For OctPoWriMo Day 5, the prompt is creating from the heart.Licentia form poetry is the form of poetry I chose (aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA) etc.
Dorothy heard a creak as lightening. A twisting of metal and a groan. She peered at the straw-man. “What was that?”
“It came from over there?”
“Where, by the copse of trees?”
Dorothy crossed the cobbled yellow road. Her feet ached. Whatever she did, the ruby shoes wouldn’t come off. “Chloe, it’s too much. I want these gone.” Her ever-growing black lab bounced beside her.
The straw-man chuckled and they peered over to where a tin-man stood. He squeaked his limbs and joints, maneuvered the muscles in his face attempting to move his fixed joints.
“Hey, you girl? You wouldn’t mind oiling my joints and muscles, maybe my facial muscles too?”
Dorothy quirked her head. “I suppose I could. How’d you get stuck like that?” Chloe sniffed at the the tin-man, and growled. When he shifted the lab yipped.
The straw-man leaned towards Dorothy. “Might as well give it a shot, Dottie.” He stood with hands on hay-filled hips. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
Dorothy oiled the tin-man’s elbows, his knees, his ankles, wrists, fingers, neck, and facial features.
As she worked she observed his computer was humanesque, but covered with a shiny exterior; his face as tin-foil rolled flat over each feature. When she knocked on his leg, the hollow metal echoed and she giggled.
The tin-man peered at Dorothy, as she stepped back all finished. He stretched his limbs around the copse. “This’s wonderful. That rain storm caught me off guard. Didn’t help the fires as I thought it would.”
He wrinkled his silver nose and bent his arms. He bent his legs this way and that until all the squeaks disappeared from his joints. Chloe leaped to catch a stick he threw her way. She returned it dutifully.
The scarecrow stood, his eyes thoughtful. “What brought you here anyways?“
“Same as many I suppose, running from the fires. My cottage burnt; I left and kept walking. The dense smoke was everywhere and then out of the sky, the rain fell. It caused a lot of haze but not much else, the fire’s still out of control. Everything grew smoggy and black. After my body rusted until I was stuck.”
“Oh my,” said Dorothy. “Thats terrible. It’s dry as dust and the smoke hangs in the air as a veil, everywhere; what isn’t burning is ashes.” She glanced behind her to the smog filled skies. “Cinder and ashes everywhere, people like you left with nothing.”
“It’s no picnic. But, all we can do is keep moving.” The tin-man lifted his oil can. “Where are you three-headed?”
“We’re trying to kill the last wicked witch and steal her broom. The first witch and her sister caused these fires. I’m Dottie, and this is straw-man.” The scarecrow bowed.
“You’ve met my lab Chloe.” The dog leaned against the tin-man on both legs, happy to have her neck scratched.
The tin-man bowed to Dorothy and the Strawman. “Nice to meet you I’m Jack. But tin-man is what everyone calls me. I was cursed, turned into a man of metal. They stole my heart mind you, my chest is hollow. Although, I’m happy despite.” He grinned teeth glistening.
The straw-man circled the tin-man, mouth open in awe. “Well, you look well for being cursed. It doesn’t surprise me you’re missing your heart. I’ve brains to think things through. Although, I’m completely made of hay. No curse, but my stuffing falls out.”
The two men chatted and Dorothy straightened her dress and fixed her hair. She pulled out a tiny bowl and fed Chloe chicken.
In an instant, a half-man, half-lion pounced from the haze of smoke and advanced towards them. “ Excuse me. How’s it going?” The lion-man roared.
Everyone lept backwards. Chloe yipped and hid behind Dorothy. Then, the lion-man peeked from behind a tree. Dorothy hid behind an opposite one. The straw-man and tin-man approached the lion steps cautious. “Where’d you come from?”
“The forest in the distance.” He pointed to the far left. “The ash heights, aptly named.”
The lion shivered. “I almost died of smoke inhalation.” He looked at his fur-hands covered in soot, shaking his mane.
“What’s that?” The lion cowered as Chloe barked in her face. Her woof had deepened on the trip.
Dorothy studied the lion-man. He wasn’t exactly, a lion and not exactly a human. More man than beast though. The tin-man stood in front of her. He guarded Dorothy with an ax (usually) hung from his belt.
“I’m Dottie.” She stuttered. “This is tin-man and straw-man. You’re a lion?”
“Of sorts. I’m trying to find a new home. You’re sleek creature frightened me.”
“That’s Chloe. She’s a dog. Just a pup. Don’t be afraid. Her bark is bigger than her bite. And I’m sure your bite is bigger. “
The lion-man grinned. His pointed incisors gleamed. “You’d think so, but my teeth aren’t that big, nor my sense of bravo. I’m afraid of everything.”
Dorothy did the tin-man chuckled. “It’s okay, we’ve all got things missing too.” The straw-man lifted his arms dropping straw bits. I’m made of straws, but I’ve no brains. We recently met the tin-man. He’s a real man covered in tin, but without a beating heart. Dottie here and Chloe, need to go home.”
The tin-man grinned. “Yep, need to find myself a tin lady. But, need a heart to do it.”
Dorothy hopped backwards and Chloe hid near. “Oh, well Gertrude (the good fairy) did say I’d make friends, good one’s along the way. Tin-man and lion, would you come? Be friends with us too?”
She nodded towards them. “As I told tin-man we’re off to get the second wicked witches broom and kill the old bat; she started the fires.”
Dorothy clapped her hands. “Oh, and there’s a wizard-magician too who might help, the straw-man said.”
The straw-man walked in thoughtful circles. “He’s in the city, the green one ahead. I think he can help us get the broom, and my brains. Maybe the lion-man’s sense of courage and the tin-man’s heart too?”
The tin-man and lion-man agreed with her and smiled. The lion pursed his mouth. “Okay. I’m in. Let’s get going though, the black smokes rising and coming nearer.”
Dorothy peered around. “I can’t get over how eerie and unreal this place feels. Was it always this way?”
The three men looked at each other. “It’s how it is here of late. The witches made it so. It’s improved I think, despite the fire.” The tin-man leaned against his ax.
“Sounds about right. Maybe killing the second will end it? Make the lands of Oz real, end the fires?”
The straw-man’s mouth curved. “Ah, the magician. He has forces enough to end it. Firefighters, and magic enforcers too. We need to find him first.”
“All right then. All agreed?” They nodded at the straw-man.
They hooked arms with Dorothy, the bleakness forever at their backs. Chloe ran in front of them oblivious.
Dorothy pondered if in a world where nothing was as it seems, could they all receive what they needed ? Or, would this emptiness, the hollow feeling of the Oz lands ever let up, witch or no witch?
She smiled pretty anyways and they marched towards the city of the great magician. Who knew what he was like.
(Thanks again from Frank L.Baum, The Wizard of Oz.)
Autumn is cool here and they’re places I amble where certain roads are brilliant possibilities; others dull dead ends. This September, the warm breeze of an Indian summer blows through me, and in the sunshine afternoon a rainbow brick path leads to a periwinkle church. I sit on a back pew, hands laced in prayer as peace pervades me for mere moments; then, my heart unclenches and I inhale bliss.
Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Music Challenge #34, “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. Also, thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix, Lucky Dip. For August 25th, she challenged us to write poetry in the form of trios-par-Huit.
“The Trois-par-Huit was created by Lorraine M. Kanter.
Trois-par-Huit (Three-by-Eight or Octa-Tri for short), a poem containing three stanzas of 3, 3 and 2 lines OR 3, 2 and 3 lines: 8 lines total with a syllable count of 3, 6, 9, 12, 12, 9, 6, 3. The rhyming pattern is AAB BBC CC where the last line is the title of the poem and summarizes the meaning of the poem. *Note: These poems are to appear center aligned. (www.shadowpoetry.com)
For NaPoWriMo Day 27 the Prompt is: “to pick a card (any card) from this online guide to the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.” I’m combining this prompt with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Music Challenge #25, “Man Eater,” sung by Nelly Furtado.
“The sun shines in the zenith, and beneath is a great winged figure with arms extended, pouring down influences. In the foreground are two human figures, male and female, unveiled before each other, as if Adam and Eve when they first occupied the paradise of the earthly body. Behind the man is the Tree of Life, bearing twelve fruits, and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil is behind the woman; the serpent is twining round it. The figures suggest youth, virginity, innocence and love before it is contaminated by gross material desire. This is in all simplicity the card of human love, here exhibited as part of the way, the truth and the life. It replaces, by recourse to first principles, the old card of marriage, which I have described previously, and the later follies which depicted man between vice and virtue. In a very high sense, the card is a mystery of the Covenant and Sabbath.
The suggestion in respect of the woman is that she signifies that attraction towards the sensitive life which carries within it the idea of the Fall of Man, but she is rather the working of a Secret Law of Providence than a willing and conscious temptress. It is through her imputed lapse that man shall arise ultimately, and only by her can he complete himself. The card is therefore in its way another intimation concerning the great mystery of womanhood. The old meanings fall to pieces of necessity with the old pictures, but even as interpretations of the latter, some of them were of the order of commonplace and others were false in symbolism.” — Sacred-Texts.com
“Maneater ” by Nelly Furtado
She tips her head long curls flying,
Owning the floor with each sway and dip;
Her eyes gleam light and pale-blue sight;
You’ll never understand — this seductress saved your life.
She completes your being as she sings off-key,
And her body entices, teasing your thoughts —
Down trails of searing delight.
She’s a maneater stealing your breath,
She’ll make you sweat hard, make your fists clench;
Biting her lip before she sips vodka-neat.
The tan of her skin speaks of wandering,
Of foreign cities where she was a siren calling.
She’s a maneater whose perfected her skills;
She’s completion and desire,
Her skin glowing in moonlight.
She’s the comfort in your heart, and she’s only yours.
She’s a maneater, and you fell hard for her love,
When her lips, and her hips — her generous heart’s core,
Caught yours and clasped on in a vise.
Now, your sipping your beer as she puts on a show,
Practised dance-steps enthralling you still.
Lifting her hair, mahogany thick,
Heated stare all consuming;
As her dewy skin melts makeup’s glamour,
Revealing the girl beneath her eyeliner.
She’s a tiger-woman laughing with her friends;
As they twirl and spin, wide smiles, toothy-grins.
For NaPoWriMo Day 2, the prompt focuses on “addressing two “you”s in a poem. Such as taking an existing poem of yours or someone else’s, and rewriting it in a different voice. The point is to play with who is speaking to who and how.
I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing prompt from March 4, of unlikely partnerships/friendships/relationships etc.
The volcanic crater was a disfigured heart. Chance thought it resembled his own.
“Where are you going?” Chance shrugged. “Going to work for a month.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day, no one wants to be alone today, not even me. I could have any man I want, but I chose you.” Giselle’s lively green eyes gleamed.
It was then he noticed the name tattooed on her wrist, within an ombre pink heart. “Who the Hell is Robert, and why’s his name on your wrist?”
“I’ll tattoo what I like on my body.” Chance strode towards Giselle, tilting her chin up so she’d meet his gaze.
“Robert’s the guy you’ve been sleeping with? The one you promised to break it off with, I assume?”
She laughed, grasping Chance’s hand. “We got to talking and had too much wine. Now, we both have tacky tattoos, but you know well Robert’s nothing. I haven’t seen him in a month.”
“You said it was over five months ago?”
Giselle’s bottom lip quivered. “It was, but we ran into each other that once.” He could see her pale cheeks redden; she was lying.
“Robert can have you; I’m done.”
Her eyes flooded with tears.
“I know well your crocodile tears. Don’t be here when I get home, Giselle, never again.”
November Notes Day 12 Prompt song is by Sam Smith and called “To Good At Goodbyes.” For this Prompt combo I will combine the song Prompt with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix Prompt on homophones. For this week the homophones include bolder – more courageous and boulder – large rock; and two of, flew – past tense of fly, flu – short for influenza, and flue – chimney pipe.
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Credit: Cristian Newman via UnSplash
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“Too Good At Goodbyes” by Sam Smith
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I’m never gonna let you near my heart,
I’ll let you subsist in-between the bars;
Where we’re both near, yet feeling the flu, starved.
Mandibelle16 
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