Animals/Pets, Books, Bop - 6 lines, refrain, 8 lines, refrain, 6 lines, refrain, dVerse, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, History, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Bop – “Another Wonderland” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this prompt. For the prompt I have chosen the theme “a trip behind the looking glass,” the male Z name “Zenith,” the female Z Name “Zephira,” the instrument of a “mandolin,” the scent of “vanilla,” and the verb “surrender.”  Also, I’m combining the Prompt with Grace from Poetic’s Pub #dVerse on boarders

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Credit: Diogo Costta

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Mirror divides, boarders in this place from next,

She’s a second Alice, in blue, much perplexed. 

Her name, Zephira, born in distant lands. 

Fingers graze looking glass, ripples expand, 

Beyond here she knows lies Wonderland where —

She’ll meet talking creatures, rabbits, hares. 

Through the looking glass, Zephira finds new life. 

She’s read of Alice’s journey; though glass,

So she enters, vanilla an aroma that lasts; 

Invades her lungs as she breathes it in, 

This new reality, chance to explore freedom. 

Not to be forced to surrender to life’s —

Hypocrisy, marriage games played with spite. 

Alliance (loveless) to wealthy prospects, 

Zephira forgets, enticed with perspective. 

Through the looking glass, Zephira finds new. 

Notes of the mandolin strummed lead her bare feet, 

To places wondrous where flowers her greet.  

Rising high, to top of mountain peeks, finds, 

Zenith, who’ll not control her, so she shines. 

Zephira surrenders to him, her choice glad, 

Holding hands in boarders of Wonderland. 

Through the looking glass, Zephira finds new life.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.  


Fiction, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Wrapped Refrain, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (1) – “For the Little” #amwriting #poetry #taleweaver


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Tale Weaver’s Prompt August 10, 2017. The prompt has to do with birth

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JV Garcia via UnSplash

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Or lives may fade, flicker out,

Although time is short, new youth shout. 

Wild being young; then mellow, 

As life reaches end, they’ll bellow. 

At death’s cruelty at snatching, 

Their loved ones stolen before their time, thus grasped —

Death doing his duty, aiding the sick to pass. 

——

In grief we forget they’re two sides, 

More than death, new life born crying.

Lusty wales, that mother’s yearn —

To hear when their baby’s have learned, 

Peace in the womb, is no longer.

Time to live, greet both Dad and Mom; 

Promise of life, legacy in children cherished, 

We all die, but we also train the youth and build them. 

——

As necessary as death, is —

Our sweet infants crying so hard. 

Swaddled, held close, loved with full hearts, 

Provided best, us making do —

With the old, ensuring kids have food. 

All their needs, some wants, so they know they too belong. 

Not spoiling, letting them control, but nurturing strong. 

—–

So baby held within my arms, 

I promise you, here there’s no harm. 

As a babe and child, I can keep —

You safe, but you’ll grow learning; sweets —

Too many you’ ll become ill and keen

You don’t listen, life can be mean — 

It’s no piece of cake; but I’ll let you be little, although —

You’ll hate me; life has enough time for forgiveness too. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays, Free Verse, Health, History, Interior design, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Sing me a Melody” #amwriting #100WordWednesday #poetry 


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday’s on August 16, 2017. Poem for Oneta Hayes of the blog: Sweet Aroma

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Credit: Bikurgurl

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Sing me a melody, 

Write me a song.

Songs of celestial glory. 

Of love that’s deep sweet. 

Save me from the dark, 

Inner demons disguised. 

Write for me, 

Crystal clear notes,

Ones angels simply respire. 

Sing me a melody, 

Calm and serene. 

Of the cereulan blue sky, 

Of hope in eternal life, 

And time past misery. 

Sing notes cascading, 

Sung lentement with —

Unbending trust; 

That those in “[D]arkness

Have seen a Great Light.” 

Sing me a melody, 

Tear drops on cheeks. 

Of joy, deliverance —

Of liberty, and grace. 

Sing harmoniously, 

Or in a caphella. 

With light’s pure —

Luminescent brilliance —

Never snuffing out. 

Sing me a melody, 

As light as air that trills. 

Glimmering with sunbeams, 

Ringing with care for hope. 

Simg of vivacity, 

Surpassing the dark of night. 

Sing me a melody, 

Of healing that restores. 

Sing songs of bravery, 

Of endurance. 

Songs overcoming shadows, 

And landing in the dawn.

Sing me a melody, 

Bring me sweet relief. 

Among beauteous architecture, 

For all those times gone by. 

Sing me a melody;

Surrounded by the skills, 

Of artists and writers 

So profound there work, 

Sings me alive. 

Sing me a melody, 

For all I wish for is peace. 

In sleep to hear, 

Sonorous songs. 

Transcendent, complex, 

Yet, utterly simple as —

Those words that say, 

“Be still.” 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays, Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, My Thoughts, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

100 Word Wednesday: Her Perfect Vocation #100WordWednesday #amwriting #dystopia


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday August 9, 2017.

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Credit: Photo by Jane, Twitter

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 Lacey shook out her golden hair. Deborah eyed her daughter,” We’re here Lacey, this is where you’ll find out your vocation.”

“But I don’t even know what I’ll wear tomorrow. I’m not even sixteen.”

“The judges decide. Since long ago, each consecutive group of them provides citizens with the right jobs.”

” I’ve many interests. Not one.”

“Life isn’t fair, Lacey.” 

Deborah smoothed her skirt down three times.”They don’t know your thoughts. But the rigorous testing you’ve done, your DNA, genetic lineage, your social interactions, and other scientific data guides the Judges.”

“But you said they don’t know my thoughts?” 

“They’re not going to ask for your opinion. They know.”

“That’s the problem, Mom. There’s more than ‘knowing.’ There’s that feeling that tells you your purpose deep down.”

“They Judges don’t consider feelings or emotions. They don’t see people beyond their job skills.” 

Deborah shushed Lacey. Her hands trembled. “Whatever they say, Lacey, that’s your vocation.”

“Outcasts don’t last long, your father’s one and that life’s harsh. They’ll watch out for that ‘rebellious spirit’ in you.”

“I can’t keep my true-self masked. I’ll be miserable.”

“No one’s happy here,” Deborah whispered. 

But Lacey didn’t hear her. Deborah watched her daughter ascend the ancient silver staircase and knew her daughter would be searching for her father soon. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Etheree - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 syllable count, Fiction, History, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Collage Prompt: Cascading Etherees – “The Light Keeps Burning” #amwriting #poetry #stories 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Collage Prompt.  

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Credit: Window- Andrey Bobir: Fruit Center: Kevin Sloan: Woman- Christian Schloe

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I’m a story, my life overarching,

Tale that tells of my unique journey. 

Places I’ve travelled, things I’ve seen,

Until the day comes and these —

Memories imprint, 

Silt, dust, and smoke. 

Characters lost, 

Not even, 

To be, 

Known. 

—–

Gone,

Can’t be! 

Actions done, 

Wild nights, regret;

My authentic talents,

And a muse who knows, 

Histories repeated —

Memories of pen and ink. 

Thoughts hidden, lock and key, they close. 

Masking the truth of such characters, 

Building worlds through words, disconnected. 

——-

Sly as a fox, I’ve learned fruitful ways. 

These days go by, can’t halt the clock’s tick,

Don’t forget time’s ever so short. 

Juices dribbling down small chins,

Organic pears sweet with —

Raspberries too. 

Spiritually, 
Ripe fruit ate, 

Becomes soul —

Food that —

Heals. 

—–

Just, 

As Tales, 

Brilliant and — 

Warm soothe the heart, 

But reality —

Doldrums work to dull minds. 

An anasethic addictive, 

Sickness in body, soul, and heart. 

Too much berries here for birds who —

Wobble discordently drunk, stagnant. 

—-

Become a person who finds windows when, 

All doors are shut, locked up tightly. 

Find your dreams, your goals define them, 

Persevere, strive in —

Life as it happens; too —

Fast for my liking! 

Absorb moments,

Choose to, 

Live. 

——-

No,

Matter,

That we will, 

Be forgotten,

As stories or part,

Of nastolgies devised.  

Obscurity as time —

Moves as the rabbit with his —

Pocket watch; we’re perpetually late; 

Wherever we end; hope it’s paradise.

——

One where we dwell on stories of truth, 

Body’s age, decay; but our gifts stay. 

Forever they are our tasks.

Someday we each face ends.

As Dylan desperate wrote, 

Of the light’s dying, 

Don’t fear for it; light’s

Forever, 

Guiding 

Home.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 



Bop - 6 lines, refrain, 8 lines, refrain, 6 lines, refrain, dVerse, History, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Poem: Bop – “For A Spark” #poetry #dVerse #amwriting 


Thanks to Paul Scribbles of Poet’s Pub for hosting the #dVerse prompt on “the end.” 

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Credit: Roksolana Zasiadko via Unsplash

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The end is never the end. It’s always the the beginning of something.” ― Kate Lord Brown, The Perfume Garden

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There once was a beginning, but for us, I think;

We never were, until we were, created in a blink.

Once upon a time there was the Word, 

The Word was God; It was with Him to be heard. 

All was darkness but the Word was the light 

The Word was the cure, it was omniscient insight.

Every spark becomes darkness, but His fire brings dawn. 

In the first beginning, his light lit uncountable sparks, 

That eternal, all-knowing ‘start’ burning through the dark. 

Where beginnings take place; journeys are revealed, 

Where life is born, ideas form, the masked are unconcealed. 

Beginings that inspire and conspire to grow and leap,  

Sparks choosing to expire, or to burn on in the deep.

There is the ‘lighter’ of the spark and the ‘spark’ itself;

Knowledge too that sparks turned cinders, have eternal help. 

Every spark become darkness, but His spark brings dawn. 

Who knows of endings but that they’re already won, 

The ‘Candle-snuffer’ futile fights, his end already come.  

He decided his ending forever, when our spark was new, 

He’s the one temptation slithered, damnation to all construed. 

The eternal light is present, no cinders who ask will end up ash, 

Faith is fuel that forever burns, so the term ‘end’ has passed.   

Every spark becomes darkness, but His spark brings dawns. 

 ——–

©Mandibelle16 (2017) All Rights Reserved. 


Animals/Pets, Books, Flash Fiction, History, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Nature, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Horsemen’s Head #flashfiction #amwriting #SleepyHollow


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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Ichabode Crane was observing the dim forest when he noticed the bald head buried beneath the tree of death. Each morning it was Ichabode’s job to discover what the headless horseman had left behind from his nights decapitating helpless citizens.  

Today he found two headless corpses half-buried. He shivered thinking of the literal trail of blood that often followed the horseman. 

Though Ichabod was a medical doctor, he’d never found any heads attached to the bodies the horseman discarded. His heart pounded and he began to sweat as he clawed the head from the ground with his fingers. 

The hair felt dirty and greasy. The waxen skin was warm and he was sure the head had soulless eyes beneath its lids. While he stared, Ichabod’s hands shook. The blood running from the head’s eyes, suddenly, caught his attention as they began to open of their own accord. 

Coal eyes with pupils as red as poppies, alerted Ichabod this head belonged to the horseman. Ichabod drank from his trusty flask, whiskey and opium to numb him. 

But perhaps he drank too much. When he awoke, the head lay on his lap and Ichabod rested against the horrid tree. The moon exposed him and his opium veil faded. He felt too alert. The head’s mouth fell open revealing carnivorous teeth. 

Soon, the thundering footsteps of the black horse and the armed body of the headless horseman could be heard. He screeched as the horseman took one slice at his neck, but then, Ichabod offered the horseman the head. 

The horseman dropped his sword and went to his knees on the ground. He took the head in his gnarled hands and placed it on his neck. The horseman growled, a sound of rage in a demonic tongue. 

He gazed at Ichabod, “Run, go now. I will spare you for returning my head. Everyone else in Sleepy Hollow will join me in death.” 

Ichabod had never considered himself a coward but he ran anyways, never peering behind him as screams filled the night. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.  

Current Events, Free Verse, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Published Work, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Works Published, Writing

Published: Poem – Free Verse – Spillwords.com – “Cold Space” 


Sharing a new poem published by the wonderful http://www.spillwords.com. Hope you enjoy and consider submitting your poetry and/or other work as well to their website. Checkout their submissions page. 

Cold Space by Amanda Eifert
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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

dVerse, History, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Quadrille - 44 Words, Relationship, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Poem – Quadrille – “The Torrent” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse #taleweavers


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this #tale weaver prompt on ‘a Kiss.’ Also thanks to Victoria C.Slotto of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for hosting this week’s quadrille Prompt on the theme of fear. 

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie- Google Free Images

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Sacrificial, 

Abates fear;

Men’s physical force. 

Unevocative kisses. 

***

Few nights, 

But kissing you, 

Matter. 

***

Mouths collide, 

Hands seek skin. 

Nipping lips, 

Electric storms —

Ignite. 

Lips feather —

Eyelids. 

Tasting earlobes, 

 “Losing Control.” 

Desperate kisses, 

Bonfire roars. 

Bouncer reminds, 

“Closing time.” 

Torrent of fervor. 

Fearful of never, 

Experiencing, 

Blood- rushing

Glory again 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

 

100 Word Wednesdays, Flash Fiction, Free Verse, History, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Wings Broken” #amwriting #100WordWednesday #flashfiction #poetry 


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting this edition of #100WordWednesday. 

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Credit: Bikurgurl

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She valued it, 

Above all. 

Elaborate China, 

Not pretty or delicate. 

Gaudy-patterned, 

Indigo Wedgewood. 

Peach, gray flowers. 

Frail bone China, 

No value to him. 

Displayed in a cabinet. 

Pieces and —

Place settings, 

Gifted for —

Wedding presents. 

She dusted them,

Each week.  

Paid him no mind, 

Humming hymns. 

Ignored him when, 

He talked. 

She never used to, 

She’d laugh, 

Join in. 

And when they, 

Used the China, 

At Easter, 

Designs of indigo, peach —

Made him sick. 

Dizzying, he wanted to —

Wretch. 

Just as when , 

He saw her, 

With him. 

The one she said, 

She’d forgotten. 

Accepted he’d married, 

Moved on.

But his aftershave, 

On her skin, 

Made him ill,

So he stood, 

Starring at the China, 

She’d taken out, 

To clean. 

Piece by piece, 

It hit the wall, 

Smashing, crashing. 

Splinters of it, 

Drawing blood. 

Until shards of, 

Tacky dinnerware, 

Only remained. 

She screamed, 

Wounded like a fledging, 

Who fell, 

For the first time, 

And couldn’t arise, 

Never again, 

Wings broken. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved