Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (1) – “The End of The Dock” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction #mentalhealth


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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Credit: Jules Paige

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At the end of the dock, will she find —

Her own end? Will she find a kind —

Soul who wants to save a lost one?

There’s nothing new under the sun,

She doesn’t want to reach the dock’s ledge to jump —

Into water, to drown, heart ceasing its thumping. 

——–

No one thinks they could reach this point,

No one sees beyond their own point.

Blind to the sad, anxious hoping,

Someone will throw her a life rope.

If she knew how to swim, maybe she could fight back?

Maybe she could cling to life even when attacked?

—–

She’s no superheroe who’s bent,

On killing her nemesis.

Her demons struggle within hid,

She keeps them sealed under tight lid.

Support her, help her, light the shadow of the lost,

No one knows when she cries, it’s not easy to stop.

—–

Waves inside her — tempestuous

They’re crippling waves, regardless

Beyond her sadness, waking up,

Worse than ignorance unjust.

Your lack of thought, with no empathy — she’s pleading,

You don’t try to learn or listen, she keeps bleeding.

——-

She said,”Not to judge a book by —

It’s pretty cover, how it looks.”

She pleads, “Listen to Atticus,

Walk around in my skin,” pick —

Wisely how you react; she’s scared of descending,

At the end of the dock, desperate to not be.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

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Writers Quote Challenge: Poem – Licentia – “Filling The Cup” #writersquotechallenge #poetry #amwriting


Thank you to Jacqueline and Bernadette, from A Cooking Pot and Twisted Tales for hosting the All New Writer’s Quote Challenge. Here’s this week’s prompt quote: 

“We are all vessels. The question is what are the contents of your vessel?” 

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http://www.pinterest.com

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We are all vessels in life, full of what we choose,

Let what whispers you would in, wisely proved.

We cannot keep all the dreary out nor —

The demons within; release what’s ill and poorly. 

Light shines in your shadows keeps the cobwebs, 

From ceasing thoughts which need to be said. 

Let your vessel overrun with hope, joy —

Though difficult, let not out what annoys. 

Tranquility, contentedness find, 

Don’t let the dark days your soul to confine.

We are all vessels in life, full of what we choose,  

Let what whispers you would in, wisely proved. 

—–

We cannot keep all the dreary out nor —

The demons within; release what’s ill and poorly. 

Find vessels alike, fill each other’s cup

Never destain to ask all your friends,”What’s Up?” 

Tears fill us sometimes, but joy overflows too, 

Let happiness feed each other, connection through —

Friend or family uplifts one another. 

Strangers walking trade smiles, vessels fill love. 

We are with each other so we might as well live

Providing all people with kindness given. 

We are all vessels in life, full of what we choose, 

Let what whispers you would in, wisely proved. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Still Grins On #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF


Skull
A Mixed Bag

Whose skull was this?

Painted with black,

Pagan man with Celtic designs.

Artwork of black paint done with care.

Celtic chains round the chin,

Eyes the deepest black holes,

Examining his head thinking,

Under every living human head,

Lies bones, a skull.

More chains around his forehead,

Celtic chains connecting what?

Fans of decorations highlighting cheeks,

And lines underneath hollow eyes.

Teeth broken, some full and functional.

But some teeth chipped,

Decayed from no tooth brush or paste?

What artist drew on a human skull?

Had he or she no respect for the dead?

But I think this skull we’ve found,

Designed with detail,

In the middle of the Ireland,

Tells a story of a time long ago,

No saying how gentleman skull died.

If he was sacrificed,

Or passed away from illness,

These decorations seem to tell me,

He died a man of a great respect.

I do know he was not so old,

And someone saw value in his bones,

To delicately, with care, design his skull rare.

Perhaps, frightening away the other dead.

Or with an artists eye,

Giving glory and tribute to this man’s remains.

His skull the most valued,

For there sat his brain, where he thought,

Ruled kindly and wisely, a leader,

Before death took his life.

And the painted skull through time,

Still grins on.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.