.

Tired, now wishing for a descent slumber; peace in sleep, 

Thursday night thoughts to count sheep.

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Spinning rhymes, it’s my design, 

I don’t know why I’m inclined.
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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.