Niki’s Meet and Greet this weekend on a The Richness of A Simple Life
Thank you to K.L. Caley from new2writing for hosting the #Maydays prompts. Today’s prompt is about laughter. A Lauranelle is written in iambic pentameter with the following rhyme scheme: aba bcb cdc ded fbg ggA1A2. A1 and A2 are your first lines from the first two stanzas. Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.
The smile you place upon my lips and kiss,
Resonates within my heart’s core, dive in,
When you ask for as kiss, you sip, such bliss.
Letting time build and love restore within,
Pain once existed, left in night of dark.
Touching your skin, which I adore, no sin.
Laughter is all I feel, nothing which is stark,
Before you, life was emptiness, depart —
Giggling, smirk, hear the cheerful larks.
Telling j0kes, yours are genius of heart,
Never failing to make you smile, I try.
Dry wit turns away soberness, take heart.
When I think of you grinning while I sigh.
Thinking, words which will turn sadness away.
With rich laughter, love’s no trial, stay awhile.
Future is distant, with gladness I pray,
As we age you I know, I’ll adore you and grin.
Young love requires days of madness, I say.
No doubt in my mind, you are rightly mine.
No doubt in your mind, I’m your light shining.
The smile you place upon my lips and kiss.
Letting time build and love restore within.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.
Thank you to Wandering Soul for hosting the Story Continuation Prompt Challenge. This week’s theme is Mother.
My Mother walked out of her room in heels. She was wearing her soft teal wool coat she only wore when she was dressed up to go out with my Dad. Behind her the scent of floral and baby powder drifted. I knew her perfume came from a glass pearlized owl which sat on her dresser.
The owl’s sculpted feather could be felt when I held him, but it was his glittering crystal eyes that fascinated me the most. They hinted at the mystery of being grown-up and of an elegance my Mother carried herself with.
Before she went out, my mother reached down to hug me and I was engulfed by her perfumey scent. Her soft long teal coat would brush my face. My Mom’s teal coat was a piece of clothing she only wore on a date or special occasion. Her small curvy figure was hugged by this tailored jacket. It gave my Mom, a woman who dressed in leggings, t-shirt, and sweatpants at home, a classic and graceful quality.
My favourite aspect of this coat was the ruffle that went down the front edge of the coat flaring and fluttering out. The ruffle was pretty. Something splendid and beautiful to a little girl. The ruffle made this coat a fashion statement. It was a coat Barbie would have gracefully worn if Barbie was a petite 5’2″ woman. The belt of the coat synched my mother’s small waist in and the bottom of the coat floated around her.
I dreamed I would inherit the coat one day as a small girl. But my mom donated the coat to Goodwill in the early 2000’s. They style, however, came back ‘ in’ again soon after. Mom wouldn’t have fit the coat anymore at the time, but probably would now as she lost weight a few years back. I know the coat would look as stunning on her now as it did back in the early 1990’s.
Mom’s teal coat was a piece of beauty. Together with the scent of flowers and baby powder, it cast my mother in this ethereal light where she appeared as if she were an angel. She would leave for the night and the babysitter would arrive, some student from my Dad’s High School where he taught, and I would feel utterly bereft without my Mom.
She was an angel dressed-up, somehow, not my usual Mother. She wasn’t the woman who yelled at me to pick up my toys, but a figure of elegance which illuminated the glow of a woman in her prime. A young woman who for one night left her children at home and was able to be a girl, to be free.
©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.
This made me laugh. And it’s so true!
I’m a writer, which means I like to write.
Sometimes I also like to read. A lot. When I should be sleeping.When I should be doing something important.
Now, I know all the theories that writers are supposed to read, and how you will never be a great writer if you don’t read a lot etc. etc. But am I the only one who sometimes reads a book with a sense of guilty pleasure?
I could have completed editing thatchapter … but spent the evening reading instead.
Or I could have cleaned the house…but I spentthe afternoon reading instead.
And even when there is nothing more important to do, and you allow yourself the guilty pleasure of reading time, there are degrees of guilt. For example reading a classic or literary fiction is far more acceptable than dipping into the latest genre fiction offering in the bestseller list…
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Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.
Word Count: 170 words.
Murals are magnificent, brightening up space, but so far —
Many people doesn’t understand why you’d paint a mural on your car?
It’s tacky, to some people an ‘eyesore,’ the car driven colourfully,
With images, impressions, photographs, painted cities, tattoos inked wondrously.
You’d never hear a judgement from my candied purple lips,
When it comes to art, I’m not a lady who needs to come to grips,
With the reality of modern art; it’s whatever way the artist feels.
He or she say may paint their ideal — their art, to them what’s real.
For art, though it appear tacky and weird in some people’s eyes,
Has the ability to make people shine, make them laugh, and to surprise.
Especially to aid a person living beneath the shadow, depressed, and sad,
In a moment, the car arrives, awash with colours and scenes glad.
So, if you see a painted mural driving down the highway a while,
Remember art is a visible living melody, with its ways of helping those who need, smile.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.