Fiction, Licentia - aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Licentia – “Without A Sound” #amwriting #poetry #love


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt:

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Credit: Rich Howman

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Laughter in the moment, golden hour found

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

Swing her up into your arms, because it —

Felt like the thing to do, she’s dear and swift;

Her punch on your arm, painful kind of bliss

All to happy to meet with a wet kiss. 

Perserved in time the clock keeps ticking fast, 

Moments gone, looking back, it never lasts. 

Years slide forward, what can you do but, 

Move forward too, memories cause a rut. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found, 

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

—-

Swept her up into your arms, because it —

Felt like the thing to do, she’s dear and swift. 

Wiggling and giggling in your —

Arms; begging to have legs on ground restored

She thought she was too heavy for your back, 

You just laughed and kept her close, said “Relax.” 

You were walking barefoot on the cool —

Wet ground, the grass made you slip, such glad fools. 

Drop of joy harnessed in a crystal glass

Kept to hold, make the precious moments last. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found,

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound.

Her punch on your arm, painful kind of bliss

All too happy to meet with a wet kiss. 

Lovers as close as lovers can be, rolling —

On the blanket, on grass, after strolling.

Gleam in her eyes promising heaven, 

Twist of her smile taking you to Never —

-land of pirates, lost boys, and she, Wendy, 

Picking up a sword, fighting for her when —

Pirates attacked; shoeless running in real

Life; time ceasing again, treasures for feels. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

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Perserved in time, clock keeps ticking fast, 

Moments gone, looking back, it never lasts. 

The truth is hard to swallow, to remember

Years pass, euphoria is dismembered

Harsh realities, sickness, health; sickness wins, 

She flew away my sparrow with the wind.

Such disease sucks the life from a body, 

Hope, a religious dream from pain prodded. 

A new eternity to love, swing round with —

Dirty bare feet and love despite death’s grip. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

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

Sunday Photo Fiction: Part 6 – Nineteen-Years Later #amwriting #flashfiction #thriller


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

Ah! My apologies this is so late! I’ve never written any continuous thrillers, it’s hard! 

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A Mixed Bag

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“Chad, off the medical table and on the floor!” Uncle Sam yelled as gunfire grew closer.

“I don’t know how he found us Sam.” Marrion said. 

“I need to know the truth about my tattoo,” Chad yelled frustrated. 

“Secrets are dangerous Chad. They can expose you, crush you like a flower.” Marrion said, gazing between Chad and Sam.”Chad might be safer if . . .”

Sam squeezed Marrion’s hand, “Please, tell Chad what you know.”

“Tom isn’t dead. He wasn’t undercover; he is and was the enemy, has been for nineteen-years.”

 “My Dad?”

 “Tom isn’t your Dad; Sam’s your Dad, Chad. Sam and Mona had a drunken night after they thought Tom died.” Marrion admitted.

She peered at Sam, “You should’ve told Chad you were his real Dad. Your name is hidden within Chad’s cartoon seal tattoo. You gave Chad the tattoo as a baby to keep track of him and keep him safe. Chad should  also know, you’ve been running from Tom recently, not Garig; Garig is Tom’s lackey.” 

Sam sighed, hands shaking. “I kept it secret because if Tom thinks Chad’s his son, he won’t kill him.” 

I was the reason Tom disappeared. My twin brother almost ended up in military prison, sentenced to death.”Sam said regretfully. “What choice did I have? Tom was a traitor and wasn’t the only one undercover; I was undercover to bring him down.” 

“There’s more Sam,” Marrion said.”Chad’s tattoo has two more codes. Tom added his own code to track Chad along with a trigger code. I had to be careful when I scanned Chad’s tattoo because of the trigger code.” 

“Why?” Sam said afraid.

“Chad is a walking weapon of mass destruction. If anything reads a special encrypted trigger code on his tattoo — Chad explodes. This boat explodes and the water for miles and miles in the ocean will be full of radiation, which will cycle into oceans around the world. There will be great casualties.” 

Chad was about to speak. He felt sick again. 

Then, a stray bullet bit him; he felt a sharp stinging pain.

 A familiar voice shouted loudly, in Russian, as Chad passed-out.

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Read Part 5 here

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, Writing

A Quiet House


The house is scary and quiet at night. There are no dogs barking. No mindless chatter in the background as someone chats on the computer. There is not a sense of movement, a fullness that would suggest someone other than me is at home tonight. 

I use to love the night and being by myself in the quiet. But being unwell has drained me of those concepts. I am alone all day trying to keep myself busy that it is often difficult at night. Tonight there were a couple of my favorite shows on TV so I watched those but then they ended. And now it appears they might be killing off two of my favorite characters and not just one. That makes me sadder then it probably should.

So, now I am just writing, dreading when it comes time to sleep because I haven’t been sleeping well. And then taking extra sleeping pills means more time in the morning where I am groggy and can’t do things when I want to or need to in the day. I’m thinking of going back downtown tomorrow, I’ve got a couple of errands that need doing. But I’m okay trying to work on another Copywriting module too and saving the errands until next Tuesday. 

This weekend I am visiting a friend not to far away at her house. And if I don’t do that module, I will finish it. I’m also trying to give my room and my washroom a thorough cleaning. I can’t do it all at once but I’ve sorted all my clothes and got rid of the too small or what I never wear. And I have to deal with the top shelf in my closet, with the boxes from appliances that don’t have warranties anymore and the scrap books and photo books all scrambled. There’s boots to put away and clean, dressers and shelves to sort, paperback books to recycle, shoes to sort, bags to sort, vacuuming, and dusting. That is what happens when you cram most of 30 years into a room. I can only imagine the elderly people who must cram 90 years into a room but perhaps then you think you don’t need to take anything with you when you go. I will leave the washroom for later I think. 

For, now, I’ll read for awhile.