Tag: arising

Photo Challenge: Quadrille – “Comet’s Tail” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s photo challenge. I’m combining it with a #dVerse prompt by Grace from Poets Pub, doing a quadrille on the prompt word flicker. 

——–

Credit: Alison Saar

——-

Flickering in,  

Charcoal night. 

Weight of wares, 

Burden heavy. 

Night sky dawns, 

Swift comet’s tail.

Inner flame, 

Whispers. 

Minute celestial, 

Flicker. 

Reminding him, 

Time passes, 

Quickly. 

So, he unloads, 

His burdens. 

Knowing he can’t, 

Balance, 

Any longer. 

He’s arising;

Phoenix,  

This flicker. 

Freedom’s whisper; 

As the comet, 

Ignites. 

———

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.

Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse —

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe —

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands —

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – ” You and I End, But I Survive.” 


 

wwe.kimdodd.mft
 
——

Inside me I hope you see my soul,

Dreaming accomplishment, goals.

I wish you could reach deep within, see —

See beneath the visage, me.

There’s more then what is visible, in a sunrise —

Lost in the spaces of memory, arising.

—-

I hope I can reveal to you,

Treasures of thoughts, giving you clues.

I’m a women capable of love,

I take, I give more; push and shove,

I spoil you because you’re a vision, my best-friend

Depending on you, it’s difficult to do, in the end.

—-

Not sure what this says about my mind,

That I cannot trust; hurt inside.

Little by little I’ll give you more,

I’m afraid you’ll see me out the door,

I’m dreaming, being comfortable together.

Both in our sweats, and me cuddled in forever.

——

You get nervous, when I go beyond,

Physicality, a skin bond.

You give me looks at certain times,

Staring into my eyes, I’m moon shine.

But then, ignoring me because I did something wrong.

I don’t read minds, ever heard the tune of that song.

——

At times, I believed we were going,

Places, you and I, showing —

Each other we can do this spring,

We can be special, mean something.

Then you tune me out again, until you want “it” again.

I’m sad, I feel knives; leaving you, I lose but gain.

—–

I’m strong on my own and thrive.

Demonstrating I survive.

Wires of energy feeling vibes.

Turning away from us, describe —

The beauty of being alone, peaceful, and free.

Inside me, I create my own happy place, you’ll see.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Boss Who Froze


After a half-hour dozing in bed, Cara realized she had slept-in. She jumped into her shower then decided to style her hair into a messy bun. She slathered on face products, blended her foundation, and applied mascara. Cara was relieved a pinstripe dress and black cardigan greeted her when she opened her closet. She threw on a wool coat, warm scarf, and applied her lipstick. Cara zipped up her tall black boots and put on leather gloves.

The wind stung Cara’s face as she walked against it to her SUV, which had been warming up as she prepared for work. The storm was awful and Cara arrived at the office thankful she made it to work without incident. Only two cars were in the parking lot. She ran to the office main door and noticed a sign saying the office would be closed today. Cara wished someone had emailed her before she left home.

As Cara ran back to her car, she tripped over something solid. She glimpsed behind her only to see the frozen body of one of the founding Lawyers of the firm, Mr. Duncan. Cara screamed, arising lightening fast and getting into her SUV. She fumbled with her phone, dialing the police as tears blurred her vision.

 

Snowy Car
A Mixed Bag 2010 A Snowy Winter Day

Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. You can join too!

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

 

Literary Lion: The Morning Process


Morning to her was a process that took time and a self-forcefulness that sometimes just wasn’t there.She would awake slowly eyelids peeled apart and rubbing the sleep out of her grey-blue eyes and she’d look around her at the calm arctic blue walls.  Then she would look at the pictograph of Emma and the young women right in the middle of the large picture frame. She would vaguely realize she knew where she was and that she was snug beneath a warm black duvet with little white flowers and crisp white sheets.

She would begin her visual journey around the room taking in every detail wrinkling her nose and wishing she had a tooth-brush right then and there. Then as gossamers of light began to make their way through the white roman shade she would yawn and cover her eyes with the back of her hand and become aware of the rings on her right hand. Three of them were from a set that she wore another three on her left hand and the forth was a ring engraved with black silver hearts that she had received from her mother when she was sixteen and her parents had gone off to Banff for a week.

Removing her hand from her eyes she would wiggle her toes and push unenthusiastically at the covers before turning over and surrounding herself with them so she was snug and protected.Nothing could hurt her in here. But soon she would find her mind wandering down long highway, amongst valleys of information, and activities she wanted to do that day. She thought of Downton Abbey half watched on her Ipad and of the books she had been saving up to read in spring. There were several new one’s she wanted to read and several old books she wanted to reread.

Throwing the covers off her now cold and chilly body she would touch her toes to the carpet, always surprisingly soft and become aware of her state of ugliness in the mirror. Mascara was smeared under her eyes, her face bare with moisturizer that had not quite sunken all the way into the skin, her lips slightly cracked, and her long blond hair a matted mess of possibility, if only she had bothered to dry it last night. Ignoring the picture before her she pads into the kitchen where a bowl of fruit is waiting and cereal is crunched slowly in ones mouth as it scratches the top of her mouth and leaves it sore.

Word Count: 429

Thanks to I Smith Words for hosting Literary Lion!