Animals/Pets, Free Verse, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Published Work, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Works Published, Writing

Published by HerHeartPoetry – Italian Sonnet: “A Matter of Heart” / Free Verse: “Luna’s Call” #amwriting #poetry 


Goodmorning! Hope you are all well! I’m sharing a couple of poetry pieces published on Instagram @herheartpoetry from  http://www.herheartpoetry.com. As many poetry magazines, they have various topics each month/submission period. 

This first poem was published months ago and the theme was on ‘love/relationships,’ and the second poem was published this past week on the theme, ‘Howl at the Moon.’ 

For anyone interested, this is another awesome place to have your poetry published. You do, however, need to create a square picture with some app on your phone/tablet that edits photos, from a photo of your poem on MS Office or in someway, creatively create an Instagram poem that is square 🙂 

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Credit: Amanda M. Eifert – First Published by HerHeartPoetry.com on Instagram @herheartpoetry

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Credit: Amanda M. Eifert – First Published by HerHeartPoetry.com on Instagram @HerHeartPoetry

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays, Current Events, Flash Fiction, History, La' Tuine - A, B, C, D -last lines all same rhyme for each stanza 9,8,9,8 syllables, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 30 – NaPoWriMo/100 Word Wednesday: Poem – La ‘Tuine – “A Place to Call Home” #NaPoWriMo #100WordWednesday #quotes


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays. Today is the last NaPoWriMo prompt “to write a poem about something that happens again and again . . . It could be the setting of the sun, or your Aunt Georgia telling the same story (etc.).” I will add a quote but it’s pretty much any quote I want as the A to Z Challenge is finished as well. 

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Credit: Bikurgurl’s Mom – Sandra June

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Home wasn’t a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.” ― Sarah Dessen, What Happened to Goodbye

——–

In life we live, some of us alone, 

Need places where we can be at ease. 

From other places we long to be free, 

Thank goodness that we can go home

——-

It’s not the same talking on the phone, 

Facetiming, skyping, there’s still need —

To return to our beloved family, 

Whoever they maybe — they’re our home

——

They are our friends and relations known, 

They’re our parents, siblings last seen. 

Those we grew with, but had to leave. 

Home is where our contentment flows. 

——

In life we live, some of us alone. 

Need places where we can be at ease. 

From other places we long to be free,

Thank goodness that we can go home

———-
——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Free Verse, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “A Nightmare of Ink” #amwriting #poetry #nightmares


Thank you to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the his week’s Photo Prompt chalkenge.

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Credit: Reylia.deviantart.com

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She holds the flowers teaming with a life force all their own, 

Knowing the ombrĂ© blue blossoms will escape; 

Flutter into the world carried on the wind, 

Pettles and fluffy white seeds blown across the land. 

Messengers of hope and artistry, a beauty undefinable. 

Her hands tightly grasp the stems, no thorns to prick errant fingers. 

She can’t let go, however, she she tries, 

Hands entrapped on rough stems holding too hard. 

So rigid are her hands, blood comes forth, 

The pressure of her grip too intense;

With great thought, he watches her, observes her reactions, 

She doesn’t understand why he’s hurting her; she needs help. 
She’s dressed in her navy dress and in life he loves it, 

In her dream, he picks at the fabric of her sleeve in disgust. 

Mumbling to himself, then struck with a thought, 

He’s found a thin fluted vase in blue to match her flowers. 

She doesn’t conprehend the symbolism or the reason, 

When ink he pours onto her flowers from the vase. 

He stains her hands until they appear black, 

The flowers are ruined and slicked with ink like oil. 

The streaming ink is everywhere, 

Her beloved smiles at her, he chucks her chin and winks, 

Takes the flowers and places them in the vase. 

The ink is all over her hands and arms;

Hers and his, and he’s laughing. 

Saying how difficult ink is to remove from one’s skin, 

So he cradles her face and he kisses her long, 

But then she awakes in her dream, 

To permenant ink stains all over her face and hands.

He smirks at her, walks away no care for the ink staining him. 

The moon gleams in the sky and it rains — buckets of tar black ink, 

Caressing her body, covering as sludge, dripping and spilling. 

What value is ink if she has no pen’s cartridge to put it in? 

She’s not able to use it to write. 

The world around is flooded by this precious commodity, 

And when she finally awakes for real, all is forgotten. 

Yet, the hands she holds up to the sunlight, 

Are stained dark black;

She’s tattood in the memory of a dream, 

Nightmares and reality never giving way to truth. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: The End of The CorkScrew #flashfiction #amwriting #fiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: © J. Hardy Carroll
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Kathy walked into The CorkScrew. During the day it had masqueraded as a cafe with coffee, tea, hot chocolate, soft drinks, and any alcohol you felt like adding. At night the old place truly came alive as the beloved town bar where everyone met to have fun and catch up. 

However, the building no longer met fire code regulations. It hadn’t when she started working here as a bartender when she was sixteen, having procured a fake ID. But twenty-five years later the place was so terrible it had to be torn down; even renovations couldn’t save The CorkScrew. 

At the front of the bar were bottles from years gone by. For some reason one could still get an ancient bottle of 7Up to mix with lime juice and Vodka. There was original Coca Cola and original Pepsi, whatever you preferred to have with your Rye or Rum. 

Kathy along with neighbors, patrons, and friends — some she’d known all her life — had come to the bar one last time to watch as The CorkScrew was boarded-up. Oddly enough, even the rats seemed to be leaving the building, which only made Kathy cry harder. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Health, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Synchronicity Poetry - 8,8,2, -- surprise ending last 2 stanzas, Writing

Photo Challenge: Poem – Synchronicity – “The Thief” #amwriting #poetry #fiction


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting. 

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Credit: Anja Buhrer

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“But how can one regret what, to the mind, has never existed? Even loss is an inaccurate description, for what loss is without the awareness of losing?” – Nicole Krauss 

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Reflections or shadows briefly stand,

Together as soulmates, us two

Lovers.

——

Your illusion captivates,

Your splendour resilient,

Eyes bright.

——

Even mirror images,

Destain to show your glory told, 

Goddess.

——

Knew you once as a child laughing bold,

Called you names and pulled your hair,

Cute girl.

——-

You’ve grown and you’ve changed,

Hair black and sweeping, shoulder length,

Glossy.

—–

Green eyes telling a story of —

Smiling lips, straightened teeth gleaming

Perfect.

—–

Stubborn chin, lovely breasts rising,

Fluted waist, lush body, legs —

Stellar.

—-

Curves run imagination wild and I, 

Stare, hopeful to hear your lilting voice —

Whisper. 

*****

I examine our reflections,

How strange you hate your beloved —

Husband.

—–

Caring for you as Alzheimers, 

Steals your lifememories; you’re —

Forty-nine.

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Synchronicity Poetry — A type of poem with events simultaneously related. The last two stanzas reveal a twist and the syllable count for each stanza is 8, 8, 2. 

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, La' Tuine - A, B, C, D -last lines all same rhyme for each stanza 9,8,9,8 syllables, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, November Notes, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

November Notes: Day 5- Poem – La’ Tuine – “Redeem Your Girl” #novembernotes #poetry #amwriting 


Today’s prompt song “Criminal” by Fiona Apple.

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“Criminal” – Fiona Apple

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http://www.pinterest.com

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Bad girls get things done, get what they want. 

Girls with stone hearts, don’t hear mean taunts, 

They’re invincible, wild; know how to flaunt. 

You won’t get past their walls, their dauntless. 

——

A little crack formed, stone heart releasing, 

Her emotions unceasing —

Guilt claws inside of her, has no peace. 

Demons of her past, screaming though deceased. 

——

Raw heart brought forth, your her only love; 

Needs to be redeemed –a sinner smudged

Thoughtless before; she needs her beloved. 

Your criminal, she needs kid gloves. 

—–

Tell her what to do and how to act now, 

Not to be a defiant girl, too proud. 

Forgive her drunken haze –parties loud, 

Redeem your Criminal right now. 

Redeem your Criminal right now. 

——

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Etheree - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 syllable count, Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Word High July, Writing

 Poem: Cascading Etherees- “A Lovers Portrait Of Her Tinatangi.” #wordhighjuly #introtopoetry


The poetry 101 prompt is faces with alliteration. 

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http://www.favim.com

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You were sleeping so soundly, tinatangi

Sun through window, I stifled a grin when, 

Turned towards me tangled in your, 

Dreams, whispering words; couldn’t —

Understand what you said, 

But I studied your face,

Relaxed, peaceful, 

Why are you, 

Always, 

Grim.

——

Mask, 

Yourself, 

Expression, 

Sober reflection, 

Until I made you smile, 

Until You cornered me, 

Stealing a kiss and, 

I stole a few more and you, 

Never resisted until you, 

Pulled back, gasping, feeling was —

Mutual; then you turned emotionless.

—-

But the hallway kisses sparked repeats and, 

Clothes half-off, avoiding all others, 

Enough of closets, empty rooms, 

So now, I’m in your bed and, 

Passions had its day.

Do you soundly sleep?

Replete, happy?

Or are you, 

Hiding, 

Us.

—–

I’ve

Watched your, 

Face alter, 

Become gentle, soft, 

I’ve seen your eyes gleem, 

Small wrinkles, laugh lines in–

Corners of eyes and your smile, 

Sends me spinning, lips plush and full.

Your nose rubs against mine in a kind of, 

Kiss, they kiss in other lands; here we’ve our mouths.

——

Wonderously blessed, to oversee your sleep,

You lay vulnerable to the world but, 

From me never hide; I’ll keep you, 

Safe from prying eyes but mine, 

Allow me adventure, 

Cheekbones high, stubbled,

Jaw; dip in chin.

Scent of fresh, 

Showered, 

Skin.

—–

I

Know your, 

Hard gazes, 

And brown eyes soft, 

For me to love you best.

After, you rest tranquil.

Breath, so comforting; lulling me, 

Into another nap; exploring paused, 

Then, hands sifting your dark silky hair, mussed.

——-

Smoothing thumb, curved brows; trace eyelashes, 

Long and sinfully dark; then over mouth.

Lush, inviting; I imprint my own, 

Over collarbone, hollow–

Of your throat, back up to,

Plush lips; you wake and, 

Caress my cheek.

Laughing of

My love, 

Trace.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Three Line Tales, Writing

Three Line Tales: A Letter To Whomever Brought the Cupcakes #amwriting #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of 100 Words or Less for hosting 3 Line Tales.

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Stephanie McCabe

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To Whom It May Concern:

1. Wow, you’ve brought scrumptious, mouth watering, sinfully fattening, cupcakes to work, however; there’s a problem or three with the cupcakes you’ve bought to share; first of all, the cupcakes are small, if you’re going to allow us all to indulge in a cupcake, at least make the cupcake full size, not mini; cupcake are not a delicious treat most of us have often so please, don’t leave us wanting more ( a second cupcake) when you’ve only brought enough for one each.

2. The second issue I have is, your cupcakes aren’t chocolate; a most grevious error on your part, I don’t know who decides to bring cupcakes to work and doesn’t buy chocolate ones; chocolate is beloved by the majority of people and vanilla is boring (even if it vanilla does smell delightful), vanilla isn’t chocolate, it can’t compare; you’ve unknowingly offended at least all the females in our work area by bringing cupcakes which aren’t chocolate; in fact, I’d say my day is ruined, having seen the cupcakes and realized, they weren’t chocolate or even chocolate iced.

3. My third issue has to do with the icing on the cupcakes; I understand, you’re not the baker and you don’t ice the cupcakes yourself, but the icing is the best part of the cupcake; a slightly stale cupcake can get away with being stale, if the icing is to die for; vanilla icing could be satisfying but again, chocolate would have clearly, been the wiser icing choice; as well as choosing cupcakes which were “fully” iced; the baker’s icing style has much to be desired because the baker did not ice to the end of the cupcake, to the cupcake paper edge; icing is the most imperative aspect of a superb cupcake, perhaps, in the future, when you visit this cupcake bakery again, you will choose cupcakes with more icing; while the icing was delicious, there was far to little of it.

 I’m no cupcake expert, but I know what I like when I taste it.

Sincerely, 

Anonymous 

My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables

Poem: Tankas – “Nooked” 


http://www.yourtango.com
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You damaged me,

 Running into me that night.

Long ago laughing.

I embraced you on sight and, 

I wasn’t even nervous.

——

You cut into me, 

There’s no way from damage I —

Could recover now, 

Hit by navy eyes, 

Broken by your smile.

——

You made me bleed-out, 

As we became much closer, 

You were my steady–

Rock; my foundation solid, 

I believed in you, in us.

—–

You may as well have, 

Torn out my heart from my chest, 

Such trouble you gave, 

Sipping kisses from my lips, 

Arguing stopped; more blissing.

——

Your cure all for all, 

The sadness, the splintered soul, 

Holding me tight when, 

Love’s making halted a while,

Caring how you made me feel.

——-

Your worst crime is your, 

Deception; how I pass you —

And you see my eyes, 

Smarting still from being blind,

Brittle pieces tapped together.

—–

Stabbed by your bass voice, 

Whispering pleas, in dark.

Searching for the truth.

Finding only that you killed me, 

As you loved; the little death.

——

Smothering with fondness,

Never realizing love needs, 

Space to grow, flourish.

Became suffocating your, 

Word, your constant touch beloved.

—–

I died inside with, 

Prayers falling from lips you, 

Bit last torrid night.

If space could give me freedom, 

You’d agree, find the solution.

—–

Should we continue,

Though I know you love me dear, 

I’ll die fast smothered, 

Let us both relax in light.

You near, touching me, all times.

——

Let us both breathe from, 

The days we both couldn’t be, 

Five seconds apart, 

Let us be even closer,

Distance, draws a deeper love

——

Reflection as we, 

Seek skin and curves and muscles.

Beautiful to be close.

Never ever far away, 

Face in your neck; nooked near.

——

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Story Comtinuation Prompt: Fiction – Remembering Helen


Thank you to Wandering Soul who hosts this prompt challenge each week. You can complete the prompt sentence by writing up to two-additional sentences in her comments section in the link above or you can link to her blog page. Also, if you choose to write a longer story from the prompt, link the story to her page as well.

Today’s prompt sentence is: “The old man stared at the droopy white lilies.”

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http://www.thelilygarden.com
  

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The old man stared at the droopy white lilies. Memories flooded back to him as he smelt the strong scent that lingered. He felt the edge of one of the petals, still baby soft but crisp and dry on the edges. Helen had always hated lilies; that was why he had them placed on her grave every Sunday.

You might think this a mean thing for an old man to do but Ernest (the old man) had had a complicated relationship with Helen. Though it might not appear so, he had adored her and thought she had always been a magnificent woman.

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Ernest remembered the first time he had seen Helen in his senior year in high school. She had her abundant curly brown hair styled in a forties-bob. Her blue eyes sparkled when she saw him. He felt their two souls collide in that moment and Ernest knew their souls would always be connected.

Ernest and Helen dated until Ernest was twenty-three years-old. Helen hadn’t liked that they had dated five-years without getting married. In hindsight, Ernest realized he should’ve married Helen long before he did.

Helen became pregnant and the whole town turned against her. The women called her a hussy and advised Helen to marry Ernest immediately. His old man had took Ernest aside and told him that everything would be fine if he married Helen quickly and quietly.

But Helen was feisty and didn’t like being told what to do. She was hurt that her best girlfriends looked down on her and that the town’s people whispered and gossiped about her behind her back. It was then Helen changed her mind about marriage to Ernest.

One day Ernest and Helen were swinging on the porch swing at Helen’s parent’s house, Ernest trying his hardest to convince Helen marriage was an excellent choice since they both loved each other.The following day Helen and two suitcases full of her clothes and baby items she had been collecting, had disappeared.

Ernest searched for Helen. He wrote letters and searched various small towns. He went to big cities, remembering what Helen liked to do and where she would likely be found. He remembered the places she dreamed about visiting. Ernest also feared a young pregnant woman alone, wouldn’t find much friendliness from strangers. He was frightened for Helen and his unborn child.

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Twenty-years later Helen appeared at Ernest’s house in Pittsburg. Ernest’s wife Lilian, was battling Cancer. To both their regret, Lilian and Ernest had never been able to have children. But behind Helen was an enchanting young woman whose green eyes he recognized as his own. 

The three of them sat outside and talked. Ernest had felt guilty about not seeing his wife at the hospital that day as afternoon turned to evening. His daughter’s name was Grace and to Ernest she was indeed a ‘grace.’ 

In the morning Helen was gone but Grace remained. His daughter stood by him, even when his wife Lilian passed away a week later. Despite the fact Grace had never known her father, she stayed with Ernest as he grieved and she began working in the woman’s section of a department store.

Grace told Ernest that her mother Helen detested Lilies and that was why she left. But Lilian’s favourite flower was of course a Lily; they covered Ernest’s home while Lilian lived. He was always greeted by their pungent fragrance when he came home from work. Ernest knew better the reason Helen hadn’t stayed: She didn’t want to make Ernest’s life difficult. Grace had chosen to stay with Ernest on her own.

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Twenty-years later, Ernest was a happy Grandfather of four teenage grandchildren. Grace had married a man in Pittsburg and lived close by his house. She visited Helen and spoke to her mother often, but clammed up whenever Ernest asked about Helen. 

One day, Ernest was home alone doing yard work and Helen appeared out of no where. It gave him such a shock that Ernest’s green eyes started to tear up not believing what he saw. Helen aged, but still magnificent, embraced Ernest and they both cried for the lost years they hadn’t been with each other. The love between them was still strong, even after forty-years mostly apart.

Helen remained with Ernest. The happy couple had a small wedding and Grace was delighted her parents were together at last. 

Ernest and Helen were driving to the airport for their honeymoon in Paris. Helen was complaining about the orange lily the florist had slipped in her bouquet. Ernest had thought Helen’s complaints funny. They both started laughing and Ernest in his bliss, missed the red light. He hadn’t seen the pick-up truck before it crushed his car where Helen sat, graceful in a white suit; she died instantly.

—–

Years passed and Ernest religiously had lilies deliveried to Helen’s grave each Sunday. He always thought about how much Helen hated lilies. But lilies made Ernest, the old man, remember his beloved Helen. So that even after Ernest’s own death, their darling daughter Grace, continued to have lilies deliveried to Ernest’s and Helen’s shared grave.

Grace wiped a tear away from her eye. Both her parents were sorely missed.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.