Children/YA/Family, History, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Synchronicity Poetry - 8,8,2, -- surprise ending last 2 stanzas, Three Line Tales, Writing, Writing Challenges

Three Line Tales: Poem – Synchronicity – “Worth Teeth” #amwriting #poetry #3LineTales


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

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Credit: Carson Arias via UnSplash

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It’s called a Lego graveyard,

A container full of beheaded,

Small men —

—–

A variety of pleasant looks,

Others with face’s of ire,

 No heads.

——

The girl and boy they build fast,

Tear bodies from heads not knowing, 

Bad thoughts. 

—–

—–

A pile of joy for building kids, 

A sight of horror for parents;

Gold teeth. 

——

As Nazi’s removed in death camps, 

Nothing dulls pain of Jewish soul; just —

Worth teeth. 

——

A few years ago I saw an excellent movie made by and including George Clooney and some of the regular actors found in his movies — Matt Dameon (etc.) called The Monuments Men. “The film follows an Allied group from the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program that is given the task of finding and saving pieces of art and other culturally important items before Nazis destroy or steal them, during World War II (Wikipedia). 

One of the aspects of the film that overwhelmeingly struck me as awful was as these men went into underground mines and other places the Nazi’s hid priceless artwork, were barrels full of teeth with gold fillings that had been pulled from Jewish Concentration camp prisoners. This is just one mote terrible act of numerous actions done to Jewish prisoners slated to die by Nazis in death camps. Upon researching this, I found the practice by Nazi’s to be accurate even within the context of the movie.  I read that in some cases, the Nazi soldiers forced other prisoners to do this job form them and no pain numbing drugs or even alcohol was provided. 

As well, the movie is based on a fictitious novel but the story itself is based off of real life events that are to some extent historically accurate. In the film, these American men who reclaimed the art work left the gold filled teeth and of course that was the right thing to do. Anyways, in my warped mind, those barrels full of gold teeth fillings are what these lego heads reminded me of — sorry for the imagery! 

This article The Monuments Men (2014) compares the movie and the real life Monument’s men. It answers some interesting questions about WWII Nazi History and Hitler’s reasons behind stealing such a wealth of art.  

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reseved. 

Bop - 6 lines, refrain, 8 lines, refrain, 6 lines, refrain, Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Bop – “Tin Man of Dreams” #dreams #amwriting #poetry #photochallenge


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this photo challenge. I missed this one, as is was from two weeks ago. 

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Credit: Matt Dixon

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Yesterday I heard him move, silent tin man, 

Rusted, squeaking hinges, yet light spans.

A tin man with no heart inside his chest, 

His hallow metal barrel chest detests, 

The emptiness he feels without his heart, 

A  lit heart on his head instead restarts

Tin man full of dreams, rusted metal parts.

He may feel brittle without movement, 

Stuck in a cupboard, his joints need soothing

Some oil to grease his soldier-like steps, 

To urge his metal mouth to smile more yet.

But he still sits hidden, you wouldn’t know he, 

Has never stopped lighting his space pleased

His heart is not of darkness, but sun beams, 

Edison’s gift, fairy’s magic, lights streaming

Tin man full of dreams, rusted metal parts. 

Rusted limbs matter little, but a boy, 

Loves this enchanted robot, mystic toy. 

He cleans him up, oils his joints perfectly

The robot smiles, glow growing immersed

New feelings, memories lost, but at last, 

He’s a night light, child’s toy, great love amassed. 

Tin man full of dreams, rusted metal parts. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: An Adventure Alone #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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Credit: Sascha Darlington

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Six-year-old James was excited. He was at a giant amusement park with a fascinating complex modular domes. He tried to rush past his parents but his Dad grasped James’ hand firmly. 

They entered the first dome and there was a huge race track inside. James squeeled while driving with his Dad in a go-kart. The next dome had a mini-golf course. Half-way through the course James decided he was bored and that it was time for his adventure alone; he crept off when his Dad was putting. 

He spent his day playing in a giant indoor playground and then went outside to where there were rides for kids to go on. He made friends with another boy named Paul whose parents thought James had permission to ride rides with them. 

After a while James felt sick because he hadn’t eaten. He returned to the mini-golf course to wait for his Dad. He sat there for hours but he never saw his parents. He thought they had decided they didn’t want him.

 Then he heard his Mom’s angry voice: “James William, where have you been?” He hugged his Mom and cried into his Dad’s shoulder when he picked James up. It appeared his adventure alone was more than James had bargained for. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Children/YA/Family, History, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Cowboys and Indians” #amwriting #poetry


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

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Credit: Elizabeth Anna

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Face so black, eyes green-blue, a warrior stood, 

In forest, playing games, children not meek.

On the faces of cliffs roam, hide and seek,

Cowboys with guns, face arrows of wood. 

Her hair is in braids, she’s taller and could, 

 Take out any boy; her face paint it streaks;

Black oil paints stain her pink dress as she seeks, 

Unafraid, with bow ready, arrow’s wood —

Will strike at any movement and set fly, 

Weapon which could hurt, but that’s life she sighs.  

Hopes her arrow might hit a deer — dinner, 

For a family she can’t feed, as a child. 

Only a girl, no parents but she plays, 

In this strange cowboys and Indian brave’s game. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Lune - 5,3,5 or 5 words, 3 words, 5 words, My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Lunes – “Never Stopped” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction #lunes


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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The Storyteller’s Abode (Louise)

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Hidden between rocks, the ocean —

Returns a treasure. 

A time piece once given.

——

A woman’s long hair blows,

Trailing in winds. 

She inspects the pocket watch —

——-

Before dropping it off the —

Cliff it tumbles, 

Onto rocks, clattering sounds lost —

——-

In the darkness of nights, 

Grip so intense.

Ocean steals the pocket watch —

——

Woman stares down below peering —

Her Grandfather’s watch,

Forever lost, his presence grieved.

—–

Into cold bitter waters enclosing,

Covered in waves. 

Gone for years, taken away.

——

Now a small boy picks up —

A watch and —

Smiles, his new treasure found. 

——-

Dangling it infront of him he —

Puts it to —

His ear; ticking, never stopped. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Photography/Visual Art, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Photo Challenge Prompt: Dream World #flashfiction #amwriting #photochallenge


Thank you to MindLoveMiseryMenageria for the picture prompt:

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Unknown

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Marvin couldn’t believe this place he’d woken up in. He was eight-years-old in this world, but he wore a space suit. Not the fake dress-up clothes space suit, but an authentic one as the astronauts who flew to the space station wore. 

He was on a planet which wasn’t earth. It was night and the blue-grey sky was alight with stars which lit Martin’s path on dark-green grass like terrafirma. 

Marvin wanted to feel the grass but he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to breathe on this planet.

 The most fascinating feature of this environment was that the sea was one with the sky. Marvin wasn’t sure how this was possible, but earth-like sea creatures floated above him. He laughed as a blue whale swam past, stars glittering around the creature.

Marvin was amused to see starfish stuck in the sky, as if they were actual stars. Marvin reached for a starfish and the world he was in dissolved around him. 

When he awoke, Marvin was thirty-eight-years-old and lying in a hospital bed. His wife Lorna sat by his bed, grasping his hand: 

“Marvin you’re back. It’s been a scary forty-eight hours.”He couldn’t speak, it hurt to move. 

In truth, Marvin was disappointed to see Lorna, to be alive. What kind of accident was he in which he was hurt so awfully?  He was painfully drowsy and Martin allowed his mind to slip back into his dream world. 

He was a boy once again and in his astronaut suited hand, he was holding a starfish glowing bright orange and wriggling. He felt such hope and peace in this dream world.

Marvin did not struggle with his drowsiness, to stay in the real world, where Lorna and severe pain waited. 

As he drifted off to explore his dreamscape, he heard the beeps of his heart rate go flat.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

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

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: The Passing Of The Pocket-Watch #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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http://www.pixebay.com

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“I haven’t seen a watch like this in years. My great-grandfather had one . . . I was only a boy of seven and I remember sitting on his lap.” Edgar said.

“That’s nice Dad. You always tell me this story. It’s your watch now Dad, remember?” Tracy interrupted.

“No, it was Great-Grandpa Vern’s watch. I sat on his lap an he said I could have it when he died. He was eighty-four which was quite old for the time .  .  .” 

“Your Great-Grandpa did die Dad. A year later, he got the flu; you told me. You inherited his watch.” Tracy said.

“He died? I don’t remember him giving me the watch . . . But I suppose, since I have it — it’s my watch now. How old am I?” 

Tracy patted her Dad’s hand, “You’re ninty-seven Dad. You lived longer than your Dad or your Grandpa or your Great-Grandpa.” 

“Ninty-seven?” Edgar said surprised.

Tracy nodded.

“Time goes fast. When I die, best give the watch to your boy; the one with all the tattoos.” Edgar remarked, peering at Tracy. He didn’t know her, only knew she was his daughter because she visited. 

Edgar was shocked to realize he was ninty-seven. The watch would have to go to his only grandson.

There had to be productivity and hard work hidden in those tattoos somewhere.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Writing 101: Poem – Free Verse – “A Day is A Life Time.” #everydayinspiration


The prompt for Writing 101 today is to write about an event that takes place in a single day. Also, I will be including The Daily Post word prompts Phase, Dream, and Grain. I’m trying something with poetry and I hope the result isn’t tedious.

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It started in the morning ending at —

Evening; children who were born with —

A scream on their lips, removed from —

The womb; swaddled in blankets.

——

Life is a day and each day we spend —

One single day, representing —

A lifetime; not knowing each day —

Could end in a moments glance. 

—–

Babe once born, phase into toddler, 

Sucking on bottles, weened off.

Already, personality —

Forming; individual who tantrums.

—–

Couldn’t get her way playing in her —

Pre-school; no hitting allowed there. 

Prepares her for kindergarten, 

Where she better know her typing.

——

To write her name proudly with her,

Markers scribbling future —

Artist; parent’s dream but she’s holding —

Building blocks; then she’s finished–

—-

Being a kid, now screaming to —

Her brother, ‘stay out of my bed —

Room;’ texting her friends, their all —

Nearly sixteen, appearing twenty-one.

—–

She’s been drinking since thirteen-years, 

Not weird to her; she’s been there before.

Degree in engineering of —

Structures; dreams building stream-lined.

——

Caught the eye of a man where she works, 

He’s ten-years her senior at his —

Prime; another engineer, they’ve —

Two kids, girl and a boy, on their —

——

Own journeys; and she’s divorced.

Only thirty-five, raising teenagers, 

Tiring of her career; her daughter–

Pregnant; along comes grandchildren.

—–

She’s only forty and remarries, 

Her true soul mate she says, kids hate —

Him; replacing father they never see, 

Grandma raising baby of her daughter.

——-

Mom is forty-five; son marries girl,

A beautiful blond, into fine art.

Mom doesn’t like her; girl’s a phase.

Son has three kids and stays married.

——

Daughter won’t talk; sends home one more —

Squalling infant for Grandma to —

Care for and work too; step-Opa glad, 

Never had kids, he loves his grandbabies.

——

The grandbabies grow and she’s pushing —

Sixty-five-years; grandkids moving —

Out; hoping they do better than her —

Sweet daughter; dead, needle marks proof.

——

She wants to travel, she’s been all —

Over the world but only for work.

So Oma and Opa see the —

World divine; slowing down in life.

——

She teaches, a class or two for —

Dumb first-year engineer students, 

Doesn’t know how they’ll fill her shoes, 

But they’ve all this technology.

—–

Eighty-six and she’s alone; her soul —

Mate, he passed away; time speeds through, 

She has a dog that keeps her happy, 

But she out-lives the dog as well.

—–

Grains of sand sifting, her time comes, 

In hospital they can’t believe she’s, 

One-hundred-and-one; she dies with —

Great-grandkids crying for their Oma.

—-

This, is a lifetime you say not —

One single day, but you don’t see,

How with such quickness, a lifetime —

Is reduced to one significant —

One magnimounous little, 

Day before God; finally, wandering home.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Writing

Writing 101 – Sleep –  ” Terror’s Embrace”



In the battle with soft covers, her body cries for sleep; for in this nightmare, her weeping will not cease.

There are spiders spinning webs and a room that needs vacuuming; having spiders on the brain is a terrible fear of hers.

And she can feel the pain of her muscles as her fingers clench; her neck throbs incessantly. And she is trying to run away and sink into a pink sunrise.

In a dreamscape made of terror, could morning come any sooner? But coiled in her mind is the snake gliding around her body, telling her she cannot sleep tonight.

It surrounds her ribs and she is short of breath; the coils are an evil, slippery and slimy, another nightmare calling. Turning her body purple as she fights to find some air.

And then there is the sharp pain in her body; a multiple stabbing in her stomach, something worse than hunger. And her child is screaming as the darkness kills her.

The pain it feels real, but she is watching from a distance. The blood pools below, and the poor boy keeps watching. His mother crying awfully, telling him to run.

And then she is trying to find a home. But everyone turns her away. Clearly, she recalls, “there was no room at the inn.” And she never finds her home until she transforms into a girl.

Then she is back with her family. Playing Lego with her brothers, before she sees spiders spinning. She tries to smash them and to vacuum the webs away.

Her body arches and rises, it aches to wake. She is trying to get up. But a rush of blood to her brain causes spinning. And she cannot bend her neck.

She waits, and looks to escape her dream. But a nightmare has hold of her. She is indebted to the darkness; an avenging angel caught in terror’s embrace.

Will she ever wake? Glory comes at the rising of the sun. She will destroy the dreamscape forging with fire in her eyes.

The haunted becomes the hunter and spiders burn in their webs.  She heals stab wounds with a battle cry and fire burns her assailant.

She cuts the snake to pieces and finds a place to call her home. In her bedroom is her, lying on the bed. She wars in cotton sheets in dreams. A woman who controls her nightmares; she is Queen of her own fears.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.