Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer/ Saturday Mix: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “A Journey’s Friend” #amwriting #poetry #SaturdayMix #MLMM


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting this past edition of FfftAW. Also, thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix Opposing Forces. This past prompts opposing pairs were: unite and divide, and hope and hopeless.


Credit: Priceless Joy


If we explore and don’t lose hope, street ways —

Will open, words will not divide; doors clear.

For we can’t avoid pain that stings and sears,

On cobbled streets as we meander astray.

But the trail home unites into new pathways,

It’ll heal your woes as fresh wounds too teach.

Some roads aren’t level, they’re beaten; don’t retreat.

Alleys lead to tattered souls, forgotten strays.

Each path comes with reasons, some dire purpose.

There’s an illusion that hearts untended —

Don’t require hands to forget hopelessness.

Let strangers both wander and reverse,

Tell the tales of your lives, share stories deep;

A friend is no loss, journeys require them.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Bop – “Set Free” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting the past edition of FFtAW.


Credit:@wildverbs


“Bird Set Free” by Sia


I’ll shout it out, have no doubt, I’ll fly free,

No whispered tunes of birds flitting off key;

A hush of melodies from ages past,

Notes, movements, which won’t disappear — they’ll last.

So, I’ll shout it out like a bird set free.

Singing for love, for possibility,

For the sweetness of words’ probability.

To soar, to rise high, past rising winds,

Find His Spirit within, not to rescind —

Those promises not given lightly, but —

Oaths we crossed ourselves, and kept, to catch gusts —

Off the highest cliffs and spread our wings fast.

Wait; breezes tickle wings, catch the updraft.

So, I’ll shout it out like a bird set free.

Holy Spirit as you rose, naming Him,

Your Holy Son, whose blood liberated sin’s —

Hold on all, on those who who yearned for flight.

No more pain; no more losing wicked fights.

No more bullies who pull feathers out; who —

Know not the joy of sky’s an unknown blue.

So, I’ll shout it out like a bird set free.


©Mandibelle16. (2018)

100 Word Wednesday: Fiction – No OverTime Necessary #amwriting #fiction #100WordWednesday


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.


Credit: Bikurgurl


Greenwood’s The Angry Beaver quieted me as no place in town. It reminded me of home. Hockey was “the” sport and beavers were noble. The beer was imported Canadian — but not the moonshine most customers hid.

In Canada, we’re fond of beavers, and they’re no harmless rodent. Not when you’ve strode past their river valley dam with your curious dog. Alarmed beavers slap their tails, and snap their teeth. They swim as professional NHL’ers skate, and won’t think twice about fighting.

Danny, the bar owner’s Doberman, was never the same after a beaver ‘battle-royal’. A jersey was pulled over his head when the beaver dove with Danny into the lake. He headed for shore; had Danny fought, the beaver would’ve destroyed him. No OT necessary.


“I am Canadian” – Molson Beaver Attack Commercial


©Mandibelle16.(2018). All Rights Reserved.

Friday Fictioneers/ Three Things: Fiction – “Even the Small” #amwriting #FridayFictioneers #fiction


Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff for hosting the Friday FictioneersFlash Fiction of only 100Words. I’ve combined with the 3ThingsChallenge and the words: mattress, golf ball, and green.


Credit: Ted Strutz

We stroll as winds of cooled-heat kiss our skin. The scorch of daylight has faded and twilight means relief, a chance to escape the apartment. Even with a fan, the heat stifles me above my mattress.

I hurry, trying to match the boys’ strides, as mint chocolate chip dribbles down my chin. In the harbor, fishing boats and small yachts reside. To our right is the country club, and an immaculate golf course with greens.

Come dusk, the club turns into the local bar. Sleek design, can’t hide embellished tales, years of laughter and midnights carousing. At night, the patrons care not for decor or social status, but to forget. At night everyone has a story worth telling — even the small.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales/ Saturday Mix: Poem – Lunes “Children’s Games” #amwriting #poetry #saturdaymix #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. Also, thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix’s Same Same but Different Prompt. This week’s words we cannot use and need to find synonyms for are: check, dress, hand, snake, and drop.


Credit: Alex Knight via Unsplash


Eyes bright with metal palms,

No clothing I’m —

Armoured in white-plastic overalls .

*****

Divergent from children of skin,

No life’s blood;

But, my tablet never falls.

*****

Curiosity, wonder; I click into,

Games, to play

Slitherers and ladders; winning all.

*****


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction/ Saturday Mix: Fiction – Radio City Memories #SaturdayMix #amwriting #fiction #MLMM #SPF


Thanks to Susan for hosting SPF. Also, thanks to Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Saturday Mix prompt on Double Take with the homophones: lacks – does not have, lax – loose discipline. Also the words hangar – garage for airplanes, and hangers – from which things clothes hang.


Credit: Susan Spaulding


“They still keep this old place? Someone’s been lax with the upkeep. It’s lacking any since the ’80’s.” Milo stared at his nephew. “Radio City’s been ’round almost a century. She has old bones, those are hard to preserve.”Riley sniggered and shook his head. “What’s this Art Deco run-down to you, anyways? You a Rockette’s fan?””Your grandma was, but that’s not why I like it here. In 1978, Radio City became a historic landmark. They renovated it. It was this huge hangar attracting musicians and actors.” Milo held Riley’s shoulder. “When I was twelve, my friend and I snuck in as famous singers performed, and during movie premieres. There were back doors often left unguarded. ” “No way you snuck in.” Riley elbowed Milo. He grinned and ruffled Riley’s modern-mullet. “Today if you did they’d arrest you. Back then, they didn’t think kids were that smart. If they caught us we’d say our parents made us go and we were bored. We’d dress up too, and wore pressed suits from wire hangers.” Riley’s smooth skin crinkled around his frown as his great-grandma’s had done. “Whatever you say.” Milo shrugged. “Your dad came with us.” Riley laughed and kept walking, but Milo paused. He closed his eyes as he recalled Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and her pointed bra in nude-pink. His thoughts shifted to Kurt Cobain’s faded notes of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” to a more recent premier of a Harry Potter film with his daughter, Maisy.At the street corner Riley waved, waiting for his Uncle. The kid was always hungry. Milo recalled that ache too.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales/Music Challenge: Fiction – The Guilt of a Freshmen Love #amwriting #3LineTales #fiction #Musicchallenge #MLMM


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3Line Tales. Also, thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie‘s Music Challenge prompt #29 on the song “The Freshmen” by the Verve Pipe.


Credit: Michal Prucha via Unsplash


“The Freshmen” by the Verve Pipehttps://youtu.be/Jf3pXkBDhiE


When I was young I assumed I knew it all, and not one of us listened to each other; we hammered insults injuring with no thoughts for consequences. Then, we were guilt-stricken, sobbing as we crashed through thin-ice and drowned, as we insisted we weren’t obligated for denying our feelings; as swans plucked clean of feathers — our loves swallowed Valium. We denied them, they weren’t our responsibility because they fell in love first, but I’ll never know why we thought ourselves wise and wouldn’t compromise, washing our hands of our failed relationships — we never talk of dying for our sins; in the end we convinced ourselves, we were only freshmen.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction/ Saturday Mix: Poem – Prose Poetry – “We the People” #amwriting #poetry #SaturdayMix #SPF


Thanks to Susan for hosting SPF. Also thanks to Sarah from MindLoveMisery Menagerie’s Saturday Mix Prompt of Opposing Forces. Today the two sets of words are: permit and forbid, and visitor and host. Sorry, this is longer than the regular 200 Words.


Credit: C.E. Ayer


He permits and forbids without reason, with much fallacious thought. He twists words as vines and slithers. A side-show becomes the center of the circus ring, as he pretends he can make you great.


But you don’t need him to flourish. Your strength is in your people, you’ve the right, the ability, to burn such policies to ash. You were great before his birth, before his residence. And — into time, and into the past — his words will fade as hell’s bells knell. With each message of condemnation, each compliment a serpent’s tongue lisping. You never know if you can trust him, and such delusion is surely a crime.


Yet, in a Republic or a Democracy, citizens may choose and remove those who speak only to their self-glories, not of Him above or those soldiers sacrificed; not of the everyday person’s self-sacrifice. He plots and in isolation, he’d have you flounder believing every typed character, every Slytherin parcel-tongued lie rasped. Not the truth that he’s cast on his belly and is nourished in slime. You’re not great because of him, but you are great despite him.


We, your ever watchful neighbor, curse the writing on the wall. Sometimes you’re all too near to see the deception that slips through every crack. Thistle-thorned, tree trunk-sized weeds, poisoning all right. But, if you blocked his words and turned away, gave him no more votes or attention. If you ignored him as a child who tantrums, and slammed the door to his room — his words and lies would fade, no more cats yowling. You could be as one who enters into a serene and secret garden, where suddenly, the silence of blubbering ceases, and your mind crystallizes.


You are the people, and no matter your past vote, you have more power than one man’s ploys. You can forbid his doctrine and not remain astray. While you’re a host of greatness forever reclaiming your liberation, you’ve also the freedom to make his presence, his disturbed and loquacious visit, a memory. Everyone falters, everyone knows the anger of manipulation — we’re all human. So, revise your independence for you all as, “We the People,” are the way to greatness.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesdays/Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Decuaine – “No More Rough Currents” #amwriting #poetry #100WordWednesday #MLMM


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays and also thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting a Sunday Writing Prompt based on a Watery theme and one of the topics: Up the creek without a paddle, Wading Upstream, The River Flowing Up a Hill, and When the Fish Stop Biting.


Credit: @Bikurgurl


Caramel and cantaloupe burn white,

The sun setting, in fiery depths it gleams.

We struggle ‘gainst the current, it’s our plight,

A journey many take wading upstream.

We fight not to slip, sweat-stained body’s heave,

Then, deltas and islands draw near, take form.

In felicitous breezes, drenched clothes dry clean,

Acrid earth bears us, we tremble on shore.

Caramel, Bellini sky’s, rain pours —

We clasp tight hands waiting for the ‘morrow.

*****

Another night in the grit of sands touch,

We dream of skyscrapers, our souls believe;

We’re past the current, our fingers bold clutch,

Memories, hopes, the warmth of home found breathes.

No more suffering in past with disease.

A butterscotch sky, fresh peaches, tall palms —

The sun rises — a gift, fresh view point now gleaned.

The beach busies, children run as waves fall,

Tumbling sandcastles near shores, claiming walls;

The peace of our Home, no rough currents, at all.

*****


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.