burn – Mandibelle16

#OctPoWriMo Day 12/ Three Line Tales: Lunes – “Conflicted” #amwritingpoetry #3LineTales

For OctPoWriMo Day 12 the Prompt is torture. I’m combing with Sonya from Only 100 Words, #3LineTales.

Credit: Ernest Brillo via Unsplash.

I’m not the Candle who’ll,

Burn because you,

You’ve no solace; no heat.

*****

But I can see your gnarled,

Exit-wounds, scars;

Twisted, wrecked, ashes cindered dust.

*****

I’ll not be abused, fractured —

I’ve exit-wounds;

They were smothered flames too.

*****

I might be warmth, ice —

Everything misconstrued, blighted;

My prayers gut-wrenching torn.

*****

Define truth, straightforward, not confused;

Honesty lashed with,

Toxicity, illusion; unhealed wounds seep.

*****

Heart quickens, pace strong, defiant,

Cornered, smothered, responsibility;

One truth believe, another truth quivers.

*****

Tale Weavers/Saturday Mix: Poem – Free Verse – “Snuffed Out” #amwriting #poetry #TaleWeavers #SaturdayMix

Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting TaleWeavers and a prompt/theme where light is the focus. Also, combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie May 12, 2018 Double Take Saturday Mix Prompt on the homophone words: cedar – an evergreen tree with seeder – one who broadcasts seeds, and days – more than one day with daze – to bewilder.

Credit: Samantha Lynch via Unsplash

I’ll never trace the curve of your lips,

Where it dips, and lick my thumb;

Your nip, a playful bite.

Your brows wiggle; eyes sapphire.

While we slide past maybes,

Sleek condos and greenery;

Cedar trees that sway,

A seed in my heart nourished.

Sharp grass intoxicating —

You claiming my mouth;

Sweeping of lips,

Slow and exquisite.

Sweat makes us stick.

I ache as I’ve never.

Your hand rests ‘neath my throat,

My pulse rapid and wild.

You’ve etched my heart,

I’ll never forget.

The wind rustling, and the flapping of wings,

Our breath in syncopation.

Fighting for air against —

Little deaths.

In a moment, a few minutes,

On a train—

Where we two met.

Potential flared; I turned —

Flustered.

The pain in my chest,

Will it lessen?

Dazed as the days drift,

I didn’t know your name.

Know the flame you kindled,

Would burn me.

My hearts lit with your light,

But the mischief in me,

Craves you both in deepest night,

And the blinding day;

Beneath the Mexican sun,

On tequila beaches.

Daylight to overwhelm,

The throb of pain,

Of possibility snuffed out.

#NovemberNotes Day 8/Photo Challenge: Poem – English Sonnet – “How Sweet the Sound” #amwriting #poetry #photochalldnge

Today’s November Notes Prompt song for day 8 is “Broken Vessels” by Hillsong United. I’m combining the song Prompt with the NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie weekly Photo Challenge.

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Credit: 1na.deviantart.com

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“Broken Vessels” – Hillsong United

—-

“Oh I can see you now

Oh I can see the love in Your eyes

Laying yourself down

Raising up the broken to life

You take our failure

You take our weakness

You set Your treasure

In jars of clay

So take this heart, Lord

I’ll be Your vessel

The world to see

Your life in me

Amazing grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost

But now I’m found

Was blind but now I see.”

——–

I know that everyone must one day go on,

And the love in your eyes, Lord it beckons.

You lay yourself down, we trampled your crown.

And you raised up pieces of hearts broken.

They thought your treasure was locked and vaulted,

That deeds, the law paved way to your glory.

Such grace in death your spirit undaunted,

You butchered death, wretches in Hell’s gory.

Amazing grace, the blind now see victory,

In time’s beginning, the clock stopped — you’d won,

We’re Jars of clay, holding your spoils; mystery —

That you were God, and human too, all in one.

People turn but you burn the veil, so none can hide,

Humans children, as your vessels revived.

——–

#OctPoWriMo – Day 9/Saturday Mix: Poem – Elfjies – “Smoke Baby” #amwriting #poetry #Saturdaymix

For OctPoWriMo Day 9 the Prompt is based on the words “tapping the ash of her cigarette,” and what memory or story pops into our minds. Also doing the Saturday Mix Prompt from Sarah (Weejars) of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie using a poem form called an Elfje.

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—

“An ‘Elfje’ counts as five sentences.
Line 1 – One word. This word symbolizes a colour or feature. The word symbolizes the atmosphere.

Line 2 – Two words. These are something or someone with this colour or feature.

Line 3 – Three words. Giving more information about the person or the object. You describe where the person or the object is, who the person or what the object is, or what the person or object is doing. This sentence usually starts with the word ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘it.’

Line 4 – Four words. Here you are writing something about yourself in relation to the person or the object. This sentence is your conclusion.

Line 5 – One word. This word is called the ‘Bomb.’ It is the essence of the poem.”

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Hawksley Workmen – “Smoke Baby”

———

Regret,

Fingers clench,

Her mouth casually,

Pulls her cigarette, smoke trails —

Lingers.

——-

Ash,

Builds atop,

Deftly tapping cigarette,

Ochre eyes simper, crushing —

Cinders.

——–

Lips,

Pouty, defined,

Pursing them prettily,

Tossing peroxide mane, whispering —

Promises.

—-

Words,

They’ll not,

Be promises kept,

Her words as cinders,

Burn.

——

Night,

Ends quickly,

She disappears, gone —

You’re broken, smoke-heavy —

Regrets.

—–

Away,

Far gone,

Hips swaying, curves,

Bouncing, as she chuckles,

Devoid.

—-

Thoughts,

Of her,

Sweeping through mind,

Shadow of sleepless night,

Altering.

—-

Perception,

Of beauty;

She’s no defeat,

Just reeks of cigarette —

Ashes.

—-

Forever,

Remembering her —

Two-pack habit,

Makes you and me,

Gag.

——

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Healing Touch” #amwriting #poetry

Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt challenge.

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———

Many faces have I, but don’t let me evaporate.

Too many masks I wear within to cover the scars that bind,

The twisting vines of ruined skin,

Not even plastic surgery could heal.

And the whispers of the dreadful night,

They haunt me in my sleep.

Each nightmare worse than the last, entrenching me in madness.

Crying and shaking, in a world I cannot escape.

My screams echoeing from the domed ceiling,

In St. Peter’s Basilica, my heart a kindled pyre.

Does God hear me, my fervent prayers without pride?

I know if He did, he would answer what I seek,

Provide relief from the cruelty of my suffering;

Of the ache and the burn in my skin.

He’d be a cooling gentle wind to end the burning flames,

I hope in my meekness for God as Elijah knew.

I try to forget. to move on, hiding behind masks so I’m safe.

My scars are not physical but they hide beneath skin,

Where plastic surgery cannot salvage a broken soul.

I’m a wretched bloody mess and my stomach is churning,

Why are the worst injuries, the ones you cannot see?

Why do people only see skin deep?

Not many will peer beneath the perfect layers of white ivory,

To see the layers underneath charred and scorched.

Many will not look past the words on your lips,

They are not interested in how a person says certain words,

Or why they say what do.

Many people hear only what they want to hear,

And if you choose to scream,

Than you’re the crazy one seeking attention.

But many screams are silent,

Before they are ever heard out loud,

This is why we need listeners and those with empathy,

To overcome those overflowing with ignorance and apathy to life;

To realize there is meaning in helping your neighbor out.

For we all have hidden scars and screams,

And most of them are dug deeply within our souls.

They wind around a person’s heart, a choking vine envokes —

A cry for help, so please hear it, long before we shout out loud,

Be still for a moment and listen well.

Respond before the masks hide many other faces and mine;

Act before you start cutting into our hearts,

Doing much more harm than good.

Watch your words and carefully avoid —

Assault and battery, for refusing to help those in need —

Refusing to help those lost in their pain.

Heal with laughter and conversation,

A piece of your precious time.

Do not forget the meek and lowly,

We all need help discovering pathways into stardust.

——–

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Poem – Synchronocity – “Beach Day” #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry

Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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Sand beach, I bury my toes,

Sand squishes between them, I sigh;

Happy.

——

Blue sky so clear, clouds like cotton,

Feel at home, reading trashy book;

Engrossed.

——

Hearing waves crashing in and out,

Aroma of salt, sea; sun streams;

Sunscreened.

—–

Scents of cocoanut and aloe

SPF 100 or I’ll burn quick;

Smoothed in.

——

Floppy hat and Marilyn swim suit,

Magazines read while the dog splashes;

Relaxed.

——

Blanket soft with a bit of sand,

Jackie.O sunglasses worn;

Content.

——

Wet dog shaking everywhere,

Angry crab in dogs mouth shook;

Laughing

——-

Calm, tranquility; wading in,

Ocean’s rhythm soothes, stops thinking;

Forget.

******

Sky fading purple; ocean green —

Dark and ominous, storm coming;

Watchful.

——

Rain starts to fall, cold and loud,

Taking umbrella down, packing;

Forced home.

——

Perfect beach moment gone for now,

Sitting in the cabin, storm roars;

Rain pours.

—–

Sleeping in silken covers, dog stretching,

She’s bathed, we’re napping, resting time;

Cuddles.

——-

Poem: Free Verse – Thoughts of the Mockingjay #amwriting #poetry #fiction #symbolic

———

Mockingjay, pretty bird or elegant deadly queen?

A woman, a creature of dystopia and mythology.

If there’s one bird to be, it would be a Mockingjay,

Though I know they’re imaginary,

Mockingjays are real as symbols of courage.

Birds which don’t break, they carry on;

Nature outlasting outlandish experiments,

Reinventing, Mother Earth evolving and re-working,

What humans would call a mistake;

Yet these Jays cannot be hidden away, they’re fierce warriors risen.

——

As a Mockingjay, could I fly close to the sun?

Icarus (I think) burned off his majestic wings doing such a deed,

I’d think a celestial queen of Mockingjays is smarter.

She’s a stealthy bird whose whistle, repeats any tune heard,

Her mimickery can be confusing to her enemy.

A Mockingjay queen, would keep her scars hidden,

Safe beneath feathers which float, as hope;

Now fuzz, falling furiously as she grows, dropping downy —

Fast, no longer a chick adorned with puffiness.

Now a full-blown black and white glory who sings life’s story,

The story of pain, betrayal, and loss;

Your average adventure and most tantalising tale.

Oh, what a Mockingjay can truly be,

When her heads adorned by sunlight and truth,

Choosing her battles and using her melody —

The Melody you’re humming to yourself.

The sweetest songs of tears, quicksilver and liquid gold,

Molten metal glimmering.

She burns with fire in her soul, though she is no mythical Phoenix;

Yet she rises from the ashes of society and science;

She repeats your tunes, the echoes throughout her wild lands.

——

—–

You’ll never catch a Mockingjay, there’s wrath in her footprints,

Her anger caused, ignites an inner flame brilliant.

She’ll swoop from above and end you below,

The dignified woman, no longer laughing,

Going to battle, her war song a trill.

The Mockingjay flies her wings fluid, her form grace designed.

A legendary bird of modern times,

Survival of the fittest crossing genetics;

Nature re-designs better than a science lab of horrors.

Mockingjay is more than bird she is the huntress,

The symbolic warrior of Ancient Greece and Rome – Artemis;

Bow with blazing pyrotechnics and lethal skill, pointed at her kill.

She lives and she dreams of the day, the war is long ended,

Where revenge and the cold stone hearted have no meaning.

Her desire is the melody so beautiful it thrills and heals,

Enraptures a soul with clearly sung words.

She’s a warrior with golden platted lashes, winged at her pray;

A sultry seductress and and goddess flying free.

Mockingbird walks, she sways, feathers flocked close,

She’s as precious as the sparrow, calling lonely for her love.

She’d scarred, her heart torn;

So strong but in need of help most of all.

Even symbols of strength such as her,

Who mimick a fictitious tune with ease;

Need more than survival to hope for.

She needs more than, a gilded bird cage.

—–

——

Poem: Quatrains: “What Never Heals”

“I know that’s what people say– you’ll get over it. I’d say it, too. But I know it’s not true. Oh, you’ll be happy again, never fear. But you won’t forget. Every time you fall in love it will be because something in the man reminds you of him.”

― Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

******

One day you promised me the pain,

Would eventually heal, I’d be —

Free from photographs and the shame.

While I am here, tears streaming.

Out of my mind, of my head,

Did you burn memories seething?

They never left my soul, they’re undead,