#NaPoWriMo Day 30/Photo Challenge: Free Verse – “A symphony Intrinsic” #amwriting #poetry #photochallenge


For NaPoWriMo Day 30 is: ” to write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinatingfact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird.” I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’sPhoto Challenge.


Credit: Nicolas Bruno


We didn’t have smartphones, flip-phones,

No second lines or iron rotary phones.

Just a ‘can’ to yell back and forth,

Every kid in every neighbourhood had one,

And gossip was damaging;

Persistently strangling its victims.

But, we had no internet or wifi, no dial-up modem,

We penned epics in burnt-sienna cursive.

Our handwriting perfection,

As the pages stretched for hours.

Your morada -inked letters rumpled in my hand,

Holding the ‘can’ to my ear,

As morse-code clicks bullets at pigeons.

And we drifted near drowning in our childhood pond,

Too many words said, too many left unsaid;

Too many deeds done, too many left undone.

I never dreamed we’d split;

That pliers and scissors could strip string and wire —

That alone we were too weak,

To go beyond what our fathers said,

And the fears our mothers chided.

I didn’t know what we had together existed

But then, it was gone.

The water rose higher,

Warm water crushing breath;

Until I snuck out at night if only to survive,

To repair the damage wrought.

I forgot about technology,

The meaning of symbols or alphabets.

I climbed over your window sill,

I woke you with all those words,

The phrases I couldn’t keep inside.

Languages long lost but to us —

Centuries of unexpressed thoughts.

I listened as your morada-handwriting,

Echoed in silver-glitter when you spoke.

A melody that flew as butterflies,

Mediterranean giants with cobalt, crystal wings.

It was eons until everything bled-out,

Then, we were silent.

Lying together, limbs, lips, and laughter,

Bodies loving.

Saying all other words with sensation.

As the sky became serene, and sunlight filtered in,

And you traced my lips in awe,

I trembled and nipped your thumb.

For once we perceived the best tool for understanding,

Was to speak in person;

To converse, cry, yell, and observe–

Each other’s quirks and emotions.

The subtle signs we once knew,

Of sensuous appeal sublime and expressive.

Of rose perfume and musty libraries;

Of summer’s swimming and sunscreen,

Grass sharp and tangy in its freshness.

Your lips as berries devoured,

As forever lengthened our bones,

Made are skin supple, curved and honed.

Your hands on five-o’clock’ shadowed cheeks;

Wistfulness and whispered prayers.

Sins of afternoons and mornings lost,

Of nights spent miserable and alone;

Because we did not sit face to face and talk.

Our greatest gift — our human bodies,

Machines of the grandest designer,

His ‘plans’ can’t be derived, copied or improved;

And all sense of confusion,

Streamed past as estuaries scurried into oceans;

Our pond overflows with fresh water.

Hands wrapped as ribbons, never letting go,

Hazel-eyes to azure knowing the way we are now, is much more —

We were never meant to be alone.

Forlorn in this age of deception,

Forlorn without guidance in the dim.

No ‘cans’ to listen or letters written,

We’re humans at time’s dawn,

Our voices a rhythm sanguine,

A symphony absorbed and intrinsic.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – “Words on the Stairway ” 


 

http://www.alexmulder.eu
 
——

Back to my favourite rhymes I go,

Keep the rhythm quick as we flow,

Appeares that writing voice is back,

No need now for all your life hacks,

The refrain encapsulates vision, souring high.

The grandest place to thrive, creativity cries.

—–

Incased in suits, all bullet proof.

Meaning of powersuit, not aloof.

Fluttering new wings of glory,

Touching heaven, sparks gold stories.

Raining down vocabulary, feeling prose.

Writing anyways in poems, how this writer’s mind grows.

Round in circles, form graceful dances ever-glowing.

——

Phoenix rising, as he spins.

Diving down, prey on fish with fins.

Consuming all the rhymes precision.

No one can claim indecision,

Choose the words, that force you far into a whirlpool.

Round you’ve spun, twirling; time granted swirling jewels.

——

Another verse rises, ascending,

Riding stairways, crescendoing.

Flying the stairway to heaven,

Lyrics, mana, and nectar; times seven.

Wings of angels, spirits, enchant; singing —

Back to my favourite anthem of life, song ringing.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers  – The Opera House


Maggie was to attend her favourite singer in concert at the opera house. The old theatre was a bit of a frightening place.  The chairs were red, an aged patina, with stuffing falling out. Sound amplified in a strange way in the old opera house, and one could hear the whispers of voices, of bygone  performers whenever the crowd went quiet waiting for the modern day songstress to belt out her next song. At the end of the concert, the theatre emptied rapidly until Maggie found herself alone, drawn to the deserted stage. Maggie traced the edge of the stage and when she looked up the opera house had altered. 

Maggie opened her eyes to see the ancient theatre in all it’s splendid glory of luxurious newness. She was wearing a flapper dress and headband and the seats were filled with woman and men dressed in their best from the same 1920’s era. Maggie approached the stage, they were all clapping for her, the newest soul to be claimed by the haunted world of the old opera house. Doomed to spend eternity reliving the concerts that had taken place in this once opulent place. 

The police found her lying dead on the stage the next morning.

  
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting! 

Poetry – ” Rise Up “


When the notes begin to play, hum along and sing the chorus if you may.

The sounds of silence lowly rising as the tide, a gentle splashing growing;

Voices raised in some kind of nameless praise, pick up the pace now begin the melody.

A child’s vocals raised in anthem sweet and dolce as the hum begins its throw;

Begins to rise the chords of voices heavenly, putting out the call to one another.

Alto, Tenor, Bass, then the Soprano’s join in the shockingly beautiful voice of the child.

The piece comes together now, can you feel it rising, it gives me shivers this singing.

The breathing of the talent on a cold, and moonless night, bring sounds to the darkness.

Acapella gently then the bass begins to tremble and delighted sound takes on the wind and trees and brings us to our knees;

Put out the call, put out the call, everyone’s going to rise up and the power of the sound simply out of bounds growing as the tears they ripple.

Out of the lonely mans eye and he sings along in tenor softly giving praise to earths majesty to heavens winged Angels.

Put out the call, put out the call, it’s time to take some action.

And sound surrounds in blessed harmony and tears flow like water pouring from the faucet;

Raise the living and the dead with this song we sing – something’s going to rise up, rise up, dead bones are gonna rise up and her themelancholy. 

The voices are fading out, slowly as we breath, tears and sniffles as we sing ever growing quietly.

Something’s going to rise up, rise up, and we go back to dolce and the mournful sound of a child’s voice the last note to be sung.

Something’s going to rise up, rise up you’ve woken it with your song;

Dead are going to rise, the spirit of the voices woke them with your sound.

Go back to sleep, the song is complete, be careful what you raise up today.