never – Mandibelle16

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Seven Times Seven” #amwriting #poetry #PhotoChallenge #MLMM

Thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Photo Challenge.

Credit: Gamze Bozkaya via Unsplash

Pumping legs into the azure,

O’r mountains of snow and rock,

O’r the lush valley below.

Sweat dripping, hands clenched,

Thin cord strung to a wooden plank.

Legs bending, back and forth,

Lungs gasping as I fly.

Seven times seven, as fresh mountain air inhaled.

Breath respires,

Wondering if after seven times seven,

I could soar as the hawks or the jays?

Or would I crumple? A boulder colliding with the ground;

A meteor splintered.

Bones snapping, pine’s lashing.

Seven times seven; I’m not afraid.

But, in our cabin above the valley,

They’re yelling, and she screams.

The blows fall; I cringe, heart flutters rapid.

Pushing my legs forward and back,

Seven times seven, how long can she survive?

Each fight’s more grim.

Seven minutes, then she’s crying, and wounded;

I wash away the blood.

Bandage and set the bones beneath purpled orchid skin.

She says to forgive seven times seven,

But, my hate has increased sevenfold;

His fists mutilate her each time.

Seven-years trapped up here,

But, in seven-days we’ll run.

No more soaring, no more crystal skies,

For seven times seven,

For her life and mine.

I must steal her away —

Not to die with each sip of his rye.

We’ll lose ourselves,

Seven times seven million miles away.

He’ll never find us — not in his forty-nine years.

Tale Weavers: Poem – Quadrille – “The Torrent” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse #taleweavers

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this #tale weaver prompt on ‘a Kiss.’ Also thanks to Victoria C.Slotto of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for hosting this week’s quadrille Prompt on the theme of fear.

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie- Google Free Images

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Sacrificial,

Abates fear;

Men’s physical force.

Unevocative kisses.

***

Few nights,

But kissing you,

Matter.

***

Mouths collide,

Hands seek skin.

Nipping lips,

Electric storms —

Ignite.

Lips feather —

Eyelids.

Tasting earlobes,

“Losing Control.”

Desperate kisses,

Bonfire roars.

Bouncer reminds,

“Closing time.”

Torrent of fervor.

Fearful of never,

Experiencing,

Blood- rushing

Glory again

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Notable Quotes June 2017 Part Two #pinterest #quotes

More quotes for you again, hope you enjoy and remember that just because some quotes say “she” doesn’t mean they can’t apply to “he” in many situations.

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Day 16 – NaPoWriMo/A toZ Challenge/FFftPP: Poem – Joseph’s Star – “A Poison Tale Penned” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #poetry #flashfiction

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to ” take your inspiration, like our featured interviewee did in the chapbook she co-authored with Ross Gay, from the act of letter-writing. Your poem can be in the form of a letter to a person, place, or thing, or in the form of a back-and-forth correspondence.” The A to Z Challenge letter is O for GoodRead’s quotes and I’m combing these prompts with Roger Shipp’s FFftPP.

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“These bits of paper are covered with lies. They poison your minds. And so long as they exist, you cannot hope to see the world as it truly is.(…)You turn to them for answers and salvation. (…) You rely more upon them than upon yourselves. This makes you weak and stupid. You trust in words. Drops of ink. Do you ever stop to think of who put them there? Or why? No. You simply accept their words without question. And what if those words speak falsely, as they often do? This is dangerous.”

― Oliver Bowden, Assassin’s Creed: The Secret Crusade

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Read your short,

Letter, it’s awkward,

It reminds me of us,

How the two of us are when —

We’re together,

It’s why I’m,

‘I.’

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Why,

‘I,’ isn’t us,

And your words they hurt,

Didn’t know you felt so strongly,

Had no idea ‘us’ was,

So much more to —

You; asking —

Why?

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You

Never said,

As much, why you held —

Back; I guess to not be hurt?

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

It’s just I was more,

To you, than

You —

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Meant,

To me; I —

Try to understand,

How I led you on; when I —

Should’ve stopped this charade.

Didn’t know you what,

What you felt,

Meant.

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So,

Now I —

Read your words,

Poisoned tongue you have,

Poison words too in this —

Inked letters; they are —

Killing me,

So.

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Not,

Only my —

Realization.

I should’ve seen the ‘writing,

On the wall,’ but I was living,

Loving another,

I loved you,

Not.

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Now,

Your poison,

In ink hides easily.

Poison you’ve written with and —

You’re probably smiling now,

Because I’m dying,

Are you glad?

Now?

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You,

See I; peer —

Into the past, I —

Know now you were hiding in —

Plain sight; wickedness masked,

You never loved me.

And I loathe,

You.

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Truth!

I was not,

Attracted to you,

I was being nice, I thought —

We were great friends until now.

I know the real you,

Ignoring,

Truth.

——

Hours,

Later my,

Family finds my corpse.

I’ve written one word down for

Your hours of freedom

Are waning,

Hours.

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Lost,

You’ll only,

Be free a short while,

Then justice will reign, they’ll find —

You; you’re not the only one —

Who kills with poison,

In death you’re —

Lost.

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Notable Quotes March 2017 Part Three #quotes #pinterest #writers #books

I’ve found such a treasureful of quotes this month so you all get a part three. Enjoy, a lot of these are book quotes which I truly loved 🙂

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100 Word Wednesday: Stolen Away #flashfiction #100WordWednesday #amwriting

Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.

I was excited to be away from home, I had been looking forward to exploring Europe and cities such as Stockholm in Sweden. It was a picturesque city and I was awed by the majestic view of it I had from the lake, the orderliness of the architecture.

I sighed loudly making noise and the man driving the boat smacked me hard. I peered up at the stranger who had kidnapped me with fear; a tear trickled down my cheek.

I knew I would never have the chance to explore Stockholm or any other city in Europe.

Poem/Song: “You First” #music #amwriting #lyrics #poetry

Something a little different for these words/lyrics. I’m no singer but my voice isn’t horrible.

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Credit: http://www.verywell.com – “Do You Dare to Take Off Your Mask . . .”

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Under her mask, she’ll hide behind it,

You’ll never hear the truth.

There are legends inside her,

But the truth can be a terrible thing.

Let her hide behind her mask in her makeup,

Let her be free.

*****

Because we all hide behind faces that aren’t really ours,

And oh baby, you’ll see, you’ll see —

That the person who’s wearing a mask isn’t just her,

It’s you and me too.

Under her mask, she’ll hide behind it,

Reveal yourself first, you first.

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Under your mask, you’ll hide behind it,

She’ll never see the truth.

You have treasure buried deep down,

In your keep, it’s a difficult truth.

She’ll let you hide behind your mask unshaven,

She’ll let you be free.

*****

Because we all hide behind faces that aren’t really ours,

And oh baby you’ll see, you’ll see.

That the person who’s wearing a mask isn’t just you,

It’s everyone too.

Under your mask, you’ll hide behind it,

Reveal yourself first, you first.

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Under their masks they’ll hide behind them,

No one will ever hear the truth.

There are stories locked in everyone,

Maybe there not all scarring ones.

Each person is hiding from starlight,

Let them now see.

*****

Because we all hide behind faces that aren’t really ours,

And oh baby you’ll see, you’ll see,

That the person wearing those masks isn’t just them,

It’s universally.

Under their masks, they’ll hide behind them,

Reveal yourself first, you first.

*****

Because we all hide behind faces that aren’t really ours,

And oh baby you’ll see, you’ll see

That the person who’s wearing a mask isn’t just her,

It’s you and me too.

Under her mask, she’ll hide behind it,

Reveal yourself first, you first;

Reveal yourself first, you first,

You first.

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Collage Prompt: How Edges Are Smoothed #amwriting #poetry #LaCharta

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

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Obscured by flowers she slumbers;

In restless sleep, dreams and wonders.

Of every place she could be stumbling.

She’s on a bus; she’s left and coming.

Engaging, discovering the world,

Hands in the air, gives happy twirl.

—–

She knows she’s one of those shattered,

Those broken people, hearts scattered.

All she lost hurts her, still matters,

She’s travelling, her soul battered.

Wherever she feels she goes free —

Never having felt mindless glee.

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In parks she discovers nature’s gifts,

Rain falling down in healing bliss.

Frost on the pine trees, light snow drifts;

Fall’s leaves hanging with an ice kiss.

Dew drops on the pine needles caught,

Icicled and splendid shots.

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Shuttering Nikon bright photos,

Numerous, exquisite, with notes —

Written neatly underneath rows.

Photos printed, memories wrote.

Publishes first book from afar,

Remains here; she’s seen lucent stars.

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Gleaming, brilliant lights overhead,

New home to heal, words yet unsaid.

Forgets past, hangs laundry instead,

Milk in jug for children, she’s wed;

Life remoulded into her dreams,

Someone loves her, he teases.

——

They laugh with each other love spun;

Knows her well but she’s cut him some.

Yet he heals, heals her too; he proves —

Love is the balm, steady, true.

Whenever her edges spike through,

Holds her tight until she’s smooth, soothed.

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LaCharta

“The LaCharta, created by Laura Lamarca, consists of a minimum of 3 stanzas with no maximum length stipulation. Each stanza contains 6 lines. The syllable count is 8 per line in iambic tetrameter and the rhyme scheme is aaaabb ccccdd eeeeff and so on. “La” is Laura Lamarca’s signature and “Charta” in Latin, simply means “poem”.”

Please see Shadow Poetry for further information.

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Tale Weavers: Crossing the Veil #amwriting #taleweavers #fiction

Thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s prompt: A tale which takes place beyond the veiled mist.

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Kyria had been warned since she was a small child, beyond the veil was dangerous. Her older siblings had told her monsters lived there, that there were witches waiting to eat a young child.

What the adults said wasn’t much better. Her Grandma Iris said she’d lose her soul if she was caught in the veil beyond. She talked about shape shifters and immortal creatures of the dark such as vampires and werewolves.

One day hanging the laundry on the line at her grandmothers, Kyria gazed at the veil nearby. She hadn’t thought of it for a long time and she wasn’t sure why it called to her now. She’d never admit she could hear the whispers of the creatures which lived their. They were tempting her and she knew it.

Did everyone in the village see the veil as she did? Kyria believed they had no idea where it physically was, that to them it was was only folklore for children and not a real thing; it was extremely real to Kyria and she knew for her grandmother as well.

Kyria was twenty-four and long past the age of adulthood. Her parents lived together and her siblings with their families. She hadn’t found a suitable man to marry so her father decided she should move in with her ailing Grandmother and care for her. He thought she needed to be of use somewhere since she hadn’t married quickly as her sisters did.

The more Kyria thought about the veil and the mist shrouding it, the more she thought about how she’d never put herself out there in life. She’d always done what she was told and when others failed she was the one who took their place, who filled in so everything went smoothly.

It was how she made up for her so-called “selfishness,” still being single and not having children for her family and village. She wondered why she had never pushed her boundaries and was tired of being ruled by her father’s and her grandmother’s whims.

Kyria loved her Grandma Iris the most because she understood Kyria better than anyone. But her grandma still cautioned her to never cross the veil daily. But grandma was inside sleeping and Kyria heard the whispers from veil more and more these days. They were a sirens call to her.

She ignored all she had been told by her grandma, her family, and her friends as a child. She decided today she would cross the shrouded veil into the other world. Dropping the laundry Kyria walked towards the veil and into the mist surrounding it. The veil shimmered as she came closer and sonorous voice could be heard singing on the other side.

When she reached the line where the spiritual and natural worlds met Kyria stopped for a moment and stood. She smiled and with both hands raised in front of her she was able to feel the mystical energy she was about to pass through.

She stepped into the shimmering fog and breathed deeply. Her long blond hair flew out behind her and it was the last thing her grandmother saw as she watched her granddaughter cross into the other world.

Grandma Iris sighed in frustration but she knew as it had been with her, the veil had been too much of a temptation for Kyria. She knew that adventure and discovery awaited her sheltered granddaughter. As it had been with Iris, the veil and it’s magic was in Kyria’s blood. Grandma Iris was the only one besides Kyria who actually could see the veil, she had made herself guardian of the gateway and hoped Kyria would take over for her one day.

But as the last of Kyria’s blond hair slipped through veil and disappeared, Iris couldn’t help being thrilled for her granddaughter. What awaited Kyria would shape and change her. It would motivate and hurt her, it would be an experience far beyond the scope anyone in the village would ever experience.

Iris blew a kiss towards the veil and whispered a blessing for Kyria. The feelings of excitement in Iris were so intense it was as if it were fifty-years-ago and she herself was crossing the veil.

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Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “A Nightmare of Ink” #amwriting #poetry #nightmares

Thank you to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the his week’s Photo Prompt chalkenge.

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She holds the flowers teaming with a life force all their own,

Knowing the ombré blue blossoms will escape;

Flutter into the world carried on the wind,

Pettles and fluffy white seeds blown across the land.

Messengers of hope and artistry, a beauty undefinable.

Her hands tightly grasp the stems, no thorns to prick errant fingers.

She can’t let go, however, she she tries,

Hands entrapped on rough stems holding too hard.

So rigid are her hands, blood comes forth,

The pressure of her grip too intense;

With great thought, he watches her, observes her reactions,

She doesn’t understand why he’s hurting her; she needs help.
She’s dressed in her navy dress and in life he loves it,

In her dream, he picks at the fabric of her sleeve in disgust.

Mumbling to himself, then struck with a thought,

He’s found a thin fluted vase in blue to match her flowers.

She doesn’t conprehend the symbolism or the reason,

When ink he pours onto her flowers from the vase.

He stains her hands until they appear black,

The flowers are ruined and slicked with ink like oil.

The streaming ink is everywhere,

Her beloved smiles at her, he chucks her chin and winks,

Takes the flowers and places them in the vase.

The ink is all over her hands and arms;

Hers and his, and he’s laughing.

Saying how difficult ink is to remove from one’s skin,

So he cradles her face and he kisses her long,

But then she awakes in her dream,

To permenant ink stains all over her face and hands.

He smirks at her, walks away no care for the ink staining him.

The moon gleams in the sky and it rains — buckets of tar black ink,

Caressing her body, covering as sludge, dripping and spilling.

What value is ink if she has no pen’s cartridge to put it in?

She’s not able to use it to write.

The world around is flooded by this precious commodity,

And when she finally awakes for real, all is forgotten.

Yet, the hands she holds up to the sunlight,

Are stained dark black;

She’s tattood in the memory of a dream,

Nightmares and reality never giving way to truth.

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