Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “A Nightmare of Ink” #amwriting #poetry #nightmares


Thank you to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the his week’s Photo Prompt chalkenge.

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Credit: Reylia.deviantart.com

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She holds the flowers teaming with a life force all their own, 

Knowing the ombré blue blossoms will escape; 

Flutter into the world carried on the wind, 

Pettles and fluffy white seeds blown across the land. 

Messengers of hope and artistry, a beauty undefinable. 

Her hands tightly grasp the stems, no thorns to prick errant fingers. 

She can’t let go, however, she she tries, 

Hands entrapped on rough stems holding too hard. 

So rigid are her hands, blood comes forth, 

The pressure of her grip too intense;

With great thought, he watches her, observes her reactions, 

She doesn’t understand why he’s hurting her; she needs help. 
She’s dressed in her navy dress and in life he loves it, 

In her dream, he picks at the fabric of her sleeve in disgust. 

Mumbling to himself, then struck with a thought, 

He’s found a thin fluted vase in blue to match her flowers. 

She doesn’t conprehend the symbolism or the reason, 

When ink he pours onto her flowers from the vase. 

He stains her hands until they appear black, 

The flowers are ruined and slicked with ink like oil. 

The streaming ink is everywhere, 

Her beloved smiles at her, he chucks her chin and winks, 

Takes the flowers and places them in the vase. 

The ink is all over her hands and arms;

Hers and his, and he’s laughing. 

Saying how difficult ink is to remove from one’s skin, 

So he cradles her face and he kisses her long, 

But then she awakes in her dream, 

To permenant ink stains all over her face and hands.

He smirks at her, walks away no care for the ink staining him. 

The moon gleams in the sky and it rains — buckets of tar black ink, 

Caressing her body, covering as sludge, dripping and spilling. 

What value is ink if she has no pen’s cartridge to put it in? 

She’s not able to use it to write. 

The world around is flooded by this precious commodity, 

And when she finally awakes for real, all is forgotten. 

Yet, the hands she holds up to the sunlight, 

Are stained dark black;

She’s tattood in the memory of a dream, 

Nightmares and reality never giving way to truth. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

 

Literary Lion: Something In the Water


Water can have great symbolism in many religions and cultures. Water is life, we could not survive without it. Think about it, there is nothing else man has produced that can take waters place when you are thirsty.And there are different kinds of thirst.

In Christianity, water has a big significance with Baptism. Water and Gods Word (the Bible) combine to baptize a baby (often older people too) to bring them into God`s family and protect them so that they know God. I know that this isn`t actually a fiction story but I lost my Uncle Darvin last night. Sadly, I never saw him when he was sick with cancer or before that for a long time. I haven`t been able to go to church lately with my sleeping medications. I wish just once or twice I’d made more of an effort on my better days.

But I miss my Uncle Darvin just the same. I always imagined him at my wedding someday. He always called me beautiful and he gave the best hugs. I have memories of going to his and my Aunt Shirley`s house when I was little girl and playing in a back yard he was terracing and getting all dirty. There are memories of going to `The Donut Shop` with him, my parents, and Uncle Barrie and Aunt Josie after many church services. I remember when we did the reconstruction of our church and helping him, I was maybe ten years old.

Yesterday, he passed away. But I`m glad he has gone to Heaven, here he was in so much pain from the cancer. How do I know he is heaven? Well it started when he was Baptized, with some water. And that water made him grow and nourished him in God and quenched his spiritual and physical thirst in life. It  nourished him to the end.

In his poem Crossing the Bar Lord Alfred Tennyson compares death to going out to sea. He writes, ” [m]ay there be no moaning at the bar, / when I put out to sea, . . . I hope to see my Pilot face to face / When I have crossed the bar. (3-4, 15-16). The sea is salt water and indeed, a fitting use for water and passing on, taking your last journey on a ship into the ocean and this time your captain is God.

Here is Tennyson’s full poem Crossing the Bar:

Sunset and evening star,
      And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
      When I put out to sea,
   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
      Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
      Turns again home.
   Twilight and evening bell,
      And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
      When I embark;
   For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
      The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
      When I have crost the bar.
Thanks to I am Smith for the prompt Water.