Non-Fiction: My Peacock Feathers, My Tattooed Treasures #amwriting #nonfiction


Another piece from my writing class.


Credit: Caleb Minear via Unsplash


The ‘peacocks’ in our lives are brilliant orbs of light attracting everyone; they’ve clarified my life. I had wanted a tattoo forever, and when I my skin was inked, my largest peacock feather symbolized Evelyn’s presence, the smaller Kyria’s. They both spring from a Gerbera-daisy, on my tattoo, my home and myself.

Evelyn grew up on a farm during the 1930’s. Her only child to survive is my, Godfather. She had a love for stream-lined vintage cars and rebuilt one she drove. She was a skilled mechanic during WWII. Also, a single-mom who supported her son working at the Woodward’s Department Store from the 1950’s onwards. Before she retired, she oversaw much of the store’s finances.

Once, when her eldest grandson visited he counted her shoes.”Grandma, you’ve forty pairs of shoes. Did you knows that?”They were her indulgence. She strived for them, for all the treasures in her house. She had a carved record player of solid wood; no veneer allowed. She bought a pipe organ and piano. Up until the day before she died, she was a pianoist at her retirement home; all the songs she memorized.

Evelyn gardened and did laundry until ninety-six. “Every morning I wake up with purpose. I do something. Everyone else has died, but I awake with determination. I’ve had such grief, but the Lord tells me, ‘Keep going.’”

Her life lived in the crevices of her face, in her smile. After two husbands, she refused to marry Sam. “I’ve decided, I’m not made for marriage” She was in her mid-eighties.

Evelyn had an innate stubbornness in a post-war world where men of the 1950’s and 1960’s put women in ‘their place.’ Whether her opinions were ‘correct’ or not ‘politically correct,’ I had tears streaming from my eyes; my ribs ached during our visits.

Visiting her house, I brought my brothers. There was too much food, and my waistline was dependant on them coming with me. One helping was not enough for Evelyn. We inhaled her chicken soup and lasagna. Her trifle with ripe strawberries and her uncooked pie’s with sweet blue-berries, both topped with ‘full-fat’ whipping cream. Evelyn had gumption, despite everything life threw at her. She was both splendid and horribly flawed.

Her tattooed feather on my skin reminds me not to forget my dreams. Because of her, I’ve a purpose each day. I learned her secret to survive the worst ones, even with poor health.

Moreover, the smaller peacock feather on my tattoo’s for Kyria.* She adores peacocks; they were her wedding theme. Kyria fought to have her cancer identified. She was twenty-nine with a baby, as her undiagnosed cancer fed on her excess hormones.

She’s seen many doctors. “There is no way a girl your age has cancer. It will go away.” Then, after several second opinions. “The lump on your breast is due to pregnancy because you’re breastfeeding.” Then, “Your swollen lymphnoids under your arm, are a condition that occurs with breastfeeding.” She couldn’t feed her son; her pain was so intense from tumors.

Kyria’s naturopath diagnosed her cancer. “Demand that your doctor give you more tests. You should’ve been diagnosed a year ago.” Her diagnosis of Stage IV breast cancer occurred in summer 2015.

She remains resilient. She is the prized-fighter who keeps rising after three-years of treatments. She faces her mortality each time she has scans on her organs, her bones, and her blood. Kyria attended a Clinic in Mexico, receiving a reduced ‘natural’ form of chemo, first. This treatment lengthened her life, her time with her husband, and her son. She’s survived two rounds of full-strength chemo. This April she must endure a third.

Each day she visits her naturopath for IV-treatments, along with various other doctors. She struggles but isn’t afraid to die. Her charisma draws all kinds of people as she shares her cancer journey. She’s a talented business-woman, writer, and her creative-thinking amazes me. Kyria’s gained empathy only ‘the permanently sick,’ know.

Like me, she has days of terrible fatigue, but Kyria’s also the mom of toddler. She has had more pills, vitamins, IV’s, hormones, and needles than I’ve imagined ‘healing’ consists of.

She was so proud last summer. “My hair’s growing back. I can have a pixie cut.” Kyria’s gorgeous in a way most women and cancer patients aren’t. She’s was beautiful before her disease, and beautiful despite it.

The peacocks in my life, are and have been magnificent. But peacock or Gerber-daisy, no person knows how long they have to live. So, when some days are difficult, or I’ve an impossible goal, my hand grazes my tattoo.

We don’t realize it, but to someone somewhere, we are a spark. We all have immeasurable potential. Don’t forget to use it, and keep struggling. Brilliant feather or hidden flower; endure no matter your brightness.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Pay It Forward Thursday- March 29, 2018


Click onto the the GoDogGo Cafe link I’ve reblogged. Share a blog post from a favorite blogger you follow! On Monday you can share your own blog links. On Thursday’s we try to give credit to other amazing writers and bloggers!

Go Dog Go Café

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Welcome to Pay It Forward Thursday. All Go Dog Go readers, guest writers, and baristas are invited to post one link to one specific post (750 words or less please!) from someone else’s blog in the comments section below.  We encourage you to give a shout-out to someone who has wowed you as a reader, creatively inspired you, and/or to introduce a new writer to a wider audience.  We will be choosing a Weekly Barista Favorite and inviting the author to have their piece published in full on the Go Dog Go Cafe with a link back to their personal blog.

If you post a link below, be sure to read some of the other great writing people have linked to.

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Photo/Music Challenge: Poem – Octain Refrain – “My Thigh High Boots” #amwriting #poetry #MLMM


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Photo Challenge. Also, thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Music Challenge #23, “These Boots Are Made for Walkin” by Nancy Sinatra.


Credit: Google


“These Boots are Made for Walkin'” by Nancy Sinatra


My thigh-high boots they walk on everything,

You know I’ve matches, and I’m not afraid —

To burn us all down because you’re in my way.

Breathe from your lips nip, sultry I sing,

I know things you ain’t the time to learn; my sleek —

Legs long, lashes fluttered, make you weak,

All these men want their way, without listening,

Spurning my mind; my Go-Go girl sweet sway.

My thigh-high boots they walk on everything.


My thigh-high boots they walk on everything.

I’m tired of lies, begin your truthin’,

Stop drinking scotch in disturbed aloofness.

I’ve found new matches, a lighter that’ll singe,

No more playing the mouse, no more tricks played.

Breathe into me, the man I know, who craves —

My sleek-black thigh-high boot’s, their little sting.

Step up to the bar, buy me a drink; let’s groove.

My thigh-high boots they walk on everything.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: March Part Two 2018 #notablequotes #pinterest #quotes


Welcome to my second edition of Notable Quotes for March.


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©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction: Morning Runs and Bad Memories #amwriting #fiction


Another piece from my class with edits.


Credit: Zac Ong via Unsplash


He’s hot. Go join him.” Jacklyn filled Yasmin’s coffee.

“Sam’s weird. He keeps perfect running pace behind me at the park. Even worse, he comes in here for coffee.”

Yasmin pulled her sleeves over her hands. “He makes me skittish.”

“Talk to him.”

“I’m scared to, I think.” Yasmin adjusted her ponytail as Sam ambled to the front counter. He paid for one of Jacklyn’s gourmet Cinnamon buns. He caught Yasmin’s eye and winked.

Jacklyn’s eyebrows raised. “He was ogling you. That’s why he’s been running behind you. Oh, and he’s always had his morning coffee here.”

Yasmin peered at Sam. He smirked, inclining his head. “What’s so good about him?”

Jacklyn winked. “He tells me he loves my buns.”

Yasmin smirked. “Oh, yeah? He rubs ‘me’ the wrong way.”

“You’re thinking about him rubbing you?”

Yasmin rolled her eyes.

Jacklyn sighed. “Sam doesn’t have a creepy bone in his body, and he’s intriguing and well built; you have to admit that. It must be those long runs chasing you.”

“He asked Robbie about you. Sam sees you every day and thought you’d be more comfortable with him by now.” Jacklyn prodded.

Yasmin squeezed her fists tight, her breath rapid.

Jacklyn kneeled. “What’s wrong? Sam’s not trying to hurt you. Why does he make you so anxious?” She clasped Yasmine’s hand. “Robbie said that sometimes women have a good reason for reacting how you do. He’s a retired cop.”

Yasmin froze. Fractions of memories flashed through her mind. “There was someone. I didn’t expect it; he came from behind.”

“Do you mean?” Yasmin nodded, and Jacklyn wiped at a tear. “I’m sorry. Have you talked to anyone?”

“I have, and I’m okay. Robbie’s right. Sam’s brings back bad memories.” Yasmin chewed her bottom lip. The tang of blood made her halt. “I was walking home when the other guy attacked. Sam looks nothing like him. But, he makes me nervous, both in a good and bad way.”

“Maybe, you should chat with Sam? If only to see he’s harmless? Robbie says he wants to get to know you. He knows Sam because they play Rugby league together, and ge’d kill him twice if he hurt you.” Jacklyn squeezed Yasmine’s hands. She moseyed behind the front counter to help a harried barista.

Yasmin stood and stretched, she tossed her ponytail. Sam’s glinting eyes remained glued to hers. She sat across from him.

“Hi, I’m Yasmin.” She quivered and her pulse soared.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poem – Haikus: “‘Baa-Ram-Ewes.’” #poetry #3LineTales #amwriting


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

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Credit: Sam Carter via Unsplash

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“Baa-Ram-Ewe, Baa-Ram-Ewe” squeaked,

Girls in wool alerted. “Move,”

Sheep-pig so polite.

*****

“Baa- Ram- Ewe, Baa-Ram-Ewe” twice,

Babe snorts his directions. “Here.”

Trot with sheep-like haste.

*****

“Baa-Ram-Ewe,” Baa-Ram-Ewe” thrice,

“That’ll do pig, that’ll do.”

Sheep dine in verdant fields green.

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©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction: As Siblings Do #amwriting #fiction #shortstory


Here’s another piece from my writing course, edited from the original.


Credit: Greg Raines via Unsplash


Jordan revs his motorcycle for the third time. He drops his helmet, running fingers through his hair. His motorcycles’ roar and grumble soothe him, as he taps his fingers against the handles, waiting for Jessica to hurry up and get her ass out the door.

The door slams and Jessica fumbles her keys, locking the front door. He rolls his eyes as she teeters down the sidewalk in red stilettos.

“You’re so stupid, Jessica. You need to wear descent boots on a motorcycle, or those heels are gonna grind off on the road.”

She punches his arm. “Screw off. I can wear what I want. Mom said you have to give me a ride to class on Thursdays, for as long as you’re living at home again.” Jessica eases a helmet over her hair. “I hate wearing helmets on this thing; it ruins my hair.”

Jordan plunks his on, revving the motorcycle to drown Jessica’s whining. He slips on leather gloves and zips down the street, off onto the freeway and towards his sister’s university.

She’s still talking to him, but he can’t hear her. He grins as her shrill voice fades. Despite her shouting and poking his side, he makes the ride to her school as jerky and frightening as possible.

At the university’s fine arts building, he pulls into a tight parking space, removing his helmet. Jessica takes hers off, hair flying from static. She scoffs.

He peers back at his dyed-blonde dunce of a sister. “You need to wear a helmet, Jessica, because I drive fast. Your head could crack open like a watermelon.”

She screws up her face, prepared to yell, but he cuts her off. “I have a job I need to be back for on time. I can run out and pick you up, but you need be ready, Fluffs.”

She attempts to smack him, but he catches her hand. “I wouldn’t if I were you. If you still want rides, keep your hands to yourself. You can do your makeup and hair at school too.”

Jessica hops off the motor cycle, placing her hand on his shoulder, digging her almond pointed fingernails into the base of his neck. Jordan swears as she balances on her stilettos.

“Don’t call me Fluffs, *sshole. I hate that nickname.”

“I’ll call you what I want. Fluff is all your heads made out of and why you’re getting a BA in Fine Arts, not a useful degree.” He throws his sister’s Kate Spade at her.

Surprising him, she catches it. “I’m an artist. Stop being such a prick, Jordan. It’s what I’m good at. My brain has more creative juice than yours will ever have.”

She pushes him hard, and his motorcycle tips. He catches it. “Grow up, Fluffs.”

It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell over and cracked her skull from wearing those whore-red stilettos. Shaking his head, Jordan speeds to work.

His divorce was through, and he needed to find a new place. Jordan was tired of dealing with Jessica. Like his ex-wife, she was a spoiled princess.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Promote Yourself Monday- March 19, 2018


Click the link I’m sharing and share your best new post! Read some work from awesome new bloggers as well 🙂

Go Dog Go Café

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Welcome to Promote Yourself Monday.  All Go Dog Go Cafe readers, guest writers, and baristas are invited to post one link to one specific post (750 words or less please!) from your blog into the comments section below.  Be sure to pick your best recent post*, because we will be choosing a Weekly Barista Favorite to be published in full on the Go Dog Go Cafe with a link back to your blog.

If you post a link, be sure to read some of the other great writing people have linked to.

*By posting below, the Baristas of the Go Dog Go Café assume permission to publish your piece on the Go Dog Go Café,  if it is chosen the Weekly Barista Favorite.  All authors will be properly cited and we will publish a link back to your blog.

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Three Line Tales: Poems – Lunes – “Puffin Miscommunications” #amwriting #poetry #3LineTalesj


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


Credit: Wynand van Poortvliet via Unsplash


A day for puffins,

Sky clear blue;

With awkward words coo.


Conversing on life,

Verdant grass,

Violet, yellow weeds.


Life isn’t simple,

With caws, clucks,

Language misconstrued.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.