November Notes: Poem – Day 11 – LaJemme – “No More Demons” #amwriting #poetry #novembernotes #music


Today’s prompt song is “Paradise Circus” by Massive Attack. 

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Paradise Circus” – Massive Attack 
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http://www.designsnext.com

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You feel the stone beneath your back, it’s hard. 

Fall apart, lie ontop of it, and groan

Felt in your deep bones, the cold wind it mares

The tension starts drifting in and out, moans

Unfortunate we’re far apart

Our minds impart, shattered haste.

Playing games wait, we sin for heart

Love in us cannot sate

While time flies by, you wonder berate

Have some patience, rumours arise

Do not despise, our love it waits

Us to but lose; we’ll surprise

Lazily we move, we’ll time again prove

Block demon’s soft soothe, a lie of our groove

 No demon guards love; God, love, he approves. 

The kind that’s grown, realized with heart.  

Love that is smart, patient, kind, never departs.

Where your whole heart is honest, though hard. 

Dreams alight us both; we’re a work of art

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The LaJemme is a 5 stanza form created by poets Laura Lamarca and Jem Farmer. Meter: consistently iambic

1. 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.

2. Stanza 2, syllable count: 8/8/8/6, Rhyme scheme cdef, with cross rhymes in each couplet on 4th syllable

3. Stanza 3, syllable count 8/8/8/6, Rhyme scheme gfdf, 4th syllable of each line follows the same rule as stanza 1.

4. 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.
5. 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 Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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November Notes: Day 6 – Poem – Lunes -“Mercy Overflowing” #amwriting #novembernotes #poetry #worshipmusic #christianity 


Today’s prompt is the song “Street Called Mercy” by Hillsong United. 

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“Street Called Mercy” – Hillsong United

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Credit: Prophetic Art – http://www.theworshipstudio.org

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You are the shade scarlet

Washed my soul —

Clean; I’m guileful — undo me. 

——

Mercy flowed graceful ocean tides, 

Could’ve drowned but —

Your love tethered us together. 

—–

All I want and need, 

Found in arms

Stronger –where my sins release. 

—–

God pray I, surround me, 

Never let me–

Stray; your mercy it abounds. 

——

Wrap me in arms of love

Engage my spirit, 

Ever-giving, yours forever remain. 

——-

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©Mandbelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

#OctPoWriMo – Day 23/24 –  Lento – “Art and The Fantastic” #amwriting #poetry


Prompt Day 23/24: Fantastical 

Definition: 

“1.conceived or appearing as if conceived by an unrestrained imagination;odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque:fantastic rock formations; fantastic designs.2.fanciful or capricious, as persons or their ideas or actions:We never know what that fantastic creature will say next.3.imaginary or groundless in not being based on reality; foolish orirrational:fantastic fears.4.extravagantly fanciful; marvelous.5.incredibly great or extreme; exorbitant:to spend fantastic sums of money.6.highly unrealistic or impractical; outlandish:a fantastic scheme to make a million dollars betting on horse races.7.Informal. extraordinarily good:a fantastic musical.” 

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http://www.artistsincanada.com

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Unrestrained, beauty of the game, 

Uncontained, no limits are found. 

Unrestrained, freedom without shame.

Uncontained, leaping with no sound. 

Undetained, words flowing amaze. 

Unconvinced mere fantastical, 

Undenied creativity

Unconceived all the possibilities, 

Undenied art — ingenuity

—–

Art, there is no limits, no bounds, 

Start, nothing ventured is the same.

Art, bizarre and odd, they surround.

Start, with words; imagination reigns. 

Impart advice: “Do What You Like.” 

Dart here, there –no right way exists.

Art, the forms of imagination, 

Dart, the fantastical persists

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Lento:

” A Lento consists of two quatrains with a fixed rhyme scheme of abcb, defe as the second and forth lines of each stanza must rhyme. To take it a step further, but not required, try rhyming the first and third lines as well as the second and forth lines of each stanza in this rhyming pattern: abab, cdcd. The fun part of this poem is thrown in here as all the FIRST words of each verse should rhyme. There is no fixed syllable structure to the Lento, but keeping a good, flowing rhythm is recommended.” 

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved 

#OctPoWriMo – Day 4 – Cascading Etherees – “Purple’s History” #amwriting #poetry 


Day 4 Prompt: Purple

Free write for ten minutes about purple – when was the first time you noticed purple, how do you feel about purple, what images come up for you around the color purple (besides the movie, unless of course it was something that affected your life).

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http://www.wonderfullifeengineering.com

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Dye from a mollusk in city of Tyre, 

A place in ancient Phoenicia, 

Now the city of Lebanon, 

Purple a royal colour, 

Dye rare not just royal, 

Imperial purple, 

Shade Tyrian, 

Minoan’s, 

They wore, 

It.

—-

So 

Did Great —

Alexander, 

In Egypt the —

Ptolemaic, 

Even royal Romans wore, 

Gold thread trimming the purple, 

A senator had a stripe of it, 

Purple on their white togas displayed. 

Said to be the colour of “clotted blood.” 

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In China, Han purple, made from dyes that —

We’re artificial, during the Han —

Dynasty, decorated —

Terracotta men, 

Famous army today, 

Still seen by those, 

Who wonder, 

At such, 

Art.

Then, 

In the, 

Seventeenth, 

Centuries–

Royal Purple comes, 

Used first in England in —

Sixteen-Sixty- One and first, 

Written word of the colour is —

Reported; Crayola Crayon’s takes–

Royal Purple, Crayon name in nineties. 

——

(That is in the twentieth century), 

Mauevine Purple was created in, 

Victorian era from mallow a —

Flower; could be rich dye or a

Lighter shade, but became, 

Popular when her, 

Majesty, 

Victoria 

Queen wore, 

Mauve.

—–

Gown at, 

The most Royal —

Exhibition. 

Then red-violet or what —

Is called Artist’s Purple, 

In the Munsell System of —

Colour; and then, electric Purple, 

In the two-thousands, became popular and —

—–

You could go on and on, on the history, 

Of Purple and how it came to be, 

But I think we’re happy enough to —

Have it to wear these days, 

Be we rich or poor or —

Somewhere in-between, 

Colour of such, 

Creative, 

Thought, a —

Muse.

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Source: Wikipedia: Shades of Purple

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Quotes Inked #GooodReads #Quotes #3LineTales 


Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting 3LineTales.

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Alex Hockett

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1. “A tattoo is a true poetic creation, and is always more than meets the eye. As a tattoo is grounded on living skin, so its essence emotes a poignancy unique to the mortal human condition.” V. Vale, Modern Primitives: An Investigation of Contemporary Adornment and Ritual

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2. “Tattooing, when understood in its entirety, must be seen as a religious act. The human being brings forth images from the center of the self and communicates them to the world. Fantasy is embodied in reality and the person is made whole.” Spider Webb. 

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3. ” Our bodies were printed as blank pages to be filled with the ink of our hearts” ― Michael Biondi

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My apologies. A busy week again. But hopefully, you like the quotes I found on GooodReads.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

September Quotes of Note #amwriting #quotes


Here’s my first set off quotes for September! Enjoy and keep what you like. 

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http://www.pinterest.com
1. 
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2. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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3. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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4. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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5.

http://www.pinterest.com

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6. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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7. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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8.

http://www.pinterest.com

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9. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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10. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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11. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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12. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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13. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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14. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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15. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Laturnes – “Passion Bared”


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Listen to ‘Passion Bared’ below:

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Of,

All I,

Describe it’s,

Not —


So,

Easy,

To tell you,

How —


My,

My Mind,

Works creating,

Art.


Art,

Of All,

Types; the kind

You —


Read,

And the,

Kind you paint;

Draw.


To

Describe,

Imagine,

Your —


Hands,

And Mind,

Working with —

Each —


The,

Other,

Seamlessly;

Right.


What,

flows from,

Your heart makes,

A —


Piece,

Written,

Drawn, Painted.

Not —


For,

You to,

Explain it;

Just,


Is,

What it,

Is and that’s

Art.


In,

Its true,

Purest Form.

It —


Seeks,

Explores,

Makes connection,

Deep —


In,

The soul,

Of Viewer.

And —


The,

Reader,

Alike it,

Is —


Felt,

In heart;

Our passion,

Bare.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Colour Theory


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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A Mixed Bag

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“Today we’re going to learn about secondary colours on the colour wheel,” Miss Michaels the art teacher said to the grade three class.

“For instance, if we mix the primary colours blue and yellow together, we get green.” 

Miss Michaels poured a little blue and yellow water from their respective wine glasses into an empty wine glass. The liquid in the new wine glass was green.

“Depending on how much blue or yellow I add, determines what colour of green I will get. If I add more blue, the green will be a blue-green such as a teal. If I add more yellow, we will get a more yellow-green such as grassy green.” Miss Michaels explained.

“Let’s try another secondary colour. Jennifer, what colour will I get if I mix red and yellow together equally?” 

“Um, you’d get orange,” Jennifer said.

“Correct Jennifer. If I add more yellow to the orange it will be and orange-yellow like flames of fire but if I add more red it will be an orange-red, like some of the lipsticks your Moms with warmer toned skin wear.” Miss Michaels said.

“Charlie, tell me what will happen if I mix red and blue together?” 

Charlie stammered, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Think about it a moment.” Miss Michaels was patient.

“Oh um, Purple?” 

“Yes Charlie you’re absolutely right. If we add more red to the purple it is more like a red-purple, a plum colour. If we add blue the purple is a blue-purple like. . .” 

Miss Michaels was interrupted by Charlie waving both his hands in the air.”Yes, Charlie?” 

“In the glasses, the water is slanting.” 

“How strange,” Miss Michaels remarked peering down at the wine glasses and then the table. “I think the table . ..” 

It an instant, the table crashed and wine glasses full of food colouring covered miss Michaels who sighed and then giggled.

“Remember what happens when we mix all the colours together?” She asked her grade three class.

“Mud,” they shouted.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Maydays: Fiction – Part 2 – After The Plane Crash #Maydays


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Thanks to K.L. Caley of new2writing for hosting #Mayday prompts. Today’s theme is a battle or fight of some kind. Also, Part 2 of a continuing series After The Plane Crash. Read Part 1 here. The battle I’m showing is the main characters fight through her fever and aches from being lost in the wild two weeks.

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Please read Part 1 here.

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“Young lady are you awake.” A woman’s voice whispered to me quietly. “What’s your name?”

I make a noise, not wanting to leave the land of my dreams. It’s safe and peaceful here. Danny is with me and we’re drinking a beer together like old times. I know my friend is not real but I don’t want to admit to myself in my dreams; Danny is dead.

A gentle hand feels my forehead. “She has a high fever. I’m not surprised being out in the wilderness that long. She’s sweating. I think it was an excellent thing the doctor got here so fast and we were able to hook her up to an IV to get some fluid and nutrition into her body.”

 The woman’s voice was soft and sensible. She sounded like the voice of a lady who was a mother. She smoothed back my hair and I sighed in my state of half sleep. I was cold and sweating at the same time. Iceness overcame me and I shivered trying to pull plush blankets around me as I sweated.

“Aunt Tabitha, what can we do? If we keep giving her the IV as the doctor said, and introduce her to some soup and other food in a few days, do you think she’ll be alright?” 

The voice I heard speaking was the deep male voice I had heard before I passed out. The voice had a rich timber, it sounded young and attractive. 

A small smile shaped my lips, then I groaned as cold sweat overcame me. “Poor thing,” Aunt Tabitha said. “I’ll take care of her Eric. Don’t worry, your Auntie took care of you when you were ill as a child and I would do the same for this poor young woman.”

“I appreciate it Aunt Tabitha. I really do. I didn’t know who else to call. The workers wanted nothing to do with her.They thought she had some awful disease the way she appeared to them.”

Tabitha gave a harsh laugh. “Ha, those locals are full of stories and superstitions which have no basis in reality. This woman will be fine. When I clean her up a bit and later when she can wash her hair, I imagine she’s a beautiful girl, Eric. I hope the man who died in that plane crash wasn’t her boyfriend.”

“ I don’t know . . .” Eric said softly. “I’ll leave you too it.” I heard him walk away and a door shutting.

 I was awake but not fully. I faded in and out of feverish dreams, nightmares where I was trapped in a never ending forest. No animals in sight. Nothing edible and carrying no water. Only dead silence filling my ears.

I was dressed in a bra and panties and had nothing else on — not even shoes. Darkness descended and it began to snow and my body was wracked by cold as the wind picked up and the snow built up around me. I couldn’t move. I was so cold I was frozen stiff like an ice sculpture; I shrieked aloud.

——–

Eons pass where I am stuck inbetween what’s real and what’s in my dreams. I dream about my Mom and Dad, how worried they would be about me. I know it’s been past two-weeks now since the plane crash. My feaver hasn’t abated for days but Aunt Tabitha dutifully stays at my side. At night there is a hired nurse. A thin bird-like woman who doesn’t speak English but sees to my needs. 

Aunt Tabitha is with me whenever she can be. I’m aware of her reading on her tablet. Sometimes she reads to me, but I want to tell her she’s only giving my mind more material for nightmares. 

I know she has asked me my name several times but I have trouble finding a voice strong enough to answer her when I feel semi-lucid. Only when nightmares overwhelm me do I scream and plead for them to stop using my voice loudly.

Today my head feels much clearer. I look to see the IV attached to my arm and am thankful it’s giving me nutrients because I think food would repulse me right now. With heavy eyes I scan the room. Strangely, Aunt Tabitha isn’t here. 

I move my head and neck gently, testing my muscles which ache from being in bed too long and from hiking through the woods. I wiggle my toes and stretch my legs. I straighten my arms infront of me and put my arms above my head, stretching my whole body like a cat. I feel a jolt of pain in my side.

Pain throughout my body becomes apparent. Bruises and scrapes mostly. I look at my one wrist and see it’s wrapped in a bandage.I must have sprained it. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice when the sprain occurred.

I feel dirty and have the urge to scrub my body until my skin is pink. A bath would be heavenly. My hair is limp and greasy on my head, I can’t remember ever having hair this scungy. 

I lean up in bed regarding the room around me. It’s a large bedroom and the room,  a work of art and design. The room has a peaceful ambiance, painted in grey-blue.

The furniture including the head board behind me is bleached wood like drift wood from the ocean. I feel relaxed in this place, gazing towards a giant white window with a padded blue window seat full of pillows matching my bed’s dark ink blue duvet and silver and white striped sheets.

I haven’t seen the sun in days. The bright white light of the sun bathes me through the window, but is too bright for my eyes. I shade my face with my hand and gaze in awe at the lush greeness of the mansions front yard. They’re fountains and flowers in the distance.

“Wow,” I say and my voice feels gravelly. I start saying random words and sentences aloud to make my voice sound normal but I can’t seem to rid my voice of its weakness.

 I raise my body into a sitting position, crossing my legs under the bed covers. My body cooperates slowly and with aches, but I manage. 

I have decided to have a bath or showe.  I’m certain I can stand and walk. On careful feet as if I were a toddler, I slip out of the bed and start walking to the bathroom I spied at the end of the room. 

It feels so far away at first but my legs remember how to walk quickly and my steps are more assured as I go. Resting against the door frame, I peer into the bathroom.

There is a large tiled glass shower with a wooden bench inside; I am thankful for the bench.The bathroom is designed well with a heavy marble countertop, twin sinks, and dark blue cabinets underneath the counter. A vanity table near by, holds a few cosmetics, clearly for a woman. The toilet is inside a closet in the corner of the bathroom.

I drop my clothes on the wood floor, carefully removing them as my muscles are still sore. The loose grey sweat pants and large white T-shirt are far too roomy to be my clothing and I leave them on the floor.

 I open up the shower door and hobble over to the bench where I sit turning on the shower nozzle convienantly located near my head. The shower is hot, too hot at first. But the showerhead gives a cleansing rainfall shower. I sigh in pleasure as the water washes over me. Picking up a puff hanging on the wall, I squirt jasmine scented Dior body wash on it. I scrub my body free of natures dirt and fevers sweat. 

My body’s skin is as pink as I imagined, when I reach for Dior face wash and volumizing shampoo. I wash my hair four-times before I’m satisfied it’s clean and I condition it, letting the conditioner soak into my dry long brunette strands before washing it out. The sun has caused some of my brunette strands to bleach blond.

When I’m done washing, I relax and let the hot rainfall water run massaging my muscles which ache. I stay inside the shower longer then necessary but I haven’t felt this well in forever.

 “Are you ever coming out?” a deep voice asks outside the shower chuckling.

I gasp and quickly turn the shower off fumbling. I cover myself with my hands uselessly. Eric is outside the glass shower and I’m naked inside, no towel within reach.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Free Verse – “A Visible Living Melody” 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

Word Count: 170 words.

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Swritings

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Murals are magnificent, brightening up space, but so far —

Many people doesn’t understand why you’d paint a mural on your car?

It’s tacky, to some people an ‘eyesore,’ the car driven colourfully,

With images, impressions, photographs, painted cities, tattoos inked wondrously. 

You’d never hear a judgement from my candied purple lips, 

When it comes to art, I’m not a lady who needs to come to grips,

With the reality of modern art; it’s whatever way the artist feels.

He or she say may paint their ideal — their art, to them what’s real.

For art, though it appear tacky and weird in some people’s eyes, 

Has the ability to make people shine, make them laugh, and to surprise.

Especially to aid a person living beneath the shadow, depressed, and sad, 

In a moment, the car arrives, awash with colours and scenes glad.

So, if you see a painted mural driving down the highway a while, 

Remember art is a visible living melody, with its ways of helping those who need, smile.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.