Music Challenge/Saturday Mix: Poem – Trois-Par-Huit – “Sleep in Bliss” #amwritingpoetry #MusicChallenge #SaturdayMix #MLMM

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Music Challenge #34, “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. Also, thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix, Lucky Dip. For August 25th, she challenged us to write poetry in the form of trios-par-Huit.

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“The Trois-par-Huit was created by Lorraine M. Kanter.

Trois-par-Huit (Three-by-Eight or Octa-Tri for short), a poem containing three stanzas of 3, 3 and 2 lines OR 3, 2 and 3 lines: 8 lines total with a syllable count of 3, 6, 9, 12, 12, 9, 6, 3. The rhyming pattern is AAB BBC CC where the last line is the title of the poem and summarizes the meaning of the poem. *Note: These poems are to appear center aligned. (www.shadowpoetry.com)

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Credit: Josh Couch via Unsplash

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“Hey Jude” by The Beatles

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Remember,

Your heart cannot pretend;

So much is possible; you’ve found her.

*****

Don’t let yourself down, she’s a ray of light profound;

The minute you let her in, you’ll feel better now.

Let the light gleam, grab hands and persist.

*****

Her small sighs consistent;

Sleep in bliss.

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©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 20/ 100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Breakfast in Bed” #amwriting #poetry #100WordWednesday

OctPoWriMo Day 20 Prompt is to write about desires and remembering. I’m combining this prompt with Bikurgurl’s #100WordWednesdsay prompt. 

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Credit: Unsplash

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Breakfast in bed. 

Waking up to —

Rays of light. 

Escaping dreams, 

Of catch and chase. 

Your tired eyes, 

Crinkling. 

A half grin on your —

Dimpled cheek. 

Stubble scratching as you —

Kiss my neck, 

Telling me to eat. 

Before devouring, 

My plate. 

Then lying beside me, 

I read a book, 

You’ve chosen.

Watching you sleep, 

With fondness, 

With love. 

Feeling our magnetism, 

Yet asleep, 

You’re only a small boy. 

Somehow, 

I’ve discovered, 

Little boys become men, 

But never grow up,

If only in sleep. 

———
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

#OctPoWriMo – Day 6/ FFftAW: Poem – Bop – “Reviving” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction

For OctPoWriMo Day 6 the theme is pacing the floor. Also, I’m combining the Prompt with a couple of week’s old FFftAW Prompt held by Priceless Joy

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Credit: Pamela S. Canepa

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Back and forth, the floor boards are wearing out, 

Middle of the night where sleep is doubtful. 

High up in my condo, the black sky peppered, 

With giant twinkling points of light inspected. 

Watching from my glowing widows my feet, 

Tapping, then pacing to and fro with defeat. 

Now I lay me down to sleep while cars screech.

There’s nothing in me that makes sense of us, 

Of our loss, the pain mutually rusted. 

How do you find satisfaction being —

Aware of the wall’s writings, not seeing,–

How near the end we were without vision. 

Feeling fog come creeping, our schism —

Not a memory useful in the inky night. 

I survive, healing , letting go the fight. 

Now I lay me down to sleep while cars screech

From high above I watch the night, good friends – 

Walking, conversing, laughing, time extends. 

Wishing I was below to hear their words laughed, 

As my flat isn’t a home but small paths —

Towards more, silencing your name, rising —

In darkness; finding peace, my soul revives. 

Now I lay me down to sleep while cars screech. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Writing Prompt: Poem – Quadrille – “Sounds of Sleep” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for Writing Prompt #218 on night sounds. 

Also, I’m combining the prompt with #dVerse WhimsyGhizmo Poet’s Pub Quadrille Prompt on freefalling. 

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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Plush, toasty, 

Huddled mass, 

Bedsheets cotton crumpled, 

Furnace’s ember glows. 

Sky clouds, 

Dreamy veil. 

Screeching cars,
Transposed. 

Train whistles,

Downy soft knit throws,

Tangled knots. 

Nightmares, quandaries, 

Thunder roars,

Rain lashes out, 

Dishes clinked,

Crickets laughing. 

Duck tapped silence, 

Drifting — no wings, 

Lethargic before, 

Free-falling awake. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Quadrille – “Winged Hope” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse #flashfiction

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW August 29, 2017. Also, thanks to Paul Scribbles of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for hosting a poetry prompt on magic. 

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Credit: Jade M. Wong – FFftAW

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Art bleeds, 

Nobody’s seen before —

Winged ring,

Mortally wounded.  

Some kids arrows —

Embedded. 

Forever trickling,  

Whenever someone’s — 

Dying. 

Knives, gunshots wounds. 

Whether they’re sick —

On pain medication. 

Or dead in sleep.

Winged circle bleeds, 

For generations. 

Weeping blood,

For death is —

Constant. 

Yet in darkness, 

Gleams old magic, 

Hope’s recourse, 

Heals. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weaver: Poem – Free Verse – “Experiences Penned” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers

Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weaver’s writing prompt a few weeks back. The prompt theme is ‘The Writerly Persuasion.’ 

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Credit: Sergey Zolkin via Unsplash

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Inked stained hands, 

Crook in neck, 

Yoga relieving aches.

‘Limberness;’ 

Word searching for. 

Scribbling schedule, 

Deadlines, vital tasks. 

Words appear, 

Forced to write. 

Hen-pecking, 

iPads don’t use, 

Primary school, 

Typing skills. 

Words blurring, 

Distancing self, 

Eat healthy, 

Drink cold tea. 

Meals on timer, 

Or I’ll forget. 

Inspiration shimmers, 

Imagination entwining. 

Eyes seeking —

Punctuation; 

Repeated words, 

Grammar errors, 

Flow, organization. 

1:00 p.m. beginning, 

1:00 a.m. now. 

Sometime in there, 

Watered plants, 

Walked. 

Sleep anesthetizes, 

Creative mind spins, 

Dreams — the other world, 

From where night, 

Experiences are penned. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weavers: Views on Death by Emily Dickinson and John Donne #amwriting #poetry #JohnDonne #EmilyDickinson

Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weaver’s Prompt based on the figure of death. Emily Dickinson’s poem “I could not stop for Death” and John Donne’s Holy Sonnet – “Death Be Not Proud” seem to say exactly what needs to be said for me on the prompt. And whatever I do, I can’t think of something I could say better than these poets due regardimg the personification of death. Please enjoy!

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Credit: Google images for Reuse

Credit: Google Images for Re-Use

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1. Because I could not stop for Death (479)

By Emily Dickinson, (1830 – 1886)

http://www.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

 Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me –  

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  

And Immortality.

*****

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility – 

*****

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –  

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –  

We passed the Setting Sun – 

*****

Or rather – He passed us – 

The Dews drew quivering and chill – 

For only Gossamer, my Gown – 

My Tippet – only Tulle – 

*****

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground – 

The Roof was scarcely visible – 

The Cornice – in the Ground – 

*****

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads 

Were toward Eternity – 

*****

(www.poets.org)

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Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud

BY JOHN DONNE

wwww.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

*****

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weavers: Poem – The Blitz – “The Maiden and The Dragon” #amwriting #taleweavers #poetry

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Tale Weaver’s prompt about a quest, such as the ones JRR Tolkien writes about in his famous books. 

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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Dragons are here, I know it

Dragons beware, my sword is sharp

Sharp as the knives hid on my body

Sharp as the tongue of my wife

Wife said, “Do not go” 

Wife begged, yet I went 

Went through the haunted forest dark 

Went through the storms, muck, and mire

Mire as quicksand, sucked in my body

Mire that almost swallowed my life

Life burnt a flaming hole so wide

Life’s flame would not flicker out

Out of the muck and mire pulled

Out of certain death to rescue a princess

Locked in a tower for my Lord, my King 

Locked in a tower and languishing. 

Languished she did for centuries

Languished as a spell had been cast

Cast, so she would always sleep

Cast, because evil always hates

Hates beauty and goodness

Hates who this princess is said to be 

Be afraid though, I warn you, friend 

Be vigilant in your task to save 

Saving the princess isn’t the challenge

Saving her, I wondered, where is the dragon? 

Dragon she rose from the depths of beauty 

Dragon was the the princess herself 

Herself screaming, “I am the dragon”

Herself shouting, “I will eat you whole” 

Wholly she transformed in that fiery beast

Wholly she was a scaled, sulphereous demon

Demon who cried, “I am no damsal in distress”

Demon who seethed, “I protect me” 

Me, I gazed upon the languishing beauty 

Me, my eyes met the dragons yellow-eyed stare

Stared into my soul, saw I was a ruin 

Stared into my heart, saw I was wretched

Wretched cursed princess, the dragon? 

Wretched as the princess waiting 

Waiting and no one came so she grew tired

Waiting as she wrecks her vengeance 

Vengeance because no hero is true 

Vengeance, she can depend only on herself, no heroes 

Hereo, the archetypal kind who abuse poor maidens

Heroe, is there such a man who ever existed? 

Existed a hero she once did love 

Existed her hero but he never came — she remains cursed 

Cursed though she be, I could not destroy the beast

Cursed, she knows not why she is punished, cursed. 

Beast but still a girl, so I left, ashamed I could not save her. 

Cursed, she lingers on my mind, the maiden, the dragon as one

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Healing Touch” #amwriting #poetry

Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt challenge.

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Credit: Laura Williams

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Many faces have I, but don’t let me evaporate.

Too many masks I wear within to cover the scars that bind,

The twisting vines of ruined skin,

Not even plastic surgery could heal.

And the whispers of the dreadful night,

They haunt me in my sleep.

Each nightmare worse than the last, entrenching me in madness.

Crying and shaking, in a world I cannot escape.

My screams echoeing from the domed ceiling,

In St. Peter’s Basilica, my heart a kindled pyre.

Does God hear me, my fervent prayers without pride?

I know if He did, he would answer what I seek,

Provide relief from the cruelty of my suffering;

Of the ache and the burn in my skin.

He’d be a cooling gentle wind to end the burning flames,

I hope in my meekness for God as Elijah knew.

I try to forget. to move on, hiding behind masks so I’m safe.

My scars are not physical but they hide beneath skin,

Where plastic surgery cannot salvage a broken soul.

I’m a wretched bloody mess and my stomach is churning,

Why are the worst injuries, the ones you cannot see?

Why do people only see skin deep?

Not many will peer beneath the perfect layers of white ivory,

To see the layers underneath charred and scorched.

Many will not look past the words on your lips,

They are not interested in how a person says certain words,

Or why they say what do.

Many people hear only what they want to hear,

And if you choose to scream,

Than you’re the crazy one seeking attention.

But many screams are silent,

Before they are ever heard out loud,

This is why we need listeners and those with empathy,

To overcome those overflowing with ignorance and apathy to life;

To realize there is meaning in helping your neighbor out.

For we all have hidden scars and screams,

And most of them are dug deeply within our souls.

They wind around a person’s heart, a choking vine envokes —

A cry for help, so please hear it, long before we shout out loud,

Be still for a moment and listen well.

Respond before the masks hide many other faces and mine;

Act before you start cutting into our hearts,

Doing much more harm than good.

Watch your words and carefully avoid —

Assault and battery, for refusing to help those in need —

Refusing to help those lost in their pain. 

Heal with laughter and conversation,

A piece of your precious time.

Do not forget the meek and lowly,

We all need help discovering pathways into stardust.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

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

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

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

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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.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved