Photo Challenge: Fiction – Spectre of Death #amwriting #fiction #death


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt: 

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Credit: “Minutes to Midnight” – http://www.hunternif.deviantart.com

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Time’s clock is forever ticking above death’s throne. The clock’s glass face absorbes the colours of the landscape where death resides. The greyish-green of the stone mass, a floating island, and the pinky-red fire of the sky above and below, reflects on the clock’s face. 

The figure of death sits soberly in his throne. The stone carved form a perfect fit for his lanky tall body. Beneath death’s left and right hands, the leering skulls of his first two victims sit. They are from our first two ancestors, people who lived exceptionally long compared to the humans living in modern times. Adam and Eve had tried to evade death, even though they knew he was coming for them. They had been ignorant and had no idea what death actually meant until they breathed their last. 

Their souls he’d had to let fly in heaven, gold birds with giant wings exploring their freedom and return to painlessness. He had kept their skulls, though one day he knew he would have to return them. For now, Adam and Eve’s skulls peered eerily out onto whichever soul was before death seated on his throne. Together with the dying person, death watched their last seconds of life tick away. He towered over them in his realm and let their soul sour to heaven or to hell, there was no inbetween except him. 

Some souls who stood before him were not afraid. This always amazed death. He was an imposing figure, giant and fearsome, his red hair as consuming flames, and his eyes burning coals. Some humans gazed up at him with what frightened death as wisdom, something they had gained, which few knew, not even him. Their souls flew away and he knew he would never see them again. Other people crumbled before him and he took time to torment them whether they went below or above. He was death after all, a fearsome being. 

Yet, he had no control where a soul went. Death had no power to choose or to do as he wanted. He had a job, a task. He was death, he killed; but he was not merely an end. He was also the beginning. What he valued most of all, freeing those souls trapped in decaying bodies or in bodies injured profusely. Death was a contradiction of terms, both good and evil. Souls of faith went above and souls of disbelief went down to hades. Even death was afraid of what lay far beneath him in the abyss. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 11 – LaJemme – “No More Demons” #amwriting #poetry #novembernotes #music


Today’s prompt song is “Paradise Circus” by Massive Attack. 

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Paradise Circus” – Massive Attack 
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http://www.designsnext.com

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You feel the stone beneath your back, it’s hard. 

Fall apart, lie ontop of it, and groan

Felt in your deep bones, the cold wind it mares

The tension starts drifting in and out, moans

Unfortunate we’re far apart

Our minds impart, shattered haste.

Playing games wait, we sin for heart

Love in us cannot sate

While time flies by, you wonder berate

Have some patience, rumours arise

Do not despise, our love it waits

Us to but lose; we’ll surprise

Lazily we move, we’ll time again prove

Block demon’s soft soothe, a lie of our groove

 No demon guards love; God, love, he approves. 

The kind that’s grown, realized with heart.  

Love that is smart, patient, kind, never departs.

Where your whole heart is honest, though hard. 

Dreams alight us both; we’re a work of art

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The LaJemme is a 5 stanza form created by poets Laura Lamarca and Jem Farmer. Meter: consistently iambic

1. Stanza 1, 10 syllables per line, Rhyme scheme abab, 4th syllable of each line is to rhyme with the end rhyme of the preceding line.

2. Stanza 2, syllable count: 8/8/8/6, Rhyme scheme cdef, with cross rhymes in each couplet on 4th syllable

3. Stanza 3, syllable count 8/8/8/6, Rhyme scheme gfdf, 4th syllable of each line follows the same rule as stanza 1.

4. Stanza 4, 10 syllables per line, Rhyme scheme hihi, 4th syllable of each line is to rhyme with the end rhyme of the preceding line.
5. Stanza 5, 10 syllables per line, Rhyme scheme abab, 4th syllable of each line is to rhyme with the end rhyme of the preceding line.
Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Historian and Pyromaniac #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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“It will never burn. It’s stone and concrete. People don’t build monumental buildings to burn easily these days,” Trent commented.

“Well they used to and this building is pretty old. I’d say it’s eighteen-hundreds,” Chip guesstimated. 

“That old?”

“Yeah, I took some art history so I’d know. Burning this building won’t destroy the whole thing, but it will burn a lot of history within. Maybe it’s like the White House when the Canadian’s burnt it in the War of 1812,” Chip said. 

“Pffff . . . Canadians aren’t that aggressive,”Trent said.

“Oh yeah well why do you think it’s called the White House? Canadians and British soldiers burnt it and the states had to white wash it after rebuilding some parts; white washing covered up the smoke damage and scorch marks.” 

“But wasn’t Canada more a British colony at that point?  So, the fault lies with the British who were leading things,” Trent insisted.

“Many of the soldiers identified as Canadian, Trent,whether or not they were led by Britain; the States shouldn’t have tried to take the Canadas, as upper and lower Canada were known then.” 

“Um, that’s a great history lesson but why do you want to burn this building?” 

Chip’s eyes grew dark, “Some people just like to watch the world burn; but I’m okay with one building . . . to start.”

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

#OctPoWriMo – Day 22 – Blitz Poem – “Chances Anew” #amwriting #poetry


Day 22 Prompt: Dangerous
“Some things are obviously dangerous, like walking too close to a cliff, and other things, not so much. Free write for ten minutes exploring what is obviously dangerous, not so much, and what dangerous means to you. You could turn this into a rant poem, especially given the times.”

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http://www.getaway2thegods.com

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There is always present danger

There is always a need for caution

Caution is necessary 

Caution keeps us alive

Alive isn’t enough

Alive means we need to be safe

Safe is a cloudy dream

Safe is an illusion

Illusions we love because they hide cold hard facts

Illusions keep us content

Content is all we can ask to be 

Content not to be in danger

Danger hides and danger runs

Danger is wicked and tricky

Tricky because danger is not not upfront

Tricky because danger bides its time

Time waiting to harm us 

Time waiting to strike and destroy

Destroying lives with vengeance

Destroying hearts with humourless mirth

Mirth –does it exist in harsh circumstances? 

Mirth is it possible when tomorrow could be–

Be the end of life’s dreams? 

Be the end of life without heart sight? 

Sight to see the world shatter as glass

Sight to see how lost we are in the world 

World where we wander feeling hopeless

World where we’re crushed by despair 

Despair slips in and brings us to tears

Despair is a weapon danger employes

Employes to target are last reserves

Employes as those serving him as soldiers

Soldiers, mercenaries, to do the bloody work

Soldiers blinded by their own greed

Greed for money until it’s set a flame

Greed for money, not seeing  –it’s only paper

Paper, the German Mark in the 1930’s, in suitcases 

Paper marks, thousands were worthless

Worthlessness, don’t ever feel unwanted

Worthful, you’re as precious stones

Stones judgemental people throw

Stoning the accused sinner

Sinners we all are, it can’t be helped

Sinner –let he with the least sin cast the stone first 

 First you must smile and gather your hope

First be glad, life has new beginnings

Beginnings are new chances 

Beginnings are for real, life arises anew

Chances . . . 

Anew. . . 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: Missed The Rocks #3LineTales #fiction 


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

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Credit: William Bout

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Darkness was stealing the light of day, taking my weary breath away; I prayed while the cold, careless ocean ripped my feet from the pathway of stone I stumbled down, attempting to reach the lighthouse door. 

The storm raged and the sound of thunder, a giant drum rumbled and the clash of lightening frightened me; but above me the lighthouse torch glimmered, a shining beacon glowing in the dark for any passing ship –in my heart grew hope dimly. 
I wondered how the Captain of the grand ship approaching, could see when the night was black and the shadow seemed to overcome us both; but I, as was the ships Captain, was blind to think darkness could swallow light; as the gleam of the lighthouse blended with the dawn, I was thankful to have survived a dreadful night, stuck outside the lighthouse door, no one to hear my quivering knocks; the storm surrounded me and roared while I witnessed the grand ship barely miss the rocks — the lighthouse torch grew brighter, just in time. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poetry: Free Verse – “Woman On Fire” #amwriting #poetry


http://www.pinterest.com

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Animosity conspires within her belly, 

Her reactions fast, lightening sparks. 

She stalks through corridors and hallways,
Blood boiling, melting inner warmth of heart. 

No one speak of  what’s right or the truth.

The bottom line — what is right or true, 

Meant nothing when they used her. 

And the fire flits through her system, 

She’s wants to burn the world down, 

What made a gentle song bird, claw back viciously? 

The wrath of Maleficante, innocence stolen. 

Now, the swagger of her hips, 

Is a femme fatele arising, 

Wingspan of dragon, breathing flames of fire. 

Beating down the masses, burning pyres, 

Magnificent rage multiplying. 

Try to stop her, it’s in her being now. 

Her heart is blazing flare of woe. 

Be watchful and be wary, 

Someone, something, hurt her fiendishly —

A soft woman breaks most brutally, 

When her inner demons burn in wrath.  

She’s diligent and mean — so lost, 

All her love sprung and fled. 

Appears as if she should be wimpering, 

But when she talks her words scorch

Heavy smoke will make you cough and choke, 

It’s a dense whirling mass, 

That sends ruthless cowards to their knees. 

Before fire can blister and raze you, 

The smoke will leave you dying, 

No breath of life in her has forgiven. 

Don’t hurt a soft smart woman, 

She’s most dangerous;

Because when her dams break open, 

All hell leaks forth. 

Demon woman, betting on retribution, 

No absolution, no temperance, 

They’ve flown away, murdered by spite. 

A reckless beauty in pink, with pearls, 

Diamonds changed for rubies, tinder red glare. 

Her price for life is costly, 

Sparked by a wreckless cause, 

Anger building, layer open layer molds. 

She’s become the wretched clouds, 

Above the Valcono seething. 

And sulphuric rain’s in her power, 

No water to save and cool you, 

From a dragons lair or breathe of flame. 

Another way to die —

 Like she dies inside, daily,

Consumed by all her hatred;

Marked by vengeful ire. 

She’s become her indignation, 

She’s fury and resentment. 

A witches pot brewing, 

Antagonism, tears, and vexation. 

She will set afire and raze her foe. 

Dangerous and furious words, 

Melting magma from stones. 

She burns inside, and all that’s left —

Ashes killing, if exhaled. 

Dust she compresses, from the barren world, 

Her flame, herself broken once too often.

Wretched soft woman, 

Destroying the world and herself.

That’s why kind gentle women, 

Should never be screwed with, 

Once destroyed —

They bring the world down with them. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved 

Poem: Free Verse – “The Persistent Consistence of Water” #amwriting #poetry #audio



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If the words keep on dripping, the drops from a tap;
A problem, no plumber can seem to fix.

And drops gather close, become oceans of water. 

And swimmers keep treading, doing laps through drops of water. 
Drips and drops, no solutions and no answers.

Problems with solutions; problems never existed — solutions solve nothing.

But to mix up a cocktail or solve some chemical equation.

There are no answers, if you’re terrible at math. 

Or drink, until the solution is being drunk.

Keep drilling away, chiseling, at the stone edifice.

You know you’ll carve something,

Or perhaps, the water does the carving?

Deposits sediment and cuts through rocky banks.

Making rivers deep and wide, 

Building-up, forming, layers of silt and rock,

Until a Canyon has formed; red-sand glow, Arizona sky,

Grey rock interspersing, with shimmering crystal white; 

Glimmering blue-santorini water flows through.

Perhaps, sometime a millennia ago.

Waters made of drops of water.

Drip dripping from the sky through humanities history, 

The weather of a million dark and stormy nights.

Oceans of droplets, oceans eroding rock in rivers with deltas and gorges; black and deep.

Deep deep the secrets these gorges do keep,

The water disappearing, chasing the blackness it seeks,

Drip dripping droplets and they fall down the window.

Where little children trace the drops with their tiny fingers.

And breathing in steamed windows, 

See the O’s made by their precious little mouths.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 
 

Poem: Free Verse – “In Eyes Perceive” #wordhighjuly #poetry #balintataw



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http://www.pixebay.com

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I’ve lost clarity; it’s obvious, observe —

When I’m peering through dense walls, 

Where you disguise your life;

I’m blinded from your changing eyes.

Obsidian pupils, shining as glass;

Solidification of molten lava black.

Rings of green surround pupils.

In certain light, your eyes blackish-green fire;

In another light, they’re a grassy knoll.

I perceive your eyes, understanding you;

When you’re hostil, temperamental;

Your eyes alter colour, swirling into black.

A bitter ocean, a complex green.

Obsidian pupils merge; fight pleasant green.

The storm rages, your eyes stay grating.

As steel and concrete, 

You’re cold, unflinching.

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When you’re serene and absorbed in life;

Your eyes tint with light, 

Glow with presence;

Glimmering alert, understanding.

Conversing comfortably; 

Words match your eyes.

Face, sure and bright; 

Joy glows from your lips, 

The creases in your smile.

Wrinkles, fan your eyes;

You laugh and illuminate my sight.

Your fantastic mood drawing people to you, 

My beacon.

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But my favourite vantage,

Of your eyes;

Dark pupils focus, adore me slow.

Feeding an ethereal glow;

Throwing off embers of warmth.

Mysterious eyes, wide-open; 

Your true-self, no posing.

Brilliant fire of space simmering;

Us a compass twain, 

Star dust and nebulas.

You appear almost sleepy, 

Eyes perceiving my eyes;

Mood indicators; receptors of feeling.

The lights in all the stars, 

Of every universe, combined.

Heat from your heart (and other parts),

Obsidian meeting obsidian sheen;

Aurora Borealis in our eyes gleam.

Waves of heat and colour impress.

Of all the giant and tiny world’s,

Unparalleled; the world we combine.

Nebulas spark across the dark;

Your truth is when you memorize me, 
Satisfied smile, softly content.
We’ve conquered stars;

As light is the only source,

Differing our eyes; a genetic defect passed,

Transforming brown, to blue and green;

The Northern Lights, 

Enfolding us in time, our space.

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Credit: I thought about a lot of John Donne poetry writing this: A Valediction Forbidding Mourning and The Good Morrow mostly. Also, if you haven’t read about why some people have blue or green eyes, when originally, humans only had brown eyes, check-out: Wikipedia – Eye Colour. Turns out blue or green eyes is not a pigment, it has to do with structural colour and the scattering of light in certain conditions. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: Poem – Free Verse – “Weight of a Little World”


I hold a small world on my classic physique, with my fortitude.

Holding up this bridge and pathway, doesn’t matter my attitude,

For it’s one of being cursed in marble, and accepting my sorrowful lot,

Having made the mistakes I’ve made, the gods left me to rot.

Pondering the beach, as Atlas pondered and beheld the heaven’s light rays, 

I bend my head, and think of the day, and to gods beyond Zeus I pray, 

Release me from my prison, veins of liquid blood congealed.

My stone figure, muscled, and taught; made to endure forever, concealed.

Bracing myself on stone, solid rock, muscles strained, no thought, and no slipping, 

Not even able to see my own face cringing, the expression rain is chipping,

My own little world on my back, I hold my personal pain; I hold your fate.

For mine’s an eternity braced as I am, scanning earths children; nothing to do but wait.

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Word Count: 154 words

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momtheobscure

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Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAP.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

I Did Not Mean To Build A Wall


I did not mean to build a wall, I only needed space.
Though you are all with me, though you all care
This battle is my fight, one I must carry alone, don’t you see
Though I try to be included, there are things you can’t see
I am walking the line, my own private journey into the sun.

The sun is not setting, everyday it rises, but I cannot keep up
With rays and shadows, hiding behind clouds, warming the air
The worst battles we fight, are fought internally.
Our own biggest critic, our own form of loss.

Shots, shots, shots in the air, bullets can rip through you
But if you haven’t felt it how can you understand
The individual pain of each bullet, the hurt is unique
We all feel suffering, but no suffering is the same.
Suffering turns us to tears, and builds character
Scarred and battle worn we appear, the fight never ends
In our own private hells, we flounder forlorn
Empathy the greatest emotion you can give
But it only goes so far, you can empathize to a degree
Then you cannot feel the ache, the fatigue, the darkness inside

Walls exist for a reason, such a man that doesn’t love a wall.
To build up high, and keep in the dark, the woman, the love of his life
He builds with mortar and brick, keeping out the light and she freaks out
” Something there is that doesn’t love a wall” a girl fighting to comprehend
Walls behind her own walls, the realization we all have walls
And these walls are thick, they are dense, and hollow
Strong as solid steel, empty like milk jugs in the recycling container
Seemingly plastic and easily crushed, but with a shape that reforms fills with liquid tears
Becomes the hardest material, harder than diamonds, and crumbling as dolomite

You build your walls, I’ll build mine, we must build our own lives to build one together
We must put in plenty of windows and doors that don’t lock if we are ever to see eye to eye
If we are ever to be one solid wall against the world.
Walls are built to keep something out, I’d rather, you see it for yourself…
I’ll stop building my walls if you stop forming your walls –
then we can just be visible to sunshine and the light that guides the air to swirl and blow a fresh wave of summer over us

If you build them they will come, the wall builders fixing up their walls
But did u know if we left the stones where they lay, let the wall crumble into dust

We could build other things, but we still build walls.