100 Word Wednesday: Setting the Scene #amwriting #flashfiction #100WordWednesday


Thanks to Bikurgirl for hosting #100WordWednesdays.

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Credit: Bikurgirl

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The high school drama teacher, Mr. Elf, decided the school would peform a modern English version of “The Canturbury Tales.” Vernon was recruited to help paint the set and he would’ve been pleased to paint the entire set alone; however, he had to share creative control with Stacy who was also a ‘so-called’ gifted artist. Much fighting occurred.

The day before the performance the extras hung the scenery. Mr. Elf was shocked to see exactly half of the set painted in a superb realistic manner while the other half was rendered using fantastic painterly strokes in the style of impressionist painters. The set was discussed enormously by the audience at all three performances and neither Vernon or Stacy will speak to each other to this day.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

The Complexities of Red #thoughts #amwriting #nonfiction


Credit: Giovanni Licea – YouTube

I considered the colour red. How I’m equally attracted and repelled by it. How I pass by a red v-neck sweater in the right shade, but mix my acrylic colours, blend them until my instincts say stop; stop sign red. No wait . . . a bright cool startling red appears on my canvas. I think this is passion and passion is the boldest red. I think of how I not only crave to paint in vivid red, but in many vivid colours and textures. How I trace the feeling of layered paints with my fingers, and hunger for other colours with my eyes – blue, green, and purple. Though I adore all these colours, my favourite paintings are all in red.
 As with my love for sexy heels, which I adore in red too. If red is passion, what more can I say about women and sensuality then red shoes. They’re expression and fierceness. Like Kelly Picklers song “Red High Heels” — “I’m about to show you just how missing me feels, in my red high heels . . .” Red for revenge, red for moving on, red for love. But I hate red for love, it’s memory is sickening. He looked good in that colour – almost the best. 

Credit: Sam Roloff – “The Big Red One”
Yet red is so many things more. It’s anger, hate, rage, hurt, demons dreaming — the beast inside who does not die. Red is sinful, delicious, and deadly. It’s sex and power; a primilness. It’s royalty and blood, red blood spilled for in the body it’s blue (hence bluebloods). I love how classic red is — nothing more classic then a cat eye and red Bridget Bardot lips. Nothing as classic as red Mustang. 

I don’t wear red, the colour outshines me and doesn’t fit with such pale skin and blond hair. Please no red dress – I’d rather blend in and be a classic black or navy dress cut perfectly. But I seek out bits of red and cling to them, not wanting red to blind me. Only some sparkle and razzle dazzle to hold in my hand. Red nail polish is beautiful, with a bit of bling  Red as some of the lights in Las Vegas and red fireworks; red stoplights. 

Red is perplexing because it’s complex, not simple at all. Red is nationalism and red is internationalism. It’s a proud Canadian colour and I don’t mind wearing it on our Nation’s Birthday. Or cheering on our Canadian hockey teams in the Olympics and junior hockey. 

As well, roses are so divine, so deadly pricking your finger. Red, passion and pain. Together swirled these colours of red, of love, and hate collide. There are many shades of grey, but even more shades of red. It’s more than a primary colour it calls as a siren, “Look see me.” No one hides in red. Red cars are often caught barely speeding and Red is a theme of many songs albums as in “Red” as T. swifts song and album and the Beatles album “Redone.” Red as “My love is like a red red rose.” Some choral song I cannot recall. 

Credit: Jeannette Mattson – “Red Rose” – Fine Art America

But I’m sitting here, music blaring trying to decide what to paint. I’ve that special shade of red and it’s mixing and melding with other colours. Shades and tones. I see, red on my canvas and it bleeds. Red blood, blood . . .life, the most prolific association. Red is blood. Blood is life. Red such as poppies, that we must always remember. Red for anger, red for hate, for war. Red to hurt, poor the droplets down a crystal glass. Red red wine. To drink away the blood and crippling thoughts. Red to forget. I like a Malbec with bite. A Zinfandel to make me chatty. A Merlot or Cav-Sav with some friends. Red sangria is delicious. Red strawberry margaritas because there’s real fire in tequila. Red is too many things, too symbolic, too self-contradictory. Red is life. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – ” Yaya Mockingjay” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s photo challenge: 

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http://www.pixebay.com

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Have you cast all your doubts? 

Decided what’s best? 

An old women has regrets, 

There is no life without them. 

It’s difficult, knowing what’s right, 

I just tried my best. 

Listened to my elders, 

As my mother always said.

But there are days I know, 

My best is not enough.

I’m pushing and pulling,

No strength in my bones. 

I’m yelling and shouting, 

But my words aren’t enough,

“We don’t speak your language Yaya.” 

My grandchildren laugh. 

They always need more,

More than dry-bones can provide. 

I feel drained and drowned, 

In lost potential. 

Yaya down and she can’t raise herself up. 

Drenched in such evil, 

Of those with no conscience;

Their knowing looks, eyes that know nothing.

They’re missing my years, my wisdom learned, 

But I’m stuck in thick sticky mud, 

And no one helps an old woman up. 

There’s no hand to help comfort Yaya, 

Her life was tough and unsparing. 

The mud is the only spa I know or ever have, 

A facial mask of sludge and worms. 

An archaic beauty mask. 

Somebody hear, what I’ve learned — listen: 

Your mistakes and your ills you repeat, 

Each day I try to tell you but it’s not enough. 

You smile at me empty eyes, 

My words pass through your ears, 

The wind blows loudly there.

What’s enough? 

Until I’ve drawn my last breath? 

Until I’m lying here still — dead, 

Knowing some journeys such as mine, 

Must be made alone and for naught. 

A solo expedition, my entire culture lost, 

Must I stay on the roads of antiquity? 

Can I grow with the changing world? 

Give me a reason to deviate: 

I must stop the mudslide from coming.

Spitting sludge from my lips, 

Lord, why don’t they hear? 

The roar of doom and pain approaching. 

It will wash them away, 

When I’m safe in the heavens. 

Does being old make me invisible? 

The crevices of my face are a map, 

And my eyes the lights to yesterday. 

Learn from the past, I pray. 

Where is the light? 

Where is the hope? 

I’m just an old bird, a simple sparrow, 

How do I become a Mockingjay? 

I saw her fight in the movies, 

We need a Mockingjay today, 

A bird of pray who acts, 

Not sleeping through each day. 

How do I bring hope, become a symbol? 

How do I teach my young, 

To mimic a wisdom long past. 

You won’t like what I have to say I know, 

But you would hear, a Mockingjay. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challange: Poem – Licentia – “Sometimes My Love” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge.

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fineart-photos.tumblr.com

 

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The winds warm and soft, prairie fields sway to and fro

Such chores a woman has, hangs sopping sheets thrown,

Over the clothes line, pinning; they’ll smell like sunshine,

Dried by cool wind tonight, they’ll sway on clothes line.

I’m but a shadow, I pass my sheets humming,

A lonely tune, for my life’s solitude humbling.

I’m only a women, my husband says I’m less,

Bruises left, hands tremble, he gives no respect.

In this backwards world, it’s difficult to say,

How we were in love, how war made him this way.

We used to lie in the sun,  beneath us grain, barley.

Now he says, “Stay inside;” I know him now hardly.

The winds warm and soft, prairie fields sway to and fro, 

Such chores a woman has, hangs sopping sheets thrown. 
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There once was a dance, that took place in time

Soldiers came, handsome in crisp uniform’s shine.

Caught girls’ eyes; they wore rouge, lipstick, their best gowns.

Swing music played, we danced, eyes caught mine, brown.

Laughter in chocolate gaze, “Get her a drink, eh?”

Night passed slowly, dipping me, we kissed and swayed.

We meant up again, and again, dreaming life,

One we shared; us blossomed –there’s always a price.

We both suffered strongly, fools were we of war,

Injured men, maimed men, limbs lost, minds lost, sore.

The winds warm and soft, prairie fields sway to and fro

Such chores a woman has, hangs sopping sheets thrown.

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War would end, countless unknown dead; you crumbled

So lost; letters sent, none returned, war humbles

You couldn’t handle what you’d seen and did, came home,

Ran to you, you held me close, cried so much, roamed –

Town, as other’s alive, –ghosts of war haunting,

We bought the farm, your vengeance rose, me you taunt.

By your past demons, by your bruising punch and yet,

They’re times you are you, before war changed you, set —

Course for man, so angry at life, he curses well —

His wife; sometimes he’s my love, other’s my hell.

The winds warm and soft, prairie fields sway to and fro,

Such chores a woman has, hangs sopping sheets thrown.

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“The Licentia Rhyme Form, a poetic form created by Laura Lamarca, consists of at least three – 12-line stanzas with 11 syllables per line. Of course, the poem can be elongated adding on to the following rhyme scheme: aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA. The Licentia Rhyme Form is named after Laura Lamarca’s signature, “La” and “Licentia” is Latin for “Freedom”.” – Shadow Poetry

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I’m not sure if this is completely right for the form. I think lines ‘bb’ for instance are supposed to be exactly repeated in lines ‘BB,’ not just rhyme with them. The same for lines ‘cc’ and ‘CC’ etc… But I like the poem like this right now!

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Photo (Collage) Challenge: Poem – LaJemme – “Live Now”


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt.To quote the quote provided: ” Find what you love and let it kill you.” – Charles Bukowski


 

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

“Find what you love and let it kill you,” love?

Not convinced of such advice; I feel through

Strife for all you who love, learning thereof,

You’re drained, weighing yourself down, you pained fool.


See love already makes you pay?

Don’t panic dreading, nor cling fast.

Life goes by fast, have you read?

Knowledge balance — passion and sass.


For unreal love, don’t die gallant.

You cannot last, with such false love.

Nothingness, lover’s grave now grass.

People alter their love, cast out love.


I’m not thinking of dying slow, faltering.

Enjoy laughing, for life’s done in a wink.

Wish not to sink in grave, for fresh air gasping.

Not leaving fast; learning never to blink.


You don’t know you; it changes, what you in life love.

Passion a glove, fits at the time, ends though —

You’ve no slight clue, once you’re dead — you’re above.

Live now, death costly price for draining you.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Photo (Music) Challenge: Poem – LaJemme – “All of Her” #poetry #amwriting #music


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s music challenge. This one brought back memories of teenage angst and pain. It was one of my favourite bands and songs in high school. The band for this week’s prompt is Evanescence and their song: “My Immortal.” 

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Evanescence – “My Immortal”

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source: http://www.schumansblogspot.com

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Childess fear, devoice, perfectly placed; your words.

Compelling words, you’re afraid, have no voice.

Love, not a choice, it hurts; guess it’s for the birds

Faltering, smothered; clear you sing no choice

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Suffer, no relief uncovered.

Linger, another wound betrayed so.

Resonating light, preserved false love.

Scoundrel, thieving; she is wasting.

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Wipe bruising tears, yours deceiving.

Crocodile pours saltwater, stings.

Petals droop, swims face down, soul forming

Nothing left, sinner stole her soul’s wings

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 Captivating man, just leave her within

Solid glass splits; why is life frustrating?

Fractured from ripping, your words scream flitting.

Untrustworthy, you’ve stole all her being. 

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Give her up, let her go; life moves forward.

She sheltered, faltered not; tears and regrets, 

She rebuilds, sets constructing her torn heart

Disappeared; tells herself you two never met

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LaJemme

The LaJemme is a 5 stanza form created by poets Laura Lamarca and Jem Farmer.
Meter: consistently iambic
Stanza 1, 10 syllables per line, Rhyme scheme abab, 4th syllable of each line is to rhyme with the end rhyme of the preceding line.
Stanza 2, syllable count: 8/8/8/6, Rhyme scheme cdef, with cross rhymes in each couplet on 4th syllable
Stanza 3, syllable count 8/8/8/6, Rhyme scheme gfdf, 4th syllable of each line follows the same rule as stanza 1.
Stanza 4, 10 syllables per line, Rhyme scheme hihi, 4th syllable of each line is to rhyme with the end rhyme of the preceding line.
Stanza 5, 10 syllables per line, Rhyme scheme abab, 4th syllable of each line is to rhyme with the end rhyme of the preceding line.

Please see www.shadowpoetry.com for more information.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved

Photo Challenge: Poem – Octelle – “Tears On Land” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge.

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Source: illdispose.devantart.com

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She’s a porpoise in water swim,

Life for her, no playful passing whim.

In gossamer gown, butterfly —

Letting out her breath, with sad sigh.

Out of cocoon perhaps she’ll break?

If breathing didn’t count for her sake.

An angel dipping her wings in the dim.

A lonely child, she floats, won’t swim.

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Don’t give up your life in a breath,

Child with wings now so brightly set.

You’re no worm to be ashamed,

No worthless being created, blamed.

Diamond glimmers in God’s eye,

He sees in you no flaw, child abide.

You’re precious treasure life or death,

He handles all — porpoise deep breath.

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Dive in ocean, swim quick mammal,

Don’t be still — inhale air, expand —

Your lungs to breathe, realize —

Reasons, break cacoon and fly.

Leave world behind, most treasured,

You’re worth much more for measure.

Costly jewel cherished in God’s hand,

Angel breathe; let grief form tears on land.

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Octelle:

The Octelle, created by Emily Romano, is a poem consisting of eight lines using personification and symbolism in a telling manner. The syllable count structure for this verse is 8, 8, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, and the rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/aa. The first two lines and the last two lines are identical.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Nonfiction – Waffles and Spaghetti: Men and Their Boxes #nonfiction #relationship 


Thank you to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge prompt. 

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Rob. Woodcox

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A popular dating guide I read years ago was called Men are Like Waffles –Woman Like Spaghetti By Bill and Pam Farrel.  Oddly enough this dating guide was first published in 1959 and then republished in 2001. Sometimes the guide is downright old fashioned and other times it gives some extremely wise advise. 

One part which always stuck out for me was the title of the book and why exactly men are like waffles and women like spaghetti. The above image from reminds me of these analogies. 

Just as waffles have all those small squares in them or boxes so do men in how they organize their life. Each area of their life is a box and never shall two boxes meet. A man’s work or his job is one box and his kids maybe another box. His wife and his relationship with her is another box and so is his fixation on fixing old cars or spending time chilling out watching Netflix or the hockey game on TV.

Woman on the other hand, are like spaghetti because everything in their lives is mixed with everything else going on in their lives. Each thing is connected and affects other things. For instance, if a woman is stressed out at work and her boss is riding her tail to finish a project, this might make the woman angry and moody at home because she has to hold it all in at work. Her kids know something is up and stay away from Mom and she feels rejected. 

Suddenly, she needs to clean everything in the house and is making the kids clean up too. Cleaning in this instance, makes her feel better because she is in control and able to accomplish something. At work she feels she cannot accomplish what she needs at the moment. Then Mom is upset at her kids because they are not doing a thorough cleaning job. At home, Mom’s the boss. 

Her husband comes into the great room to see what’s up with all the noise and cleaning on a late week night. He and his wife start talking and she’s mad at him and picking fights over him leaving his laundry on the floor and not texting her back at work today. 

She tells her husband she doesn’t have time to clean up after him, she’s really busy at work and no she can’t come to his work event. She can’t possibly make idol conversation with that weird woman her husband works with and seems to always want to talk to her right now, it would push her over the edge. Disatisfaction at work is effecting her whole life. 

A smart husband would realize something is up and talk his dear wife through things until he hits on the real issue. Or better yet, let his wife talk until she gets down to the real issue. After voicing her feelings, his wife will be happier and more relaxed.

On the other hand, her husband doesn’t understand completely why his wife needs to talk things out and why everything in her life effects everything else. 

His life is in boxes (apparently naked high up in trees) so when the work box gets to stressful, he goes to the box where he can tinker with the car he’s rebuilding. Work doesn’t effect him here, in fact, this box may help the husband think things through or gain perspective on issues he could be having at work or say the fight he had with his wife.

So all you men in your boxes, let your ladies talk it out and if they won’t, encourage them to talk when they’re ready. I know you don’t get this whole talking just because you need to thing, but actually you’re helping your woman find the root of a problem to deal with it. And that makes you a problem solver with a happier life and wife. 

Ladies, let your guy tinker, watch sports, or whatever when he’s stressed. He’s not as vocal as you and he’s thinking things through or giving himself a break from stress. He’s in his box and it’s giving him reprieve from his problem because he’s not in that work box or in another stressful box. When he’s ready he’ll say something, what he’s decided or after a while if he’s not a talker, you can encourage him to talk or outright ask him what’s up. Better not to to be too subtle

So that is the most memorable and important thing I learned from this book. Do you think it’s true in your own life? In anyone’s life? Or is it an outdated model from an old dating guide? 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Photo Challenge:  Poem – Ninefold – “A Ruined Wedding Dress” #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge.

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http://www.creoflick.net

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Her dress floats on water, foam and tulle froth.

Hair braided, done-up, style for a doll. 

Jasmine perfume wafts with her kite.

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She wonders why she’s sitting here, chair —

Afloat, with her on it; and she’s perturbed, 

Caught between a woman and a girl in —

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Wedding dress; she flew far, with spirit.

No pastor to bind her to God and man, 

She grins at her ruined lace dress soaked. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Petrarchen Sonnet – “When Autumn Falls” #taleweaver #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this prompt on the changing of seasons into Fall and how it influences our thinking.

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Credit: Mara Eastern with permission.

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Leaves begin to change, butterscotch yellow, 

The reds and oranges blaze into being.

I’ve even seen dark purple plum seeming, 

To alter green from summers pleasant glow.

Sunlight fades to shorter nights, cold wind blows.

Shorts and sandals packed, sadly left dreaming.

Of gorgeous nights spent breathing warmth, now seeing —

Prayers streaming to God, please yet keep the snow. 

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Favourite season, feel comfortable walking, 

Strewn leaves, scented decay and pleased —

On the porch still sipping wine and talking.

No sunburns now, most loved fashion season, 

Fancy boots and shoes; snow please stop stalking. 

Always unwanted, snow comes, lace knocking.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.