nightmares – Mandibelle16

Poem: “Oh, my Soul, No Nightmares” #amwritingpoetry

Oh, my soul, you’re too quiet, & this pax, money cannot buy it.

I call to you Lord, and my soul finds rest; I’m normal, nothing so special,

But, you use me for little things, and little things resize, arise as bigger things each day in life.

Still, at times, life’s dim shadowiness sinks, the sun flashes and I inhale deep,

In the calm of dawn I repeat my prayer, over and over,

The glacial air of midnight fades, vapor in the quiet, in the morning air.

Rest, oh, my soul, oh, my soul, discover tranquility,

Be serene, and be still, let me know the peace, the dense protection in thickness laid safe.

Let my tongue call gently, and no longer let twilight’s eeriness overcome.

No matter my attitude, bring hope into silent mornings,

When I sleep deepest, provide warmth in your words,

The thickness of a leather Bible, verses remembered from the night passed.

So, now today, we arise with happiness,

Let the sky be a perfect blue, faded lapis luzila and cloud white.

Push away the dark night with its suffering, let it roll away as ancient tomb stones;

Be near me now, so the thick plum fog, the travesty of nightmares won’t linger.

Don’t forget your servant as she calls for aid — “Oh, my soul,” she cries as morning dawns,

Up the paths and down the aisles, natures natural kingdom, the finest architecture.

She asks for the sunlight to beam bright, and delights in split roadways home which, all lead one day to Heaven’s gleam.

Let’s walk in woodland too, and wander amongst trees old and strong,

A place of silence, a blessedness in afternoon’s glory, and the nights storm.

Help reveal the tranquility of daylight, of a life well lived, so that we’ll never be afraid of gothic nightmares.

The clang of steel, the violence of bullets, a crushing stabbing pain, and the iniquity of red violence,

It stuns everyone, carries fear into it’s bitter shambles.

Oh, my soul, oh my soul, let not their be garish nightmares, only the pleasure of the serene faith in my soul.

Bless my life with the silence of tiny moments, no vivid dream that stuns, only the reality of a calm day.

Let me rest away, contrite heart open, the Savior’s whisper echoing, “Be still and know that I am God.”

“Be still, be still, and know; be still.”

#NaPoWriMo Day 4: Poem – Terza Rima Sonnet — “Nightmares, No Fear” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 4 the prompt is” [our] prompt for the day . . . takes its cue from our gently odd resources, and asks you to write a poem based on an image from a dream.”

Credit: Glen Hodson via Unsplash

Terza Rima Sonnet — aba, bcb, cdc, ded, ee (11 syllables a line).

Through misty caverns the mind forever glides,

Where to the sandman beckons, there I relent;

Across memories gone, de ja vu, and signs.

Such dreams are a mystery, nothing permanent;

Peculiar feelings of ‘seen before,’ that might haunt,

On intrepid trails jaunt, so pray for lost days spent;

White-sand beaches, lakes, trees tall, zip-lines; fonts in —

Stories written; chalk etched over cement curbs.

Time races past the trivial, to sigh, saunter.

Forget all dreams of torment, minions that swerve —

Trapped in their schemes, choices, curses sworn, made;

Night creeps always in dark fears, demons raging.

But nightmares fade, they’ll never win — disengage,

In God’s hands my name, on His palms e’er engraved.

Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry

Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.

Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash

I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: T-Rex For Real #flashfiction #amwriting

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

Credit: Yinglan Z. 2017

For many months after watching Jurassic Park, Jacob had been terrified of the giant Tyrannosaurus-Rex before his dad presented him with Iggy, a stuffed T-Rex. Iggy fought T-Rex in Jacob’s nightmares so that he was no longer afraid of dinosaurs when his dad took him to Jurassic World, the new dinosaur theme park.

Unfortunately, mayhem broke out in the theme park and Jacob found himself wedged into a tiny space, crying and clinging to Iggy. Eventually, he snuck out of his hiding spot, running towards the boat dock where men from the army shouted, “Run faster.”

He trembled when he heard the T-Rex roar right behind him, covering him in slobber. Jacob had learned that a T-Rex could only eat you if you moved, so he stood completely still. When Iggy slipped to the ground Jacob thought his life was over. Instead, the T-Rex carefully picked up Iggy with his teeth and stomped off into the jungle.

Jacob woke up, swaddled in his dad’s arms, a helicopter taking them back to safety. He hoped that the T-Rex liked Iggy. Maybe the T-Rex was afraid of a bigger dinosaur? The thought had never occurred to him before.

Writing Prompt: Poem – Quadrille – “Sounds of Sleep” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for Writing Prompt #218 on night sounds.

Also, I’m combining the prompt with #dVerse WhimsyGhizmo Poet’s Pub Quadrille Prompt on freefalling.

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——–

Plush, toasty,

Huddled mass,

Bedsheets cotton crumpled,

Furnace’s ember glows.

Sky clouds,

Dreamy veil.

Screeching cars,
Transposed.

Train whistles,

Downy soft knit throws,

Tangled knots.

Nightmares, quandaries,

Thunder roars,

Rain lashes out,

Dishes clinked,

Crickets laughing.

Duck tapped silence,

Drifting — no wings,

Lethargic before,

Free-falling awake.

——-

100 Word Wednesdays: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Living Small Dreams” #100WordWednesdays #flashfiction #poetry

Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting this week’s #100WordWednesdays.

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Deep night and the darkness should seem mean,

But in day time light exposes, reveals.

The tranquil night holds me and conceals,

I’m finding that black pitch, it redeems.

Souls in the day ashamed of life’s greeds,

Broken, lost, but I’m more than what I seem.

I’m like you, I have fond hopes and wild dreams.

More basic, I just want to have life’s needs.

Water, food, health insurance, no delusions.

Meds so I’m like you, not fearing night screams,

Not having nightmares on cold streets mean.

A homeless woman, battered, unseemly,

Wishing for small things, a roof and hygiene.

Wishing you’d help, want out of here, achieving —

Life where I don’t struggle but live small dreams.

——

Three Little Tales: My Worst Fear #nonfiction #fiction #amwriting #3LineTales

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

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My smile it isn’t real, although I appear happy and unafraid. My smile is goofy and I’m laughing but in reality, I’m quaking inside. Clowns have always frightened me so much I used to have terrible dreams about them even into my teens; so many nights I woke up screaming in horror. My husband doesn’t understand it but standing beside this clown is my worst nightmare and he had better be grateful; it’s not everyday I take a photograph with my the thing I fear the most.

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First Line Friday: Fiction – Stenham House #amwriting #fiction #FLF

Thanks to Dylan of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s FLF.

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“Stenham house was an ancient locked thing and nothing returned there except for crows.”

Lost in the forest Marybeth was charmed by the crumbling facade of the ancient mansion. She wondered what the house looked like on the inside as she slipped through the rungs of a creaky black gate.

“What’r you doin’ here, Marybeth?” her older brother Winston cried, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

“Mom’s worried. Said you’d been out so long she was ‘fraid you were lost in the woods for good. You know you’re too young to be out here alone.”

“What’s in there?” Marybeth asked Winston pointing to Stenham house.

” You don’t want ta go there, ” Winston said matter-of-factly. “Tommy Johnson went in there and never came out the same. He’s a touched now.”

“Well he still lives in the neighborhood,” Marybeth argued. “I see him at school. He doesn’t play with the other kids much but sits in a corner and reads. There’s nothing wrong with that. What happened in that house?”

Winston shook his head, “You’ll have nightmares Marybeth, I can’t tell you. Mom’ll kill me.”

“S’okay I’m a big girl now. I’m seven. I can handle it.”

Winston sighed,”They say a family was murdered there. An axe murder came in and hacked them all to pieces. Grandma, Grandpa, the parents, and worst of all the children. There were four of them and the oldest was eleven.”

Marybeth gasped, “That’s bad. I saw the curtains moving I think someone still lives there.”

“There was a fifth child, he was a tot. The nanny hid him but was butchered herself. Even though the little guy was adopted, he always woke up with nightmares about the murder, even as an adult,” Winston whispered.

” He lives there now, I think.”

“He decide to live there when he ‘came an adult. It was the only way he could face his demons. That’s what Aunt Sally told me.”

“Does Aunt Sally know him?”

“Yeah, they were in the same grade.”

Suddenly the front door to the delapitated house flew upon. Winston and Marybeth saw a gaunt middle aged man standing at the entrance. He motioned them over but then the crows began to fly and circle around the children, diving at them and pecking them when they tried to reach out to the man.

Marybeth screamed batting at crows as she ran all the way back home to the safety of her mother’s arms. Winston followed his sister, his screams even more terrified.

He swore to his sister, later, he saw the man at the door to Stenham mansion disappear into thin air. Marybeth believed him and decided to stay away from Stenhem house until she was older and wiser.

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Day 6 -NaPoWriMo/ A to Z Challenge/ Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Blank Verse – “Coal Dust for Sunlight” #poetry #amwriting #flashfiction #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is “to write a poem that looks at the same thing from various points of view.” The corresponding GoodRead’s quote for the A to Z Challenge is the letter E.

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“It’s one of those things a person has to do; sometimes a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly.” ― Edward Albee, The American Dream & The Zoo Story

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Down in the swamp, down in the bogs there’s —

Mud sucking at my feet, at my soul.

Everyday I journey here and fight,

The elements, the giant rocks, gnarled trees,

Worst of all the swamp, pulling me in.

There are days I believe I shall let it,

But my wife she sees, working here means,

In such a short while, we shall both be free.

She says, we’re educated, we have more —

To us than meets the eye, we’ve wisdom,

To work in horrible conditions,

Because we know two years from now we —

Can leave this wretched bog behind, with all —

The tortures of the tormenting tree limbs,

Nightmares left, there’s better; we’re going —

To the City, where education’s worth —

Something and I won’t have to hate each day.

Mining for fuel, this coal coating my lungs,

My wife’s happy, delighted, she is life,

So I listen to my fathers last words:

“Don’t stay in this town all your life, move on.

Take your girl, your college education,

Leave this foul place behind, don’t be me,

Coal dust in your lungs is misery and —

A cancerous death is what awaits you.”

So, I worked and she and I, we left here,

To the bustling city, with peaceful parks,

We breathe, ‘neath blossomed trees, reading in light.

——–

Collage Prompt: Poem – Cascading Etheree – “The Inner Child” #amwriting #poetry

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt.

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie; Bottom Right – Jeremiah Morelli

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You might think it peculiar to let kids,

Be small, to let them be silly, weird,

When most of their life is spent in,

‘Adulting,’ learning how to,

Be big, responsible,

I say as Auntie:

Let them be them,

Creative,

Full of,

Fun.

——

Let,

Them be,

Wild beings,

Think of stories,

Imaginative,

And implausible, but —

Believe them because you’re,

Playing along, taller tales,

Demonstrate creativity,

For kids, it keeps them young, growing older.

——

Think of tilting towers, Big Ben in blue –

Green prairie sky, a storm brought him here.

But he bends, tilts just because and,

Storm brought along a grand,

Gothic cathedral roof,

Pointed top I’m sure —

Missed somewhere; hot —

Air balloon,

Holds our,

Dreams.

—–

Where,

We live

With such rich,

Possibility.

Imagining,

Tall towers floating in,

Moon lit skies, princesses,

Saving themselves, jumping from,

Clouds, the moon indeed smiling so proud,

Girls and boys — escape from their own towers.

——

Locked fortresses floating, new challenge,

Escaping by flying pirate ships old,

Never turning back to the light,

Of a trapped home, wishing most,

To be little, secure,

Not worry about,

A dragon’s fire,

A port in,

Mid-air,

Light.

—–

Sought,

In night’s,

Binding grip,

All children search,

For understanding,

A hug and kiss when they’re lost,

Hurt, or at least a safe place works.

For home; mom’s gentle touch when,

Nightmares thrive; become to real, kids hide;

But parents are there, provide a haven.

——-

So encourage kids to harness their,

Creativity, to paint and draw,

To find their passions in life, so —

Maybe they can live them too.

Or find a haven in,

Their talents, their skills,

Urging away,

Stress; relief,

‘Cause life,

Hurts.

—–

So,

We teach,

Live your dreams,

Let them unwind

You; be as free as

Butterflies; don’t be tacked,

To a board on the wall kept.

Fly lovely, safe, remembering,

Humanity is indeed so —

Delicate at times; you’re not invincible.

—–

But in the power of the imagination,

You can always escape the threads,

Binding you to reality.

You can have liberty,

Smile, eat your cake too,

And hopefully,

Your partner,

The one who,

Loves you,

Most.

—–

Has,

Their own,

Inner child,

Understands and,

Knows, love is gentle,
Love is fiery, bold,

Love and creativity,

Both hold; let you be dauntless, free,

Full of life, security to —

Be held; be wild both as adult and child.

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