Music Challenge/ Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Way Down Below” #amwriting #poetry #musicchallenge #photochallenge


Music Challenge #18 by MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie is “Way Down We Go” by Kaleo and Im combining with Photo Challenge by NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie .


Credit: Charlotte Gonzalos


“Way Down We Go” by Kaleo


Way down we go,

Can’t lift us up oh, oh.

Way down below, beneath the blows,

We’ll hide our woes and find our souls.

But we may sink in mire as we expire,

As way down we go,

Trying to find life’s flow;

So, love me slow or love me not.

Don’t run me down, down with wild blows.

Way down we go,

‘Cause say we, way down we fall, oh, oh.

Way down together,

Far down below and I respire;

Our breath so close, that lips conspire.

To go down further, disperse our woes,

In life we try to avoid what hurts most.

Tell me, do we get what we deserve?

It’s better when I’ve got your back,

When your behind mine, and you hold me close.

Swaying back and forth,

In rhythm, and life,

‘Cause way down we fall,

Way down we go, oh, oh.

Here we go to the journey home,

Though down is such a far way to go —

We’re not afraid.

There’s nothing gloomy,

When your hand’s in mine,

Electric currents wired;

We hold are flow, the energy grows.

Are hearts on fire, we won’t let go;

No matter that, way down we go, oh, oh.

We won’t let our held hands go,

Your grip is tight and your eyes they glow.

Your lips they lift and your pulse beats mad,

Nothing this good could be called so bad.

It’s tough, sometimes when you explode,

When the down it holds,

When I let go and hide;

But new days keep dawning with azure Skies,

No matter that, way down we go —

We rise to conquer towards the surface,

Way down we go, heads held high,

And I promise you’re the one,

I’ll go to the ends of he works for —

So, way down we go, together into forever.

Digging ourselves out of holes,

Patching our broken souls.

Life’s not permanent so while I have you, we go, and go,

Way down so slow, oh, oh.

To grasp each moment, string it out–

To hold such love and not implode.

Way down we go —

No longer running each other down.

Resting in the hollows, the caves, and valleys,

Exploring the roots and tearing out the weeds.

Let’s say we, go way down, to the garden of glee,

And those happy places we render, and feel free —

When life is way down,

We never let go;

Despite falling down, we go, oh, oh.

Never afraid when we go together, rising through it.

Way down we go oh, oh.

But how wonderful it is to be struggling as one,

Down low, or dreaming of sumptuous flight,

Freedom more than we deserve.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

How to Avoid Being too Wordy in Your Writing: Clause and Effect


This is some great advice via Ryan Lanz’s blog!

A Writer's Path

by Richard Risemberg

Do you love subordinate clauses? I know I do. And how about assonance and alliteration, rhythm and rhyme? Let’s face it: they can be as tasty as chocolate.

But would you make an entire meal of just…chocolate? (Okay, whoever said “yes” please leave the room now!)

Consider this a meeting of Overwriters Anonymous. My name is Rick, and I used to write overelaborate sentences. Clever and musical they were; there was just too much of them. Frankly, my dependence on brilliant phrasing destroyed my relationship with my early novels, and we haven’t seen each other in decades. The words just got in the way of the meaning after a while, exhilarating though they could be.

View original post 692 more words

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Light and Darkness #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting SPF.


Credit: Goroyboy

—-

April didn’t always understand what her dad meant or what the Bible stories he read were talking about, but her dad encouraged her to ask questions.

She interrupted. “What’s that mean?”

“What? ‘The Light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it?'”

“Yeah, who wrote that?”

“His name was, John. He was one of Jesus’ disciples.”

“But isn’t the Bible what God says, or Jesus?”

April’s dad ran a hand through his whiskers. “Sometimes God speaks through people such as his disciple, John. He inspires them to write down His words.”

“Do writers like John, put in their personal thoughts into the Bible?” April watched her dad. He tapped his fingers against his lips.

“Yes, sometimes there are times writers write their opinions. But usually, they note that this is their thoughts, and not God’s word.”

“Okay, how does darkness not understand light? They go together don’t they?”

“It’s metaphorical. It means darkness and light stand for something else outside their usual meaning.”

“Why not write what you mean?”

April’s dad laughed, “Sometimes explaining something using symbolic terms, is actually easier to understand than direct terms.”

“I don’t know about that.” April frowned. She twirled her curly auburn hair around her fingers.

Her dad tried again.”Well, light stands for Jesus. He is the light of the world and He demonstrated his love to all people by coming to earth and than dying on the cross for everyone’s sins.”

He clasped his hands, leaning forward. “Those who don’t know God, or Jesus his son, are in the darkness. They live in darkness because they don’t know about Jesus, the light. They don’t know they’re forgiven and that they can go to Heaven by believing in Jesus.”

“How do we help them?” April crinkled in her nose deep in thought.

“I guess, we need to tell them about it. Especially, when they are lost or need help. Or, when they ask you about what you believe. All you have to do is share your faith, the same way you share your about fashion or ringette.”

“It’s hard to do that, Dad.”

She leaned into her dad’s side and he put his arm around her. “Sometimes the best truths in life are the hardest to share, and the hardest for others to understand.”

April nodded, although, she didn’t quite understand herself.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017)

Sunday Photo Fiction: Chasing the Nymph #amwriting #flashfiction #prosepoetry


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.


Credit: E. A. Wicklund


She was out of breath, a chestnut freckled nymph, tumbling through the woods. As if she were, Diana, running, eluding a square-jawed Apollo, and his torrential bed.

Her legs were short but supple, her body toned, but his strength was so much greater; his limbs thick with muscle earned in battle; height taller, hands quick, fingers nimble — but not such as hers.

She did not tarry, she hurried through the trees; their game played once, and forever. The catch and release continued with the nymph’s harmonious melodies. Her lute trilling, protecting her and luring him, precisely where she desired.

The nymphs laughter was as bells at dawn, signalling he’d caught her, and day turned to dusk as she coyly smiled and left. Her walk triumphant, his laughter all too knowing.

He dreamt of every time he caught her, tossing her up high as their lips melded. They met perpetually in their Grecian eternity, playing catch and release; it never became boring.


©️Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Olaf’s Thoughts #amwriting #3LineTales #flashfiction


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


Credit: Jacco Rienks via Unsplash


Olaf lifts his head as the droplets wet his snout and soak into his umber hair. He snorts searching for that sharp scent; a mildewy-humid aroma that hangs in the air ensuring tomorrow will be sweltering. Olaf moos as above him the brilliant azure turns a threatening purple-black onyx; then, it arrives, not droplets but sheets of intense downpour that soak through his coat, massaging his soar muscles. He flicks out his tongue, lapping up the rain that is life to him such as the sweet verdant grass that nourishes his body, providing both serenity and security of life.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Beyond Words or Woofs #amwriting #flashfiction #dogs #homelessness


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

—-

Credit: Fandango


The trails meander through the river valley park where the city erected unique benches made from verdant trees felled to create park pathways. At night Paul and his four dogs inhabit a particular bench. They rest their tired legs and pant joyfully, cooling off from the hot humid summer days, during the night.

However, in the winter the dogs huddle against Paul, absorbing each other’s heat. Paul doesn’t have much in his tattered backpack. Only a oversized bottle of water, a bag of dog food, a couple of protein bars, and thin blankets for the dogs. But one night the ice creeps up frosting Paul’s beard. It’s -45 degrees Celsius outside and the homeless shelters are full.

Despite layers of clothing Paul trembles and his teeth chatter; he can’t sleep in this miserable blizzard. He’s terrified the dogs will freeze to death — they’re his family and all he values in the world. He covers them, wrapping them in blankets before spreading the sleeping bag across them all. Their fur is frosted over and he keeps rubbing them with his gloved hands to keep their bodies from stiffening.

Suddenly, a light shines, blinding Paul in the treacherous cold, then his body heats as if he were sitting out on a beach in Mexico on the perfect hot day. The dogs peer up at him from the white sand, wagging their tails. Paul and his dogs have moved on and exist in a place beyond words or woofs. They’ve left cruelty behind.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales/Saturday Mix: The Decayed Farm House #amwriting #3LineTales #SaturdayMix #flashfiction


Thanks to Sonya from Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. Also thank you to Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. This week her Double Take homophones are: band – a musical group and bannedforbidden; cent – one hundredth of a dollar, scent – an aroma, and sent – dispatched.


Credit: Thomas Shellberg via Unsplash


A person can catch the voices of yesterday in the stars where the decayed farm house sags, where a band sings, playing the fiddle, and the scent of bread lingers with rotting wood; King George pennies are scattered on the floor, one cent coins forgotten with a monarch dead, no longer minted with the current Queen, Elizabeth II.

The prairie nights of old linger here, where joy and sorrow blend with relief, moving from a run-down house banned, deemed unsafe by housing inspection; a gleaming modern farmhouse replaces it nearby, but the old one is left to rot with a sense of nostalgia from the farmer’s elderly father.

A person can picture the dances and parties, dead relatives and friends sitting around the table, the young boys sent out to chase the horses who’d escaped the field, into the neighbors pastures; the past clings to this house as it does to the stars above, both from a time long forgotten.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Published Poem – Spillwords.com – Free Verse “Don’t Burn Out All the Lights” #amwriting #poetry #spillwords


I am pleased to have another poem published on http://www.spillwords.com. Check them out, they are amazing to collaborate with. Here’s the poem: “Don’t Burn Out All the Lights.”


Credit: Spillwords.com


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved

Sunday Photo Fiction: If Animals Could Talk #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. Meant to have this out for last week, but I couldn’t edit it in time.


Credit: Alistair Forbes


“Jasper, come here.” Daisy nuzzled against him and he purred. She wagged her tale then let it slump.

“What’s wrong?”

“Same old. I’m not a house pet anymore. The family won’t let me inside.”

“The outside is good. You taught me the family running our animal sanctuary are nice so they must have a good reason wanting you to live outside. Those hunters shot me and would’ve skinned me if the family hadn’t found me first.”

“I like the family, Daisy, they feed me raw meet and sometimes, live rabbit. Also, they let me run in the field and I always return home.”

Daisy leaned against Jasper. “When the family found me I didn’t trust anyone. The human, Greg, threw me out in a garbage bag, in the trash. I chewed my way out and the boy, Matthew, found me. ”

Jasper stretched. “So, what’s the problem. You have Matthew and you have me. We’re all part of our pack.”

“Well, I used to be an indoor dog in a warm house. Sometimes Matthew let’s me inside his room, but he’s not home a lot.”

“I’ve always live outside. It’s better sleeping beneath the stars.”

“Yes, but you’re a cheetah, Jasper. I’m a dog. Matthew said I was a Dachshund. I love snuggling with the family as much as I love snuggling with you, but I’m not used to the cold.”

Jasper laughed. “I forget you’re the size of a small cub. I’ll keep you warm, Daisy. I think the family keeps you outside for me. Even though your sad, I’m glad you’re here so I’m not alone. I even saved you raw meat.”

“Oh, boy!” Daisy almost fainted, salivating as Jasper dropped a raw steak in front of her.


©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Der deutsche Holzschnitzer (The German Woodcarver) #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting this week’s SPF.


Credit: © C.E. Ayer


Jacobus was a talented Holtzschnitzer (woodcarver) as his Papa and Opa had been before him. He gazed at the fine ritter (knight) he had geschnitzt (carved) on the remaining panel of set of doors in the St. Mary Magdalene’s Kathedralen (cathedral). He was greatly pleased by his relief die Schnitzereit (carvings) and the subject matter. His Opa would have been proud, he had been the most exceptional Holtzschnitzer of his time.

When Jacobus was four, his Papa taught him everything he knew then, sent him around Europe to train under Meister der Holzschnitzerei (woodcarving masters). At the prime of life, Jacobus was in Paris working on Holzschnitzereien (woodcarvings) for the king of France, schnitzen (carving) reliefs and figures for a generous wage.

Jacobus was even more talented than his Opa had been and enjoyed that the subject matter in many French Kathedralen weren’t so limited due to the Renaissance influence in art. His next project was a die Schnitzereit of Mary Magdalene. Not a relief but a carefully schnitzen (carved) contrapposto* figure with a rounded body, full breasts, and hips.

These were the Holzschnitzereien found in Italian churches and not the old Gothic churches of his homeland in Deutschland. Jacobus grinned as plans for the Mary Magdalene took shape. He grabbed etwas Pergament (some parchment) off a table nearby and began to sketch.


*Contrappasto – “Is an Italian term that means counterpoise. It is used in the visual arts to describe a human figure standing with most of its weight on one foot so that its shoulders and arms twist off-axis from the hips and legs (Wikipedia.com).”


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.