Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Free Verse – “Fallen Angel” #poetry #MLMM #amwritingo


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Sunday Writing.


Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


Sea Angel, transparent wings transport,

With lights of butterscotch dawn.

Your pistils and stamen,

Tangy bright, a heated encounter of self;

A falsehood perverted.

Yet, your wispy grace flutters,

Luminescence lures with —

A cobra’s venom.

Such a strange angel,

No whispered warnings.

Your effervescent petals enchant–

In the dark.

Floral and fluorescent,

A perilous Lilly,

Not one of hope on a casket,

A Lily of spite and survival engrained.

For you are ancient —

As creations dawn and Eden’s loss.

In the depths you’ve continued,

The world changes but you know little of it.

Only of your pincer teeth,

Stings of sunflower razors.

Taking your prey into pitch.

Where you’re the only light,

The only flower.

As coldness numbs, their blood turns blue,

You steal a soul, angel of despair.

You’re the harbinger of evil;

Unrecognized or understood.

Beauty is your survival, your instinct;

And you’ve not the wit or care to know —

You’re a curse, you’re a witch,

You’re without light’s truthfulness.

You’re a ghost transculent;

Your poison, the end.

With vivacious glory,

Enthralling and cursed.

You lead astray,

Such lambs of the water,

To the depths of misery.

To the finality of nothingness.

Woe to you,

Fallen Angel,

Pandemonium’s first stone.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Published Poem: Free Verse – Spillwords.com – “Giants of Hypocrisy” #spillwords #poetry #history #NewColossus #amwriting


So blessed to have another poem on http://www.spillwords.com. This poem is based off the poem “New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus and is a commentary on current immigration policies in the U.S., now, and in the past, but particularly, in the late 19th century where many Europeans immigrated to the U.S. to escape poverty, persecution, and starvation. Unfortunately, the U.S. was not much better than where they came from. But it was better enough that they could survive even in neighborhoods such as the brutal and famous 5 ‘Points District’ in New York City.

The poem was published in late November and I missed it. But here it is now for your thoughts and enjoyment. It’s called “Giants of Hypocrisy.”


Credit: SpillWords.com


©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The White Prince #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW,

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Credit: © 2013 Ioniangraphics

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He walked through the frozen world elated. The trees were silent and still as ice coated their needles. He was satisfied with what he saw, with winter’s permanent hold on this world. He preferred the isolation and tranquility he found in blizzards that howled and the quietness of a world blanked in thickness of snow afterwards. 

Every day he walked through his Winter Wonderland satisfied that it’s inhabitants remained mostly indoors, only venturing outside when they had to. Life was a vicious battle for survival here and he was proud to have been the one who initiated this struggle. 

Then one morning he walked outside and heard the triumphant roar of a lion; he shivered in fear. He had not heard that roar for milannias. It was the roar that had silenced his mother, that belonged to the beast who ripped out her throat. He felt overly warm, used to frigid cold, feeling furious when he saw that overnight the pine needles of the trees had been freed from their ice cage. The lion roared again and the white prince ran. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Day 7 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/ Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) – “Live Eagerly” #amwriting #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #flashfiction


Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge prompt is to write a poem about luck & fortuitousness. The A to Z Challenge GoodReads quote is from an author whose name begins with the letter F. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag

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I think we consider too much the luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm. —Franklin D. Roosevelt

———

You can see them swooping from the trees up high, they hope they’ll —

Find a tiny morsel, a scrap of food to eat, to sway —

Nature in their favour to —

Live another busy day through. 

Birds hoping to find worms to eat, 

Survival filled with such screeching

Wings drifting on the wind, their tweets now satisfied they ate —

Today was a lucky day, a game of chance they’re sated

——-

Fortune favours the brave so they say, but is it the brave —

Who triumph or their prey, having such a terrible bad day? 

However, we try, birds diving, 

Can’t save the fish from dying

The birds eat, fish already gone. 

Bad luck today, forever they’re gone. 

In the cliffs in the distance, I watch birds swiftly fly, 

Plunging, gliding higher, for soon they’ll be prey in sky.

—–

For fortune knows, on certain days we win and on others —

We lose, so the birds they’re a meal ticket too, so discovered, 

By bigger birds with talons sharp, 

By the ocean’s creature’s smart. 

Waiting for the birds to dive low, 

Then gulping them down, never slow. 

Call it the circle of life but it’s a necessary

You can see them, so survive while you can, live eagerly

——–

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays: An Enchanted Forest #flashfiction #amwriting #100WordWednesdays


Thanks to the lovely Bikurgurl for hosting 100 Word Wednesdays. 

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Credit: Olivier Guillard

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Deep in the woods you’re lost. Have you considered if you’ve come upon an enchanted forest? It’s difficult to comprehend when you’ve crossed the threshold from the untamed wild to land of talking animals, pixies, enchantresses, wizards, and magic folk. 

It’s impossible to know after days of wandering whether that deserted cabin in the clearing is actually deserted. But with clarity, you inhale the potent herbs mingling with the scent of roasted venison and fresh bread. 

 Do you believe your eyes when the most sinfully attractive man approaches and offers you a cup to slake your thirst and food to fill your belly? Do you trust your senses? Have you realized yet, you’ve always been in an enchanted forest? 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: The Burlesque Dancer #3LineTales #fiction #amwriting 


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

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Credit: Grant McCurdy via Upsplash

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1. When photographs became possible, Aunt Judith said they were the devil’s tool, they would steal a person’s soul. 

2. Three-months later, I buy one particular photograph of me I adore and see my pretty face and curvaceous body in sepia; Aunt Judith wouldn’t have been angry if I’d only had a stern portrait taken, having finally had her own picture done. 

3. She would be appalled, however, since I have my photograph taken all the time for many men in my costumes; Aunt Judith would disavow her niece, a burlesque dancer at The Gentlemen’s Tavern and Casino; but a girls got to make a living and so far being a nice girl depependant on a husband who ran out her, hasn’t been the best method of survival. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 25 – Alouette (Audio) – “Game of Dark”


Today’s prompt song is “Up in Flames” by Ruelle.


“Up in Flames” – Ruelle

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Credit: Fan Pop – Wall Paper

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                    .                                              In shadows we dwell,

Moonlit private hell.

We disappear into edges,

Into the places dark,

Our lives are no lark.

We’re left standing, our bets hedged.


The darkness is cold,

We draw warmth, we fold.

Ourselves neatly into corners,

Existing in pitch black,

Our dimness won’t crack.

Light cannot break in, you’re warned.


Our hearts are blackest,

Survival is our knack.

Glass city, shimmers, breaks apart,

We’re a stronger ilk,

Sliding through night, silk.

As the world sets afire hearts.


Right and wrong confused,

Caught in self-abuse.

Night beckons us to creep, to find,

Paths leading out as,

It all goes up, has —

Been singed, burned, no mere kindness.


We survive the dark,

We survive the mark.

When it all goes up in flames,

We’re last to remain,

We’re last, but insane.

Learning a sadistic game.


img_2951-22

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Tankas – “The Killer” 


Thank you to The Daily Prompt for the word prompts DiverseGenerationSurvival, and Vision.

—–

Angel babe stolen, 

Soundly beneath darkness black.

Dragging our bodies.

Through all this slime, muck outside.

I’ve no vision of life left.

——

Diverging  paths cross, 

Which way will he go with two —

Bodies, to manage,

He can’t be seen, it’s vital.

Survival, a thought in mind.

—–

Burying his sins,

His burdens in unmarked graves,

It never should have come —

To him, killing all of them.

Generations vanish.

Diversity in —

This family crossed his —

Moral; Forced to kill, 

Two more bodies in the house.

To haul out to their grave sites.

—–

No night vision, hard —

To see beneath only stars,

Survival of —

Self, most imperative of thoughts.

Looking down, corpses in blankets.

—-

He didn’t like how, 

Cultures intermarried,

Racist man, hater.

Reason enough he thinks to kill, 

Mother, Grandma, Grandpa, baby.

—-

Several generations,

Mixed ethnicities; hateful —

Man; wicked one no —

Rest; killer, murderer of —

Our friends; a demon, evil’s.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: A Meerkat Love Song


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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http://www.pixebay.com
 
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Break on me. 

Shatter Like Glass.

Come apart in my claws.

——

Your the best gal I know,

Surviving life is hard on us both,

No bugs to for us to eat, 

The venom from the spider poisoned me,

I dig with my four claws, 

Attempting to kill,

Then I wonder, what’s that peculiar smell?

—–

And I stood sentinel, 

I missed our enemy coming,

Still looking around and peeping,

Half or gang is gone,

Now I’m the Meerkat outcast.

But your still my lady, 

Cry your tears on my furry chest.

——

Break on Me.

Shatter Like Glass.

Come apart in my claws.

——

I’m glad I made you become my mate,

Sorry about those two pups of ours,

I’m sure there was something wrong with them,

Didn’t mean to let them be eaten,

Baby, you’re a fine Meerkat,

And if we live to nine or ten,

I’ll be a satisfied guy.

—–

I’ve been told survival of the fittest.

But I’m still alive,

You can depend on me,

I’m always there to forage for you,

But I’m banned from standing sentinal,

So, baby, maybe we can have more pups?

Lay your head against mine.

—-

Break on me.

Shatter Like Glass.

Come apart in my claws.

——

The chorus is mostly, lines from a Keith Urban song called, “Break on Me.” You can see the lyrics to his song here or watch his music video below:

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Paper Bag Princess.”


  
Here’s for the meanings and the seemings,

The words we’ve been breathing, though they are concealing,

We’re never hidden behind steal, or a solid wall of bricks.

And we’re shamed, peeking out of ‘the cupboard,’ hiding like the Indian did from a childhood book.

 We move through our thoughts, the glances of others who don’t understand —

What it means to remain hidden.

——

They’re all out there with their sunglasses and dreamy looks,

 In a world finding love, come together — some love separates. 

And I haven’t spent the days before Valentine’s Day dreaming,

 I don’t need a man to give me flowers or chocolates. 

I don’t need more demands and inferences of combinations dialled,

Short and electric, but fizzles and drizzles, as the rain pours outside. 

Dividing our time between sleeping and daylight,

And the sun keeps on rising; 

I keep on imprivising all the things I’m construing,

In a mind filled with despising a guy who I left.

Who made me know what it hurts like to feel neglect,

After he’s gone on, but still calling — I wish he would stop.

 That I could forget all about these “tygers” and their wants. 

I’m not happy nor comfortable, unless they get their cut, pieces of my being;

They’re dividing me among each other, taking the best cuts and leaving the scraps.

—–

And outside is a puppy and I want to hold her, because she doesn’t need much —

Only to eat, walk, cuddle, play, and go wee.

She needs her nails clipped and her teeth brushed sometimes. 

I’m a woman begging everyday of her life for things I’m uninspired to give,

If you won’t even attempt to do better, make it as important as a ‘business deal.’

 I’m not above you or below you you dirty-thirty-something.

 I’m just looking for meaning among people who are loyal.

I’m caught in my dreams, betwixt the real and the “real” in this Wonderland. 

And if we look through the ‘looking glass’ we only see people in poverty,

Who are thinking only of eating and surviving. 

Loving doesn’t matter much when you are looking for fresh water, 

When you’re sickly and dying — or does it matter most?

——

But here, won’t you hear me —

In our first- world of problems — 

I’m trying! I’m trying — but it’s never enough.

You dragons eat your steaks and leave me with nothing but my dry bones. 

You ravish a ‘paper-bag princess’ and leave her without a stitch;

Clothes that cover her heart.

And you suck her organs dry of blood and all matter,

You leave a her exposed for the vultures to grasp at,

 You break open a bottle of liquor and the whole room explodes, 

Covered in champagne and the bubbles make you choke.

Sifting through closets, cover up my exposed heart,

I don’t want to reveal myself but in the “real” world I must.

 Because if your broken your fixable and can be put back together,

 A mirror that’s shattered and eternally busted.

——

And these words may make little sense but that’s what you call — prose poetry,

Of a girl, who’s  a woman, who’s a child, who’s lured by the promises,

Of a blackness so bleak no one can see in front of their face,

Because in the darkest depths, the light shines brightest.

Arise and save yourself, 

Think of the words to describe your freedom desired —

Taylor Swift wrote it well: ” It’s too late for you and your white horse to catch me now.”

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.