Bop - 6 lines, refrain, 8 lines, refrain, 6 lines, refrain, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, My Thoughts, OctPoWriMo, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

#OctPoWriMo – Day 6/ FFftAW: Poem – Bop – “Reviving” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


For OctPoWriMo Day 6 the theme is pacing the floor. Also, I’m combining the Prompt with a couple of week’s old FFftAW Prompt held by Priceless Joy

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Credit: Pamela S. Canepa

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Back and forth, the floor boards are wearing out, 

Middle of the night where sleep is doubtful. 

High up in my condo, the black sky peppered, 

With giant twinkling points of light inspected. 

Watching from my glowing widows my feet, 

Tapping, then pacing to and fro with defeat. 

Now I lay me down to sleep while cars screech.

There’s nothing in me that makes sense of us, 

Of our loss, the pain mutually rusted. 

How do you find satisfaction being —

Aware of the wall’s writings, not seeing,–

How near the end we were without vision. 

Feeling fog come creeping, our schism —

Not a memory useful in the inky night. 

I survive, healing , letting go the fight. 

Now I lay me down to sleep while cars screech

From high above I watch the night, good friends – 

Walking, conversing, laughing, time extends. 

Wishing I was below to hear their words laughed, 

As my flat isn’t a home but small paths —

Towards more, silencing your name, rising —

In darkness; finding peace, my soul revives

Now I lay me down to sleep while cars screech. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Lauranelle - aba bcb cdc ded efe fbf ggA(1)A(2), Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Laurenelle – “Conviction to Save Angels” #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Elaine Farrington Johnson

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Lady Gaga – “Angel Down” 

—–

Angel down, oh, angel, people stood around 

Wishing we could just be loving, grateful. 

Courage disappears bullets they surround. 

I believe we can be much less hateful,   

Learn wisdom, use our hearts and realize; 

Shots were fired, move provide help, safety.

But life’s a trial, some of us don’t recognize, 

We’re blessed, stop being fools who are acting weak, 

Aid the angels falling, be cognizant

Don’t you know we’re all facing the bleakness?

Our only shelter, in arms of God sacred, 

Shots were fired, down the street where we’d once meet. 

Where are our leaders, elected but graceless? 

People gawk and stand around being useless, 

Terror overcoming until we’re faceless. 

Save an angel despite being clueless, 

Wishing we could just be loving, grateful, 

I wish we’d all do something, not be ruthless

I confess I’m lost, I’ll still try to connect, 

I’ll care for humanity as I’ve respect. 

Angel down, oh, angel, people stood around. 

Courage disappears, bullets they surround. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 


Current Events, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Food/Recipes, My Thoughts, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Exclusive Dirt #flashfiction #amwriting 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. 

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Credit: @Shivamt25

——–

Allison arrived at the local coffee shop for her morning tea. Her duchshund, Peppy, trotted beside her. His ears stood alert as he waited for his morning treat. The coffee shop was also an independant tea shop. There were black teas, fruit teas, herbal teas, white teas, green teas, and all kinds of delicious tea blends. 

When Allison asked the barista for a mango green tea, Trisha sighed. “Sorry, Allison. We’ve had to cut back on teas we serve. We only serve three unique kinds each day. Too much competition with David’s Tea.” 

“Okay, what should I try?” 

“How about the pineapple, squash, and blueberry fruit tea.” 

“Not a fan of that mix, Trisha.” 

“How about chocolate and marshmallow with asparagus?”

Allison closed her eyes for a moment. “Any Irish Breakfast tea with a twist of lemon? Or green tea with papaya?” 

Trisha shook her head. “No, our tea selections are three exclusive flavors each day.” 

Allison rubbed her eyes. “I’ll have a medium latte.” 

“You don’t drink lattes,” 

“Today I do.” 

Trisha bent to give Peppy his treat. While Allison sat down, reading the paper and sipping her latte. 

Then she felt as if she was going to throw up, spitting a mouthful of latte into her napkin. 

Even the lattes had become exclusive. This one tasted like dirt. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Free Verse, Health, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – “It’s a Fact of Life” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW September 5, 2017. 

Excuse the length. I saw the photograph and it fit my poem well. Since I’m still two weeks behind I don’t know that it matters 🙂 

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Credit: Artycaptures.wordpress.com

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When I visit here, 

It’s a fact of life. 

Blood drawn with tiny needles.

Some days they sting, 

Stringing out two seconds. 

Other days, the needle doesn’t register. 

It was a fact of life,

I had to visit here each week,

For the first six months. 

Then, every other week, 

Now each month the rest of my life. 

It’s a fact of life, 

So I don’t pay much attention. 

Facing away when the needle grazes, 

The same ‘good’ vein. 

Blueish-purple in my left arm, 

Silver-violet threads of blood vessels. 

Some months these needles bruise, 

Leave my skin raw and red; 

But If I’ve someone skilled,

There’s a slight indentation. 

Each month —

Babies crying concertos. 

An ominous feeling in the air. 

They’ve no choice —

But to know sharp pain. 

A poke stinging eternities of fire, 

For a wink in time. 

Wailing and —

The waiting room patients’ sigh. 

Then silence follows, 

The miniature massacre. 

Everyone checking, rechecking watches, 

Pulling out phones. 

Waiting for that sickening needle, 

Shuffling in seats,

Legs crossed and uncrossed. 

Glossy magazine pages turned, 

With frequent frustration. 

Toddlers running,

Mothers trying to calm them, 

Hushing their lively squeaks. 

I’m used to having blood drawn, 
Turning my head, 

Focusing on some object, 

Or a distant thought. 

There’s persistent pain as the needle pulls, 
My blood into the tube. 

Six to nine tubes today, 

Blood annexed for annual work. 

These tests burn —

Worse than the tattoo artist’s etching. 

Sketching out the black lines, 

Worse than her needle, 

Grazing repeatedly, 

Skin with vibrant colours. 

Back and forth movements, 
Calming and hushing,

Knowing what to expect and where. 

Conversation, music soothing, 

Then, the artist is done. 

Her needles leaving, 

A work of art behind. 

But the blood test needles ache worse. 

Similar to the last flu shot,

Some years not felt at all.

Other years a poke that —

Throbs all day. 

Despite praying the pharmacist,

Will slide the needle in,

Not deliver a death blow. 

Droplets of bright blood plop, 

To the stark white floor. 

She laughs, this never happens. 

Her mouth turns downward, 

Because you grimace, 

Squish your eyes shut counting the seconds;

Until the hurt dulls. 

She wonders why you wince, 

Why you’re so sensitive.

Says the swelling will fade, 

You’ll live, 

It’s a fact of life. 

It’s a matter of proper training, 

Slipping any needle in gently. 

Not jabbing and mincing, 

A persons veins or muscles. 

Yet still, a fact of life. 
But I remember being six and crying,

Fighting my mother, 

She was angry. 

Because I saw the needle, 

And refused. 

Today, the blood test needles are thinner. 

Adults can ignore them, right

Grit their teeth while the bloods, 

Ripped away, into a tube. 

It’s a fact of life. 

That some things are sharper and dig holes deeper, 

Than blood tests, flu shots, or tattoos. 

There is greater pain flowing from our insides,

If only the hurt could be drawn out as blood. 

If happiness, no worries, and no obligations —

Was all that remained behind. 

If only —

The tattoo artists colours, 

Garunteed you with fantastic health. 

And flu shots didn’t speak of fragility; 

Only the best humors in our blood. 

Gossamer strings supporting dreams. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

 

dVerse, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, My Thoughts, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Quadrille - 44 Words, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Quadrille – “Winged Hope” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW August 29, 2017. Also, thanks to Paul Scribbles of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for hosting a poetry prompt on magic

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Credit: Jade M. Wong – FFftAW

——–

Art bleeds, 

Nobody’s seen before —

Winged ring,

Mortally wounded.  

Some kids arrows —

Embedded. 

Forever trickling,  

Whenever someone’s — 

Dying. 

Knives, gunshots wounds. 

Whether they’re sick —

On pain medication. 

Or dead in sleep.

Winged circle bleeds, 

For generations. 

Weeping blood,

For death is —

Constant. 

Yet in darkness, 

Gleams old magic, 

Hope’s recourse, 

Heals. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

dVerse, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, My Thoughts, Religion/Morality, Sonnet - Pablo Nurado - 14 lines, no rhyme or meter, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Sonnet (Nurado) – “Forever Burn” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Also thank you to Bjorn of Poet’s Pub #dVerse prompt for hosting a poetry prompt on Pabulo Nurado’s sonnets.

” Nurado’s sonnets have no rhyme scheme, are meter-free, and are 14 lines, with a volta when you go from the two quatrain into the the concluding tercets. This is consistent with an Italian (or Petrarchan sonnet). ” 

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Credit: Yarnspinner
——–

Here he sells his wares, the sidewalk his shop, 

He’s weary of unlookers, keeping his clay jar’s burning incense. 

I stand nearby, asking myself, “For what reason, 

Do these fires burn? What wares has he purloined today?”

And stones gathered against the burnt sienna fence, 

Mark that, this is his place, where he works and lives. 

Hocks his wares, keeps the fire’s in the jars stoked, 

Tiny stoves remain lit from dawn until midnight. 

His goods move quick, I’m quite surprised, 

To me they’re nothing much, yet, I buy a wood carving. 

With a crumpled bill and pocket coins, freely given. 

My fingers slide over dips and ridges, measure his small carving, 

Such intricate, minute detail; but never have I found —

Why the clay fires forever burn, incense floating to the heavens. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Health, My Thoughts, Nature, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Peddling Back to Life #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to the lovely Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW August 8th, 2017 Edition. 

——-

Credit: Dorothy

———

Mike peddled with little effort yet his face was dripping sweat as a hot candle dripping wax. Each peddling motion on the tandem bike was agony.

“We have to stop, Tommy.”

“Nope, I promised you we’d get you fit.”

“What if I don’t want that? And why hills?”

“Hills are the best for doing intervals which burn fat better.”

“Who cares?”

Tommy frowned. “I care because I’m your brother.  I realize you’ve been depressed, that finding the right medication has caused you significant weight gain.”

“I also know antidepressants make you extra hungry and that eating makes you feel better since Beth’s death.”

Mike halted the tandem bicycle. “Don’t ever talk about her.”

“I will, someone needs to tell you the facts. The Doctor phoned you and I answered your phone, thinking it was important.”

“I was right. The Doctor’s concerned your blood pressure has skyrocketed. He says you’re quite obese and that if you don’t eat well and exercise you’ll get diabetes.”

Mike growled, turning to glare at Tommy behind him. 

Tommy shoved him. “The Doctor told me so I could help you. Beth chose death so your healthy daughter could live. Tira is two and being raised by her grandparents. That isn’t right.”

“I’m in no shape to raise, Tira.”

“That’s sad. Remember your therapist said, in our family session, that most of your problems are set behaviors, that can be altered? Depression isn’t to blame for everything.”

Mike shook his head, disagreeing. 

“I’ll help you, Mike. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“Todsy’s day one, right?”

Tommy grinned, “Yep, and stop whining. I’m doing most of the peddling, not you.”

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Basic Trimeter, dVerse, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Health, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Relationship, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Trimeter – “Beach Life” #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry #dVerse 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Also thanks to Frank Hubeny of Poet’s Pub #dVerse prompt doing a poem in trimeter. 

———

Credit: TJ Paris

——–

Out on Kayaks arrived on beach, 

Where topaz sea foam ocean waves crashed.

Topaz turns Santorini blue soft

Calm waves shallow bring us, into shore. 

Shedding life jackets and wetsuits left, 

Zippers released quick; swimsuits worn, 

Nothing but comfort for us here now. 

We lie on white sands relaxed our — 

Bodies tired, cleansing breath respired.

After hours paddling through far out —

Seas where the ocean waves fought us hard.

Tangling our fingers we absorb sun-

Light; we dry out and sleep, towels, 

Our beds as we’re dead still, post kayake —

Slumber, sunglasses cover poppy —

Eyes in drugged sleep; we’re contented souls, 

The soothing lull of tide rhythm of —

Our beach life desired most until, 

We’re forced to return to our home. 

To the city, our condo precious

Tranquil and never unloved but; 

For moments we lay here at peace our, 

Lives restored by kayaking and such, 

Lazy naps in ocean sands adored. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Quadrille - 44 Words, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Quadrille – “The Shire”  #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. 

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Credit: J.S. Brand

——–

 Up to The Shire, 

Rounded doors. 

Tall ones warned, 

Lintel’s short. 

Beams are low, 

Pantry’s full; 

Bread, jam, wine. 

Safe from intruders. 

Into our Shire home, 

Scrolled furniture, 

Comfortable repose. 

Sweetest resting place;

Don’t force us, 

Come out. 

Adventure’s dangerous; 

But my blood, 

Pulsed madly, 

So I went. 

From The Shire, 

Then life, 

I lived well. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer:  Stronger #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Grant-Sud

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Below Joshua the city spanned the azure horizon. He wished it felt like home here, that the kids at school didn’t make fun of him. He couldn’t help that he didn’t speak English well. He’d lived outside of Beijing almost his entire thirteen years. 

Even though his English was improving, the kids in his classes still teased him, mimicked his Asian accent.  Joshua didn’t understand why they made fun of him, specifically. There were many kids of diverse ethnicities in his classes. The difference was they’d been born here, or had picked up English as toddlers. 

When some of the bigger boys punched and pushed him around one day at school, Joshua ran home immediately. There were tears running down his cheeks and he was embarrassed to be crying. He wasn’t surprised when his legs took him to his favorite place in the city. Joshua had found it one day wandering the streets and deserted buildings close to where he lived. 

As he presently stood on the corner of the brightly spray painted building, he swore to never cry again. No matter how much the other kids teased him, no matter how badly they bruised him; Joshua would show them he was stronger. 

——-

Kelly Clarkson – “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.