My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Pinterest, Quotes

Notable Quotes: October 2017 (Part 2) #quotes #pinterest


Welcome to Part Two for October 2017 Notable Quotes. There are some great ones so I hope you’re inspired in life and throughout your week!

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Views on Death by Emily Dickinson and John Donne #amwriting #poetry #JohnDonne #EmilyDickinson 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weaver’s Prompt based on the figure of death. Emily Dickinson’s poem “I could not stop for Death” and John Donne’s Holy Sonnet – “Death Be Not Proud” seem to say exactly what needs to be said for me on the prompt. And whatever I do, I can’t think of something I could say better than these poets due regardimg the personification of death. Please enjoy!

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Credit: Google images for Reuse

Credit: Google Images for Re-Use

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1. Because I could not stop for Death (479)

By Emily Dickinson, (1830 – 1886)

http://www.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

 Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me –  

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  

And Immortality.

*****

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility – 

*****

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –  

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –  

We passed the Setting Sun – 

*****

Or rather – He passed us – 

The Dews drew quivering and chill – 

For only Gossamer, my Gown – 

My Tippet – only Tulle – 

*****

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground – 

The Roof was scarcely visible – 

The Cornice – in the Ground – 

*****

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads 

Were toward Eternity – 

*****

(www.poets.org)

———

Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud

BY JOHN DONNE

wwww.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

*****

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, Fiction, Finish Off Fridays/Saturday Mix FlashFiction, Food/Recipes, Health, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Writing, Writing Challenges

First Line Friday: Fiction – Robbed of Peanut Butter #amwriting #FirstLineFridays


Thanks to Dylan of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last Friday’s First Line Friday. You can look for my Friday Music Prompt tomorrow!


 

Peaunt Butter
Credit: Rosanna Davison Nutrition

His world had been comprised of hastily constructed philosophies, which upon close examination, had failed him and promptly collapsed. 

“Peanut butter,” he gasped moaning at the delicious taste of the product his mother had refused to feed him as a child. 

“How can you have not tasted Peanut butter, Charlie? You’re thirty-nine years old and have been living on your own for twenty years. Didn’t it ever occur to you buy it, just once, to see what it tasted like?”

Charlie looked at Dana his mouth a gap,”This is mind blowing. All my life I thought Peanut butter would kill me. My mother convinced me my throat would swell, that I would die on the floor gasping for air if I ate it. But I’m fine. I’ve been eating it all day and it hasn’t made me sick  or made me have trouble breathing. My mother was a liar!”

“She was just trying to protect you, Charlie. You did say she saw a kid die from being exposed to peanut butter when she was in school. It’s why they don’t allow it public schools. Your mom should have let you try a bit of Peanut butter first to see if your body reacted,” Dana remarked.

Charlie shook is head and sighed with pleasure. “I’m going to be eating Peanut butter for the rest of my days, for all those years I was robbed of it’s taste and smooth texture.”

Dana laughed,”Careful Charlie, there is a lot of calories in peanut butter. You don’t want to ruin your physique.”

“Who cares. I swear I’ll go to the gym if that happens.”


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, History, Memories/Childhood, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Poetry, Quotes, Religion/Morality, Wrapped Refrain, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) – ” Bye Bye American Pie” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.


Credit: Sunayana MoiPensieve


 

He sings the song, he knows so well, “American Pie” resounds,

A story “a long long time ago” the lyrics found,

On the lips of those passing by,

Throwing coins for memories sighed,

Thinking of “the day the music —

Died,” a plane crash in history mused.

Brought into the present, the “music [that] makes [him] smile.”

Singing talent innate: “Bye, Bye Miss American pie.”

———

He sings of the “good old boys . . . drinking whiskey and rye,”

Of the day they thought “this would be the day that” they’d up and die,
He breathes life into Rock and Roll,

Thinks music can save “mortal” souls.

His sonorous voice knows he has —

No luck; but he’ll sing for the past.

For “Miss American pie;” she drives her “Chevy” to the dry —

Levy;” all passing, know the lyrics “the day the music died.”

——

He’s a hit, his voice similar to Don McLean of past,

He drives home the point as if it were shards of sharp glass.

As history occurred, passed,

“Dirges in the dark” that collapse.

Of forgotten heroes, music lost,

Of times forgotten, with cost.

Singing for the “kings” and “queens” who walk on by, listening,

He sings the song he knows so well “Bye Bye . . . American pie.”


Don McLean – “American Pie” 


Wrapped Refrain (Form No. 2), created by Jan Turner, carries some similar aspects as her Wrapped Refrain form, with further advanced techniques. It consists of 2 or more stanzas of 8 lines each, with the following set rules:

Meter: 14, 14, 8, 8, 8, 8, 14, 14
Rhyme Scheme: a,a,b,b,c,c,d,d

Refrain rule: In each stanza, the first 10 syllables in the first line (incorporating a phrase) must be the last 10 syllables at the end of the last line (line #8).

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

alouette, History, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality

Poem: Alouette – “The Past Dying”


 

womanmulticolourface
Credit: Tory K Webb

To you who chips at

My heart who just sat,

With your friends drinking coffee,

Not paying notice,

I guess I’m not quote:

‘A girl who cares you’re lofty.’

*****

I’m not a step near,

For you to but snear.

My presence unwanted your,

Affect forever,

Something severed.

Piece of me died you deploring.

*****

Not all experiences,

Are helpful; hence,

They’re moments disregarding,

All I’ve learned,

Thoughts which make me squirm,

My insides, wretched, I’m left scarred.

*****

You don’t feel so wrong,

Moving to your own song.

Admitting it was about looks,

How attractive you were,

I the ‘disturbed‘ girl.

Went home; didn’t return took –

*****

Other roads, castles

Of sand, no hassle.

I’ve nothing from you I want.

You’re but old history,

Learning experience stripped.

Walking my paths, undaunted.

*****

You’ve gone, gone gone; I’m —

Just swell; days ‘neath time,

Never fully heal, but let —

Old days die in past,

Wither at a glance.

Survivor, blessed delighter.

*****

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Event, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Shakespearean Sonnet - iambic pentameter abab cdcd efef gg, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – English Sonnet – “Desolation Of The Flames” #poetry #flashfiction #amwriting #music


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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Credit: A Mixed Bag

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My teary eyes on the buildings below, 

Keeping careful watch o’r those homeless souls.

And since the sky is filled with fire and with smoke.

Praying, keep careful watch o’r forlorn folk.

If we die in fire, keep us together, 

Flames swirling higher, stairs filled with smoke, soon –

Rising farther into the night sky bright, 

Watch flames burn stronger, apartment alight. 

I see fire, fire in our whole home; Such fire

I can’t even breathe; I see fire, can’t respire.

There’s fire hollows my soul, blood curdling free, 

All smoke, no breeze, hope they’ll remember me. 

And if we should die tonight, we’ll both burn, 

Raise glasses of wine, ’till we don’t feel spurned. 

Calling Lord Father, prepare us as thee will, 

Watch the flames burn our home, neighbours heard scream. 

Confined in building blocks, enclosed, we’re remains

No fireman came, desolation it stays

——

Based off the lyrics by Ed Sheeran’s song “Fire” from The Hobbit movies. I played with the lyrics for this prompt. 

—–

“Fire” – Ed Sheeran 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Shadorma - 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllables, Writing, Writing Challenges

B&P’s Shadorma and Beyond: “In Darkness Lies” #poetry #writing #amwriting 


This is last week’s Shadorma prompt, hosted by MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. The poem, “Travelling Through The Dark” by William E. Stafford. 

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Credit: http://www.transformationplus.com

—–

There are things, 

Best not explained and

Thought of once, 

Forgotten. 

Some times rise up in memory

Some nights lost.

—–

Perhaps the —

Road was offending —

Nature not —

Giving her, 

Space required for her to thrive, 

Voice unheard.

—— 

But I wish, 

Someone out there could —

Hear nature’s —

Whispers cried. 

Then we wouldn’t harm her deer, 

Not anything.

——

We might have —

More respect for such creatures whom —

Know not where —

They tread is —

Surely the end, too dangerous, 

So they die. 

—-

And like that —

Deer killed by the road,

Womb full of —

Baby who —

Won’t ever be born; Nature —

Cries for loss. 

—–

If the corpse, 

Lies there on the road, 

Some idiot, 

Not paying —

Attention; he’ll hit it and —

Kill himself. 

—–

Though the deers, 

Death is so tragic, 

So is the —

Loss of a —

Human life more; though we think, 

Some don’t think. 

——

Perhaps a —

Sign some flashing lights, 

Saying, “Deer —

Crossing Please —

Be aware,” but some don’t read. 

The corpse goes —

—–

A gaping —

Grave to eternity, 

Mother and —

Fawn are gone. 

No vigil, no prayer, no thought, 

Nature mourns. 

——-

“Travelling Through the Dark” By William E. Stanford 

——

Traveling through the dark I found a deer

dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.

It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:

that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

—–

.By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car

and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;

she had stiffened already, almost cold.

I dragged her off; she was large in the belly..

 ——-

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—

her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,

alive, still, never to be born.

Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

.——-

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;

under the hood purred the steady engine.

I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;

around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

.——–

I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,

then pushed her over the edge into the river.

——-

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, Event, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: Remembering #flashfiction #writing #amwriting #poetry #remberanceday #lestwenotforget


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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A Mixed Bag

——-

“Why don’t they rebuild this old stone building Grandpa?” 

“You know well, Gertrude, it costs a great deal to repair a historical building. They can’t even take it down because this building is a designated historical site.” 

“That doesn’t seem right. Why would we leave something so valuable to history, to fall apart? Eventually it will only be a pile of rubble and everyone will forget its significigance,” Gertrude mused. 

” Maybe someday someone like you, Gertrude, will restore the building. It’s a painstaking process and you must use and find authentic materials.” 

She nodded. “I understand Grandpa, but sometimes certain cities choose not to rebuild. Like in Venice, many buildings are left to disintegrate and collapse into the water. They don’t let architects even plan to rebuild. Many once grand buildings are in such dangerous condition, they’ve been left so long.” 

“Restoring old buildings can be good Gertrude. They are a part of humanity’s history. We need to remember our history to learn from it. But sometimes we need to knock old buildings down and design better ones from our present day knowledge. Future generations can learn from us through newer buildings too,” Grandpa said. 

Gertrude nodded. She was training to be an architect but was only a freshman in university. Her Grandpa had been a great architect and was still well known. 

“What will future people learn from our buildings, Grandpa?” 

“Hopefully, they’ll learn our buildings are stronger. Made with more thought to design, to the environment, and how the everyday person lives. Our simple routines we take for granted are our history as much as the calamities of our time.” 

Gertrude frowned, turning to her Grandpa. He was wearing his WWII uniform for the Rememberance Day Ceremony; he was going to walk in a parade as well. 

 “Will they remember men such as you, Grandpa?  Men who fought for their freedom in Normandy and in other places in Europe? Will they understand why you and other soldiers have nightmares from war? Will they remember why you had to fight and saw so many of your buddies die brutally?” 

A tear escaped Grandpa’s eye and he shook his head, not able to speak. He was too afraid what he and his fellow soldiers had fought for in brutal war, would melt away in time. 

——

Lest We Not Forget. November 11th is Remberance Day in Canada. 

“In Flanders Fields” 

John McCrae, 1872 – 1918

——-

 In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row, 

That mark our place, and in the sky, 

The larks, still bravely singing, fly, 

Scarce heard amid the guns below. 

——–

We are the dead; short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, 

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields. 

——-

Take up our quarrel with the foe! 

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high! 

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

——-

Works Cited: Poets.org

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, My Thoughts, Novel - First Draft -"How Was Last Night For You.", Octelle - aa/bb/cc/aa - 88/77/77/88 syllables, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Travel, Writing

Tale Weavers Prompt: Poem – Octelle – “Story Line Wrote”


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this weeks prompt — Paper Back Writer:

” What is your great novel/novella/collection of short/flash fiction/poetry/ pulp paperback/graphic novel? Of course, you don’t have to write it, just write about it.

Weave any sort of tale;  in the abstract or concrete; as you or a character of yours; being accepted for publication; editing process; book tours – remember you ‘just wanna be a paperback writer.'”


paperbackwriter
Credit: http://www.revolutions5.com

I’m still working on a novel called: How Was Last Night For You? I’m editing it in second draft. Still a lot of work to do and haven’t had the time to work on it lately. This Octelle poem illustrates the story line roughly:


She wants love, but it keeps slipping,

Through her fingers, the Sirene dripping.

She’s a regular girl, too kind,

Believes in people and magic finds —

In her paranormal world sound,

Curses, mermaids, sea witch found.

Nina narrator, life gripping,

Focus and ire of a mer-witch.


John wasn’t smart at twenty-five,

Lied about girl, she cursed him live.

Where ever he wondered,

Strange events encountered.

People got hurt, women injured.

No love; witch’s wrath incurred.

Sees Nina drinking Flirtinie,

Sparks, passion, between them ignite.


A mermaid she is, sea witch too,

She’s experienced pain, heart broke through —

Victorian romance; cad —

He’d a mistress, kids they had.

Clued in after his death –cried,

Traveled, came home to new guy.

Adare never changed, men still lie.

No broken girl now -she’s Talise.


Characters wrote, story occurs,

Talise hates Nina — it’s inferred.

She cursed John left his soul burnt,

She wants John back, she’s a flirt.

Evil, she’ll never gain him through,

Her magic; Nina loves John true.

Witch’s wrath, all will suffer –die?

No one can say; writer yet edits.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: A Leap of Faith


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.


 

Credit: Joy Pixley

 

“What’s wrong ?” Taylor asked Olivia. They had been climbing the steps to the top of the bell tower.

“I’m tired of stairs Taylor. How many more levels?’

“I’m not sure. My friend Luca says this is the most fun you can have in this town.”

“Huh?” Olivia mumbled. “I love a great view Taylor, but stairs aren’t fun.”

Taylor chuckled, “Look, we’re here.” He grabbed Olivia and kissed her with ardor. She turned from him after awhile and admired the city which lay below them, the sun setting.

“This is amazing,” Olivia said, “What now?”

Taylor handed Olivia a special umbrella. He grabbed her hand firmly and held his own umbrella out.

“Now we go down,” Taylor said laughing as he and Olivia stepped off the bell tower ledge.

She thought she would die. Instead, the couple floated gently down onto the church lawn.

“I can’t even describe that,” Olivia said excited. She couldn’t stop grinning at Taylor.

“For a moment,” Taylor admitted, “I thought . . .”

Olivia shushed him. “One thing off our bucket list,” she said smiling and squeezing his hand tight.


(Inspired partially, by an episode of Gilmore Girls.)


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.