Collage Prompt: Poem – Cascading Etheree – “The Inner Child” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt.

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie; Bottom Right – Jeremiah Morelli

———

You might think it peculiar to let kids,

Be small, to let them be silly, weird,

When most of their life is spent in,

‘Adulting,’ learning how to,

Be big, responsible,

I say as Auntie:

Let them be them,

Creative,

Full of,

Fun.

——

Let,

Them be,

Wild beings,

Think of stories,

Imaginative,

And implausible, but —

Believe them because you’re,

Playing along, taller tales,

Demonstrate creativity,

For kids, it keeps them young, growing older.

——

Think of tilting towers, Big Ben in blue –

Green prairie sky, a storm brought him here.

But he bends, tilts just because and,

Storm brought along a grand,

Gothic cathedral roof,

Pointed top I’m sure —

Missed somewhere; hot —

Air balloon,

Holds our,

Dreams.

—–

Where,

We live

With such rich,

Possibility.

Imagining,

Tall towers floating in,

Moon lit skies, princesses,

Saving themselves, jumping from,

Clouds, the moon indeed smiling so proud,

Girls and boys — escape from their own towers.

——

Locked fortresses floating, new challenge,

Escaping by flying pirate ships old,

Never turning back to the light,

Of a trapped home, wishing most,

To be little, secure,

Not worry about,

A dragon’s fire,

A port in,

Mid-air,

Light.

—–

Sought,

In night’s,

Binding grip,

All children search,

For understanding,

A hug and kiss when they’re lost,

Hurt, or at least a safe place works.

For home; mom’s gentle touch when,

Nightmares thrive; become to real, kids hide;

But parents are there, provide a haven.

——-

So encourage kids to harness their,

Creativity, to paint and draw,

To find their passions in life, so —

Maybe they can live them too.

Or find a haven in,

Their talents, their skills,

Urging away,

Stress; relief,

‘Cause life,

Hurts.

—–

So,

We teach,

Live your dreams,

Let them unwind

You; be as free as

Butterflies; don’t be tacked,

To a board on the wall kept.

Fly lovely, safe, remembering,

Humanity is indeed so —

Delicate at times; you’re not invincible.

—–

But in the power of the imagination,

You can always escape the threads,

Binding you to reality.

You can have liberty,

Smile, eat your cake too,

And hopefully,

Your partner,

The one who,

Loves you,

Most.

—–

Has,

Their own,

Inner child,

Understands and,

Knows, love is gentle,
Love is fiery, bold,

Love and creativity,

Both hold; let you be dauntless, free,

Full of life, security to —

Be held; be wild both as adult and child.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Writing 201 – Ballad/Assonance – Dog Man 


Ballad Meter – a  line of iambic tetrameter followed by a line iambic triameter with an abab rhyme scheme

The  door it creaks as it opens wide;

Come out, and leave, come out.

I hear him now, I see outside;

Behind you, peer, shout-out, he’s here.

He walks the halls, children forgot,

In derelict buildings;

His dogs’ follow him to the spot, 

His company, their thriving.

He has a scruffy beard and bag;

His dogs trail him content,

He gathers the bottles, while all tails wag;

Maybe a treat is sent;

He’s a curious gruff man, he gives,

What he can, and his dogs,

Are family, for them he lives,

And he walks through the fog,

It’s his favourite time of day,

When the suns early in sky,

And he can hardly see through grey,

He’s so happy, alive. 

And he’s giving little kisses,

To his valiant furry pets;

They return his love with wishes,

Of warmth, a place, no regrets;

This serene man just wants to live,

His day, let his dogs play, 

Providing for canines, he shouts. 

The walk is fin, away, 

A gentleman of a harsh life;

Not alone, known by all here,

He is content, with strife;

Afflicted by poverty’s sear, 

He is the man we all know well,

The one we’ll never know. 

Not content for our disdain, well, 

He leaves before it snows. 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – Standing Alone


There it stands on a tiny island surrounded by rocks — this lonely Norman castle where people use to live, work, and play. And they lived, worked and played for the Lord of the manor Eric and his Lady Isabel.

Eric and Isabel were so in love and Isabel prayed daily that no one would break their stronghold or challenge Eric and his loyal soldiers to battle. 

Eric was a good Lord. He cared for his people and loved Isabel with his whole heart. It is said that Eric’s ghost haunts the castle still looking for his Lady who waited and waited for him to come home to their castle from war.

But Eric never came home and Isabel lost hope. You can hear her wail of disappear in the ocean. Eric’s ghost never finds Isabel’s wail and Isabel’s wail never reaches Eric’s ears. Theirs is not a happy tale, but it was once. 

  
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting. Please feel free to join us at her site for Flash Fiction.