#NaPoWriMo Day 29/Saturday Mix: Poem- Quadrille – “Apprehensions: Night Tears Through” #amwriting #poetry #SaturdayMix


For NaPoWriMo Day 29 the prompt is: “to write a poem based on the Plath Poetry Project’s calendar. Simply pick a poem from the calendar, and then write a poem that responds or engages with your chosen Plath poem in some way.” I’m combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie‘s Saturday Mix Prompt of Opposing Forces and two sets of words suburb and city centre and repair and damage.


Credit: Maximo Valcarce via Unsplash


Plath Poetry Calendar: APPREHENSIONS

“There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself—

Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.

Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.

They are my medium.

The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.”


No walls to repair, or damage,

Creation’s infinite, sublime.

You tug at my heart —

Buds bursting,

Craving unknowns.

Amidst starlit skys.

Angels swimming,

Chiding indifference —

Knowing white walls,

Can’t entrap.

Not suburbsof children,

Or urbanspeakeasies,

Sparking, neglecting —

The sun’s dissolved,

Bleeding into pitch —

Light tears through.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: The Monty Hall Problem #amwriting #mathsucks #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. Sorry, a bit of cheat with this one, but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head for the photograph. I think it’s 4 or 5 sentences. But who’s counting. 😉


Credit: Jerry Kiesewetter via Unsplash


Say, there’s a million dollars in one green box (ignore the yellow boxes), and there’s Monopoly money in all the other green boxes, but you don’t know what green box has the million dollars, and what boxes have Monopoly money.

You select green box number 7 as the box (you guess) has the million dollars, but it’s also revealed that in green box number 2, there’s only Monopoly money; do you choose a different green box or stay with green box number 7?

Many people would say, there’s a 50/50 chance your first choice is the correct green box with the million dollars, but they’d likely be wrong, and here’s why: There was a 3/4 (75 %) chance of you choosing a box with Monopoly money, and there’s still 1/2 (50 %) chance of you choosing the Monopoly money, when green box number 2 is revealed. There’s only 1/4 (25 %) chance of you choosing the million dollars; therefore, you should change your green box selection because there is a greater probability you were, initially, wrong choosing green box number 7, than choosing the green box that contained the million dollars.


Maybe some of you have heard of this? It’s called ‘The Monty Hall Problem.’ Check out the video here: The Math Question that Has Stumped Thousands of ‘ManSplainers.’ Apparently, men have greater trouble understanding this reasoning than women. What do you think?


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NovemberNotes Day 30/Three Line Tales: Nonfiction – Breaking the Shell #flashfiction #3LineTales #amwriting


For November Notes Day 30, the final prompt song is “Break the Shell” by India Arie. I’m combining with the #3LineTale prompt by Sonya of Only 100 Words.


Credit: Hans Vivek via Unsplash


Break the Shell” by India Arie


Hard decisions are frustrating, such as spray painting a mural and wanting it to be perfect, then watching it painted over in white the next day; but we can’t let indecision and fear hold us back as shadows too make a person whole. We want to live a life without pain but that life doesn’t exist because life hurts no matter what and is meant to be felt; if we stay inside ourselves, then we’ll never accomplish our potential. I am certain that flying free means breaking out of our shells to thrive and take chances; and if we don’t decide to try we’ll remain trapped on the ground, always wondering, what if?


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo – Day 2 – Poem: Free Verse – “Of Terror & The Dying” #amwriting #poetry #yegstrong #vegasshooting 


Welcome to OctPoWrMo Day 2 . I’ll be going back to Day 1. But today’s prompt was writing what we must. And this is what resulted, sorry to begin with the topic isn’t light. 

It’s inspired by two events the Las Vegas Shooting and terrorist events in Alberta, Canada. 

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Credit: Ian Dooley via Unsplash
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I wish you wouldn’t kill, 

I wish you wouldn’t shoot. 

I wish you didn’t feel the need, 

To take others with you to the grave. 

I wish you knew your pain, 

Was a problem that could’ve been helped, 

If wish you had only asked. 

I wish you weren’t indoctrinated

That morals halted your, 

Urge to kill and wound hundreds. 

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill, 

I wish you wouldn’t shoot, 

I wish that you’d stopped yourself. 

Thought of the consequences, 

I wish you’d had empathy. 

Realized everyone feels pain as you did, 

That all people have things in their life, 

That wound and maim them, 

Throughout life’s winding road; 

We all feel internal pain, brokenness sometimes. 

But others chose better coping methods, 

Not to go about their wicked way, 

Taking global humanity to their knees. 

*****
I wish you didn’t kill, 

I wish you didn’t shoot. 

I wish you didn’t choose chaos, 

That you chose understanding —

Not violence. 

I wish you knew all the family’s hurting, 

How your pain became more than your victims, 

More than the wounded and the dead. 

I wish you knew how you maimed everyone —

On scene, through the online world. 

How guns are so destructive, 

When they’re attained so easily to murder. 

That blood flows, when gunshot wounds, 

Cause suffering. 

That men and women are lying dead, 

Having lost their lives too early. 

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill, 

I wish you wouldn’t shoot, 

Because other people will emulate you. 

They will think your selfish choice, 

Is the right path for them too. 

I hate that you had to take, 

So many others with you. 

That you didn’t comprehend, 

The sanctity of life. 

It’s ever so valuable, beyond twisted beliefs, 

Your inner turmoil — whatever it was, 

More than the false reasons, 

You believed gave your actions merit.  

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill, 

I wish you would shoot, 

I wish a place of celebration, 

A place of respite and vacation, 

Did not become a mass murdering location; 

But it did, all because of you. 

I hate that you can’t hear, 

The moans of the people you hurt. 

That you can’t look them in the eye, 

And see the their tears, their horror. 

I hate that you don’t see, 

Children who’ve lost parents. 

I hate that you did not realize, 

Your actions harmed and injured many. 

It makes me sick that you were okay, 

With this awful outcome, 

Of being a grim reaper. 

I hate that you probably, 

Wouldn’t have cared, 

Even if your cowardly death, 

Hadn’t worked. 

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t shoot. 

That the pandemonium and suffering, 

Your victims felt and discovered, 

Is something you didn’t experience on earth. 

I’m so angry that men like you, 

Choose weapons too available, to harm others. 

I’m so angry you ruined so many lives, 

I’m so angry you made a place, 

That once felt safe, 

Into a terrifying war zone. 

I’m so angry that the country, 

You caused your mayhem in, 

Has far too many gun related deaths. 

And I don’t know how to stop men like you, 

How a right to bear arms, 

Oversteps someone else’s right to live,

I can’t comprehend; 

But I heard the screams, the peppering of bullets, 

And it makes me want to cry. 

So upset you were okay with, 

The consequences of a heartless choice. 

That your inner demons, 

Got the best of you, 

In such a malevolent way.  

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill, 

I wish you wouldn’t stab. 

I watched a terrorist ram a policemen’s car, 

Saw the policeman soar into the air, 

But he hadn’t any wings, 

For he was merely human. 

I watched you stab him too many times, 

And he was only doing his job. 

While another mad man, 

Ran down others. 

Tried to hurt them too.

And I wish you wouldn’t slice, 

Let blood trickle and flow. 

I wish you wouldn’t use a truck, 

As a weapon to injure, cause pain. 

But I cannot see into your mind, 

And I don’t know that anyone, 

Could have changed all your minds.

All I know is you all didn’t listen, 

To the conscience inside your head. 

All I know is your method of damage, 

Was a choice to do evil. 

*****

I wish you wouldn’t kill, 

I wish you wouldn’t shoot, 

That you’d dealt with your own turmoil, 

In a vastly improved method. 

I know that many people think, 

All people are generally good. 

But few realize being a good is a choice;

We’re not made that way, 

We learn to be good people. 

And too many choose to twist what’s good. 

And commit acts that are selfish and evil.

To many acts of terror, 

By lone men or terrorists. 

Too many opportunities, 

With access to weapons, 

Knives and guns, 

Defend your family as you must, 

But make it harder, 

So random men can’t do their evil,

Wound hundreds with bullets, 

In blood drenched mass murder. 

I wish you wouldn’t choose to kill, 

So we don’t hear the screams, the suffering, the dying, 

So the images don’t haunt us. 

Because it’s sickening that ever day people, 

Who appear like me you and me, 

Have a monster residing within them, 

Have made the choice to murder.

*****
I wish they wouldn’t kill, 

I wish they wouldn’t shoot, 

But I can’t see what was inside their minds. 

Because they looked like everyone else, 

Not a demon, a Lord Voldemort, or a Freddy Kruger. 

All I can send is my prayers to the broken, 

Those mourning and terrified. 

All I know is that some people choose, 

To be good people, 

And I have faith in God and them. 

All I know is that in the end, 

God will give every person justice, 

Justice that is eternal and right. 

And that someday on earth, 

We must learn to forgive

Not to become monsters, 

So we don’t commit terrifying evil too. 

*****

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved 

Notable Quotes Part One #pinterest #quotes #Canada150


Happy Canada Day all you Canadians. Today our country is 150 yrs old. This may seem a small number to some if you, especially in Europe. But to us it’s pretty awesome! 🇨🇦🎈🎉🎂🥃❤️
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1. 

Credit: http://www.pinterest.com 

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Credit: http://www.pinterest.com 

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3. 


Credit:www.pinterest.com 

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4. 


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5. 

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6. 

Credit:www.pinterest.com 

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7. 

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8. 

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9. 

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10. 

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11. 

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12. 

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13. 

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14. 

Credit:www.pinterest.com 

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15. 

Credit:www.pinterest.com 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – In Memory of Evelyn #amwriting #poetry #elegy


Credit: Amanda Eifert
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A few months ago a dear friend passed away at 98 years old. She was a grandma, my great godmother, and in these last few years, a genuine friend. I miss her very much and writing her letters to mail with a poem or small story. It was our thing and I visited her as much as I was able. The last time I saw Evelyn we visited a few hours in her room. Then,  I was leaving and I couldn’t get out the door to reach the elevators. Finally, I got to the elevators went out the front time and stopped. 

I looked back at the wonderful care facility she’d been staying in these past three years. She was in her own home until she was 95. I had this strange feeling that I woldn’t see her again. I gazed back deciding all I could do was hope that in a month or two, she would still be alive and well. I do wish one more visit might have been possible. 

She was a wonderful, outgoing, and opinionated person. She demonstrated great care with people and her hospitality is/was famous. She even drove big trucks and was a mechanic in her day besides working at the Woodwards Department store for many years. For much her life, she was a single mother. Evelyn had many talents, her cooking, her unpredictability, and a spirit that kept on shining and pushing through life’s miseries. 

R.I.P Evelyn. I’ve been trying to finish this last poem for you for a few months.  It’s taken me awhile to get right! I’m so happy you are with our Heavenly Father and no longer suffering in any way. 

——–

A monument falls, crumbles, 

Although, she was strong. 

An impenetrable force, 

A spit-fire, a trail blazer. 

You can press your hands against thick steel, rock, or concrete, 

Wonder how such monuments are designed, 

Buildings of beauty, fortified through time;

How could they fall? 

Then you realize that soft skin isn’t stone, 

And a woman isn’t a superhero. 

When you gaze into the past, into beloved photographs, 

You see how smooth marble crinkles, 

As fine lines, directions on a map. 

The most elegant calligraphy, 

Words muted in the unforgiving sun. 

And photographs appear in memories, 

The warming light of conversation, 

Over hearth: satisfying food and laughter. 

Yet, still I attempted to see how her puckered lips,

Were once plump, young, and beguiling.

Long gone are her cherubic child’s lips, 

Nearly a century ago. 

And flawless cream skin is marked, 

Lines settled in, can be followed, 

A pattern of an Autumn leaf. 

No monument left to be seen, no eyes sparkling, 

With a smile uniquely hers, 

Never to be repeated;

Only in whispers of genealogy. 

A monument stood and —

She was significant. 

Someone who was seen and not afraid to be, 

A grandma who paraded around, 

 In forty two pairs of shoes — probably more. 

Her body could be strengthened with steel, 

Knees and hips better off with fabrication; 

The real ones worn out. 

Do stone monuments feel the pain of lost children? 

Of polio’s grasp, sucking the life out of a small boy.

Of a little girl who passed away a whisper. 

And of one child who survived, 

A reader, a teacher, a traveller, a builder. 

One who is imperfectly perfect as her.

My godfather with his wife, 

My godmother, both I adore.

Yet, the stubborn cheerfulness, 

Of this monument lives on in her family, 

In her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, 

And beloved relatives and friends;

Partners who marked her life, always leaving early. 

Sisters and brothers, marrying others becoming new brothers and sisters, 

How she adored and missed all them all, 

Passing away before she could blink.

For the most part, she was unsurpassed in years, 

She mourned her family and friends gone first, 

But reunites with them now.

And when she fell, the monument’s pieces scattered, 

Although all feels lost,

She needed her relief in heaven. 

And no one ever thinks that day will come, 

Until it crashes upon those left behind. 

Monuments fall, it happens every minute of every day, 

For every type of personality, 

To each person someday;

Special and authentically themselves. 

It’s okay to morn the monument’s empty place, 

To hunger for her caring advice, 

Her kind words. 

The silence is hard, her not being, 

In her home or in her room.

Now she’s aged, is dust of the earth, 

She is the ideal of herself, the creator’s perfection. 

Her life was imperfect, as we all are, 

It was shadowed by pain and misery; 

Yet her optimism always pulled her through it. 

Remembering her and taking comfort within, 

Her greetings to all those she meets again. 

The suffering and sorrow has ended, so do not cry your tears. 

For every monument is eclipsed, 

Heaven’s radiant light filters into the cracks, 

Rebuilds the rubble. 

Her figure of faith and grace. 

The love she had, that does not die, 

But multiplies in eternity, 

Waiting for her family someday. 

And for her her dear friends. 

 When we arrive, 

She’ll wonder what took us so long. 

Offering a piece of pie, uncooked fresh blueberries in a crust, 

With soft dollops of whipped cream. 

Her timeless love in cooking, baking, hospitality, 

Everyone was always welcome, 

If you weren’t, she’d tell you so. 

True monuments may appear hard and resilient, 

Underneath they are as the rest of us, 

They are frail and human. 

Time will catch up with everyone, 

And we pray we can meet our deaths, 

Mansions prepared in the sky. 

God the only monument, 

 Not our crumbled lives. 

————

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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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Credit: Jessie Williams Via Unsplash

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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. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: The Cat Came Back #3LineTales #nonfiction #music #memories


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

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Credit: Timothy Meinberg via UnSplash

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If you grew up in Canada you knew who the children’s entertainer Fred Penner was. Everybody knows and loves Fred Penner and his singing of our favourite kid’s songs such as “The Cat Came Back.” I was thrilled to have seen him live from about ten meters away on stage at a TEDTALK’S conference where I live in 2013; his message — music can save and change lives! 

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“The Cat Came Back” by Fred Penner

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“The Cat Came Back” by Fred Penner

*****

Old Mister Johnson had troubles of his own

He had a yellow cat who wouldn’t leave its home

He tried and he tried to give the cat away

He gave it to a man goin’ far, far away.

*****

But the cat came back the very next day

The cat came back, they thought he was a goner

But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away.

(Give me a miao. Miaoooo!)

*****

Now the man around the corner swore he’d kill the cat on sight
He loaded up his shotgun with nails and dynamite

He waited and he waited for the cat to come around

Ninety seven pieces of the man is all they found.

*****

But the cat came back the very next day
The cat came back, they thought he was a goner

But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away.

(Give me a miao. Miaoooo!)

*****

He gave it to a man going up in a balloon
He told him for to take it to the man in the moon

The balloon came down about ninety miles away

Where he is now, well I dare not say.

*****

But the cat came back the very next day

The cat came back, they thought he was a goner

But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away.

(Give me a miao. Miaoooo!)

*****

So he gave it to a man going way out West
Told him for to take it to the one he loved the best

First the train hit the curve, then it jumped the rail

Not a soul was left behind to tell the gruesome tale.

*****

But you now what?

But the cat came back the very next day
The cat came back, they thought he was a goner

But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away.

(Give me a miao. Miaoooo!)

*****

Now the cat was a possessor of a family of its own

With seven little kittens till there came a cyclone

Blew the houses all apart and tossed the cat around

The air was full of kittens, and not a one was ever found.

*****

But the cat came back the very next day

The cat came back, they thought he was a goner

But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away.

(Give me a miao. Miaoooo!)

Sing it all again!

*****

But the cat came back the very next day

The cat came back, they thought he was a goner

But the cat came back; he just couldn’t stay away.

(Give me a miao. Miaoooo!)

Louder Miao (Miaoooo!)

Louder (Miaoooo!)

Little quiter

Quiter miao (Miaoooo!)

quiter (Miaoooo!)

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: Poem – Lunes – “Sonorous Voice” #amwriting #3LineTales #poetry 


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

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Credit: Paulette Wooten via UnSplash

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Mood settles down, crowd whispering, 

Taking the microphone, 

Sees phones glowing in darkness. 

——

His sonorous voice ooos, flows, 

Cascades in waves, 

Crescendos — crowd sings each word. 

——

Shivers down our spines, melodic —

Voice raised profoundly. 

Clarity resounding, lyrics in hearts. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Music Prompt: Poem – English Sonnet – “Whisky in The Jar-O Please”  #amwriting #musicchallenge #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last Friday’s Music Prompt: “Whiskey In the Jar” performed by Metallica. 

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Credit: GQ – Best Way to Drink Whiskey – http://www.pinterest.com

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Whiskey In The Jar” sung by Metallica 

———

Up the Cork and Kerry Mountains to find, 

Captain Farrell, money in vault to hide. 

Highway man with pistol and rapier, 

Sending him home for the devil to take. 

All his money in saddle bags hidden, 

To home for the highway man hard ridden. 

Said she would love me, never would she leave, 

Molly in bed; man there, now dead bleeding. 

Still to her chambers, go I, highway man, 

Drunk; money to mask and Molly to take. 

Captain Farrell riding up, shooting guns, 

Aiming both barrels; now in prison flung. 

Wish for Molly’s chambers to romp, yet she —

deceived; more, whiskey in the jar-O, please 🥃 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.