Poem: Free Verse — “Stream of Little Light” #amwritingpoetry



Credit: Dave LZ via Unsplash.


There’s this little light, and it spreads.

My heart rate rises –hope beats for a second.

Then, the walls close in, trees bend to frighten,

Branches scrape chalkboards.

But, a stream in the woods is lit, though it’s a haunted ink-sky;

Waters sigh, circle ’round ankles,

Feet balance on rocks, pebbles of every size.

Sliding on wet rocks as we wade in the stream;

Above it’s madness, the ‘sleepy hollow bridge.’

Caws of the ravens, swipe of the sickle swift;

Treading the stream as sunlight seeps in;

It’s okay to breath.

Then, the dank closes in, no comprehension,

The rush of water drowns.

The stream rises over thighs, waist;

It murmurs and shouts, trickles higher; the ravens’ caws grate.

Blue veins, a map on my wrist pulse,

I can’t make sense, I’m not sure why?

The macabre swirling of truth converges–

Yet, for a second that little light beams still.

Desperate hands tread water, reach for an intangible shore;

The horseman closes in.

Amidst flaws, discouraging murmurs, I struggle to be,

To tread despite the undertow.

I’m trembling sick as the stream converges,

Fierceness lost, lack of clarity, ignorance weighted on all sides.

I’m stuck in muddy banks, murmured words —

Blindness as the stream swallows, the sickle sweeps.

Clarity and stability must reside,

But more words scratch, prickly-pear bushes, and poisoned ivy.

If a little light can’t climb into the recesses of my mind,

I’ll collapse, I’ll tumble into instability, the recesses of night —

No sunshine to shimmer.

Sinner I be, lost in the hollow woods,

Or perhaps, Alice in the worst Wonderland.

But if I hold onto effulgent light,

To a serene dawn, that light radiates marvellous.

Let me wander that shallow stream,

I can’t swim the deeps now.

Leave vitriol, misunderstandings,

For when my hands can tread.

For when the horseman has been bested,

His sickle bent and ruined.

When the stream isn’t flooded and the recesses of loss,

Have become a pathway lit again by little lights.

For not one alone has to prove themselves,

Judgement is for all, those lost in the woods.

And those who wake on shore,

A little breath of light remaining,


©️ Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse — “Learning and Dreams” #amwritingpoetry


Credit: Vincentiu Solomon via Unsplash

Sometimes certain words fade to silence,

It’s a battle to complete each task, each day.

There are mornings I almost weep, but I grapple against each storm;

Somedays mean from morn to night exhaustion quivers,

My legs shake and I’m too tired to run –too agitated to sit;

Though you might think I’ve done so little.

And, thoughts and plans leave me pondering all night;

Tossing and turning in the blankets grasp.

But other days I rise, and I’m alive with sunshine;

The learning process of endurance is half the battle.

I try to succeed, hope most days they’re moments that to other people matter.

I’m prepared for hard work, as long as my body’s alert

And if I’m here now in the present; I must be in the right place for now —

For however long I am.

Here to learn, blossom, grunt, and groan against all challenges.

Although, certain days my eyes are sand-weighted,

Aching for tomorrow’s responsibility, a notion of grande design;

I’m surviving today, that’s something.

Existing in an extended vignette, eyes not glazing left alone.

And somehow unseen footpaths meander to freedom, faith for tomorrow:

Then, he grabbed my shaking hands anyways,

Before I tumbled, and off the ledge we rode.

Tucked in goose feathers, silken fibres —

Into the midnight sky we flew.

To chase the dreams of starlight’s cosmic kiss;

Then wake flourishing on a comets tail.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 6: Poem – Blitz – “Something” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 6 the prompt is:


Today’s video is this TED talk on “Why People Need Poetry.” Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of the possible. What does that mean? Today, write a poem that emphasizes the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.


Credit: Thought Catalog via Unsplash.


What if the ever became all,

And you kept going still?

Still, you kept rising with the tide

Still, you kept writing and always had time

Time to live, strive, and heal,

Time to believe the words were real.

Real as any you’d ever heard,

Real as the sun blazing, moon a stage-light dreamed,

Dreamed, imagined, written, and spoken

Dreamed, perceived, with conditions to succeed

Succeed beyond wild illusion and the path of misery

Succeed beyond hypocrisy, a losing of yourself

Yourself climbs and soars

Yourself leaps, stomach drops, but you’re gliding

Gliding as the parasailer, survivor despite crashing

Gliding because rising is impossible without falling

Falling isn’t reason to let go

Falling isn’t reason to curl into a ball, weep

Weep for poetry’s drudgery, being mislead

Weep for the things you cannot change

Change despite the hurt, muscles yearning to stretch

Change take your life-bricks — build

Build dreams, light as air-particle hopes

Build your foundations stable as might

Might that lives inside because you’ll rebuild despite

Might that thrives, you’re free to write and be alive

Alive to heal, flourish, learn

Alive to be whatever you perceive

Perceive that age is not the truth of it

Perceive the truth is to age with grace; laugh at heart

Hearts beat strong, thump with reflection

Hearts collide and ache, the wise know well

Well that here as we are, we can only stumble

Well that the man upstairs knows it all

All with clarity, in someways, we have it all —

All the time to jot and dabble

Dabble to compose words that unravel

Dabble to sculpt, build up acrylic colors

Colors that blur, chroma creates illusory delight

Colors create the scenery, the backdrop

Backdrop to meander the verdant Amazon

Backdrop to shiver in the bright of Alaska’s midnight

Midnight is a place in life and in writing

Midnight is peace as words flow off your tongue

Tongue be silent, hands click faster, feather light

Tongue murmur the words as they pass onto screen, paper

Paper trails of dust to starlight trails, black holes of ice

Paper trails that mock, have us stumble

Ice melts, we’ve everything in our grasp

Stumble because other days, we’ve nothing — that’s something too.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: December 2018 Part Two #notablequotes #quotes #pinterest #poetry


December’s passed. Happy New Year 2019‼️🥂Keep going. ‼️🥳


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©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 26/Photo Challenge: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Words Slighted” #amwritingpoetry #PhotoChallenge #MLMM


For OctPoWriMo Day 26 the Prompt was inside out. Combining with NEKNEERAJ’s Photo Challenge Prompt.


What is inside you (thoughts, feelings etc) that should be out to the world, but aren’t? Do you have anything inside you that is out, but that you didn’t want to be? Or maybe you are relieved that these ‘inside’ feelings are finally ‘out’?


Credit: Ingrid Endel


Inside me is a puzzle, but you’ve each —

Deciphered yours; you see what you want to see.

And you see what I’ve hidden, cracks that bleed;

Floorboards uncovered, with mystery screech.

You can’t with irate words, pretend to preach,

When you’re knowledge is without ‘word’ essence;

You can’t know truth as golden feathers pressed.

Her name unfurling, a diamond-angel’s speech.

Each syllable’s a traveller wandering.

Vague, lost, content, but curious pondering,

Which roads to amble, in sunlight or rain.

I know we’re all great puzzles, but we’re all —

Poets, writers too; we know despite falls,

Secrets buried within our stories told;

Truth’s a pact; words slighted by Cupid’s bow.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 14/100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “ A Safety Net” #amwritingpoetry #100WordWednesday


For OctPoWriMo Day 14 the Prompt is If I Were Me. Also, combing with Bikurgurl’s #100WordWednesday.


Ask yourself, “If I were me…” what would that look like? Who are you really? Have you lost yourself in being a mother, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, father?


Credit: Toa Heftiba via Unsplash


Ask for the world, typify me,

Take advantage or carve my insides;

Pumpkin gutted.

I’ve chosen to take, the high road, to believe —

To have faith.

Not to see, things not there.

To reveal the truth,

Even though, curiosity may kill me.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t configure the puzzle pieces;

I’m a writer, I love a good mystery.

So, weave me a tale and I’ll unbind it thread by thread;

Only to see it’s trembling core, where light reveals the mayhem.

I wish for sunlight, carved tables with Zinfandel,

A place to write, you next to me;

No suffocation, no squeezing in my chest,

My liberty not at stake.

Complications, deviations, things I never expected;

Truth and disbelief collide as dynamite splashes.

I am the wind, I am the great detective,

No laudanum needed to dull the senses or to dream.

I am the Amazon and I am Alice,

Slipping back into Wonderland.

And I’ve discovered that beneath facades,

Can lie a beast with scales and teeth.

Slithering, slick, slime of rust,

Questionable creature, Adam’s fall —

Eve’s mistrust; and if I can’t have all the details,

Assemble words into some order,

My decisions might break not only I,

But lives lie in the balance.

One who needs, so I must give,

Because my Lord said give all you can;

And even if you’re wrong,

Heaven will be your table in the sunlight,

Where you can write and find tranquility:

The ambience of love.

If I Were Me,

Who knows,

For she is constantly moulded,

Her Creator’s hands her safety net.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Nonfiction – Of Encyclopedias and Great Poets #amwritingnonfiction #3LineTales


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


Credit: David Cantelli via Unsplash


In university, most professors agree that encyclopedias are not proper scholarly sources, but they work well as background information; to discover facts that require further support. Old books waft certain aromas, a headiness, but also a mustiness, an acrid reminder of the past and all the knowledge these encyclopedias contain; knowledge judged inaccurate and unreliable alone.

I was studying the poet Samual Taylor Coleridge, and I paused, thinking if in the academic ‘encyclopedia’ of my Literary Criticism textbook, Coleridge’s writing was valid and acclaimed by modern peers, or if he too spouted words too many scholars scoff at and ignore; does his literary criticism require more validation — the answer is simple, nothing can be read at face value, not even the musings of great poets.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Fiction – Blips #amwritingfiction #3LineTales


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


Credit: Nathan Wright via Unsplash


On these dark nights, sometimes the words slip away; my mind’s a sieve. I’ve ideas but the fog wanders inside, and whatever I try, I cannot define these thoughts; it’s as if my wings are shorn, clipped from flight. I’m a bluebird singing her harmonious tune, while some melodies become ethereal disappearing into the sun, while others trickle onto paper, wet tears searing; somehow I define them in blips.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Music Challenge/ Photo Challenge: Poem – English Sonnet – “Softly She Remains” #amwriting #poetry #musicchallenge #photochallenge


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Music Challenge #31 and to Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Photo Challenge.


Credit: Mari Lazheva via Unsplash


Killing Me Softly” by the Fugees


Giselle is lost, that’s what they say, while I,

Lay in the abandoned pool, head bent.

I hum tunes here, no water brims; he died.

Thinking back; laughing at time’s memories spent.

Giselle, love! His sweet words still kill softly;

His gentle touch perceived pain, strummed music.

His guitar played songs we wove, sunken softly,

Water and tears drown, kisses, lyrics.

Nights under stars where our voices blended,

Giselle he moaned, as we mixed our sound.

But he’s gone; that truth pummels without end;

A love of teenage madness; our ship downed.

Killing me softly, he’s gone but I’m here;

Flushed with regret’s knife, he’s no longer near.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: July Part Three 2018 – Special Edition #quotes #pinterest #NotableQuotes


More Quotes! Enjoy!


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©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.