Interviews, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Poetry

Interview Sangbad Mitra: Writer, Blogger, and Go Do Go Barista #amwriting #interview #nonfiction


Welcome to a new interview, this week I’m interviewing Sangbad Mitra a writer, blogger, and barista at the Go Do Go Cafe, where his interview will be simultaneously featured. Please check out this blog to read some wonderful writing and to submit your own work should you wish. For now, let’s get on with an interview with Sangbad Mitra and his blog: Thoughts of Words: Let the Words Get Freedom and Thoughts A Stage


Sangbad Mitra
Credit: Sangbad Mitra

1. Sangbad, Please Tell Us About Yourself?

I’m Sangbad Mitra from India. I live in Kolkata, West Bengal which is also known as the Cultural Capital. My blog name is Thoughts of Words. Kolkata is one of the major Indian cities. I live in the south of the city which is popularly known as ‘South Calcutta’ or ‘Kolkata’—however, you take the name of a country. There are malls and colleges in this portion.  There is also a bypass in front of my home and there is a National Highway two kilometers away.

2. When Did You Being Writing and Blogging? Was there a Reason you Did? What Do Blogging and Writing Mean to You?

I’ve been writing for more than a decade. Teacher’s Day will be the thirteenth year of my writing spree. Most of these years, I’ve been a closeted author/poet, until this November. After my last and my first true relationship ended abruptly. I needed to vent my feelings in order to remain calm. I started writing to deny the call of addiction such as alcohol and drugs. And I re-embarked on my writing journey. Before that, there was a gap of two or three years where I hadn’t written anything. It was a relief to write the world a few stories and poems again. 


” I started writing to deny the call of addiction such as alcohol and drugs. And I re-embarked on my writing journey. Before that, there was a gap of two or three years where I hadn’t written anything. It was a relief to write the world a few stories and poems again.”  Sangbad Mitra


3. Where do you Find Your Inspiration and Motivation to Continue Writing and Blogging? What is it important to you to continue with your writing and blogging? 

     When I began my blog, I used to write out of nemesism mostly. But, in April, this changed. I participated in the National Poem Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). On the first day, the prompt was to write a poem such as Kay Ryan wrote, and I wrote a poem. It was called “Crow.”

The next morning I saw that my poem had been featured on the NaPoWriMo prompt website. This made me think and change my view on life. I stood in front of mirror asking why I had been writing what I had been, before. That’s when I began I writing what I wanted to write and not what other wanted me to write. When I write poetry, now write to express my thoughts and my view, all because my poem about my pet crow was featured for NaPoWriMo. 

As well, my writing became a cathartic process. In my new phase of writing, my inspiration mostly came from my broken relationship. I wrote to keep thoughts of her out of my mind, to ‘forget’ about her. Before, when I used to feel depressed or low,  I wrote using my experiences, writing what others would like. That was my purpose in writing. Nonetheless, I was satisfied with the changes in my writing after 1st April and NaPoWriMo. Now, I write what is on my mind, directly, and this is freeing.

Another thing that inspires and motivates me is my city, Kolkata. The vibrancy, the vibe, the beat of my city inspires me. I also have a section on my blog for writing about my city, under the Anthology section of my blog.


4. What are your Writing and Blogging Habits? Where do you Most Enjoy about Writing? Is there a Particular Time of Day you Prefer to Write? 

I don’t have any particular writing habits. You may find me on the subway and writing on phone or do the same while taking the bus. Standing and writing on my cell phone is pretty typical for me. I use the WordPress app to write on. Although, at night, I maintain a diary.

Additionally, I like writing about the citizens of Kolkata. I write about people such as my Lady neighbor. She’s a recurring character in many of my Kolkata series poems. As well, the neighbor’s Neem tree also is the topic of some of my writing. There’s a poem called “Neem, my Neighbor”  about this tree from NaPoWriMo.


 “Another thing that inspires and motivates me is my city, Kolkata. The vibrancy, the vibe, the beat of my city inspires me. I also have a section on my blog for writing about my city. . .” -Sangbad Mitra 


Sangbad Mitra
Credit: Sangbad Mitra

5. What Are Your Most Current Writing Projects with your Blog and Outside of It? 

Right now, for my Thoughts of Words blog (I just call it my “Thoughts” blog), I’m writing a novella Captive which is in hiatus state now and will continue in July. Outside of this, I’m also writing stories which I’ll share once a week beginning next month, in place of my serialized novel Fables of Time. I’m also writing more fables for this series and will share them on my blog when I’ve written considerably more of them.

These fables are something I’m also writing, outside of my blog. Other projects I’m working on outside of the blog include preparing my Chapbook for self-publishing. A portion of this chapbook will be the poems I wrote for NaPoWriMo. There’ll be forty poems in the book. A third project I’m working on outside of the blog is an epic novel. 


6. Have you Published Any Writing or Poetry Before your Recent Plans to Publish your Writing? Can Your Briefly Describe Your Writing Process?

No, I haven’t published any of my writing at this point. By the end of the year, I aspire to publish the Chapbook.

When am writing a poem, I write my piece and then I read it few more times before putting my signature to it. In the case of writing a story, after I complete writing a chapter or a short story, I set it aside. It reread my chapter or short story and then after a few days, I rewrite the portions I’m unsatisfied with. I also rewrite parts of the story I feel is not what I want them to be.  In the case of essays, I write them over a day or two before finishing the final draft.  So, it’s writing, rewriting, reading, and re-reading.


 “When am writing a poem, I write my piece and then I read it few more times before putting my signature to it. In the case of writing a story, after I complete writing a chapter or a short story, I set it aside. It reread my chapter or short story and then after a few days, I rewrite the portions I’m unsatisfied with.” – Sandbad Mitra


Sangbad Mitra
Credit: Sangbad Mitra

7. Do you Prefer Certain Areas of Writing and Readings Genres? 

I’m much inclined to reading old Bengali classics than writing in the English language. As well, I prefer reading Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay over Mark Twain. For genres, I prefer to read/watch thrillers for the most part. In the past few months, I’ve read the Travelogue of Marco Polo and now am reading story collection of Kafka.

When it comes to writing, I prefer to write whatever it is I want to say. It may be words against terrorism or it may be words describing a summer night. The only genre I feel I’m incompetent is erotica, although, I’ve written few. Recently, I post one on Saturday’s if I’ve been able to write one.


8. Do you have Any Helpful Advice for Other Bloggers and Writers? 

My advice is to never stop writing. Write, share, and listen to what others are saying. Don’t get down or agitated because readers are useful as teachers to writers. Also, don’t be vain or self-proud. Pride can be the worst enemy and causes the greatest of writers to fail. I like to hear my readers’ views. Comments make me happy along with receiving ‘likes.’


“Write, share, and listen to what others are saying. Don’t get down or agitated because readers are useful as teachers to writers. Also, don’t be vain or self-proud. Pride can be the worst enemy and causes the greatest of writers to fall.” -Sangbad Mitra.


9. For fun, What Are Your Top-Three Favorite Blogs? What Do You Like About Them? 

Top three…there are more than three…but there are these two bloggers to whom I always remain indebted to in my blog journey. Both Meenakshi Sethi (my Elder Sister’s blog) and Gina Gallyot’s blog: SingleDust. I call her LoveDust. Both these women are my oldest followers but are also always pushing me to write whenever I want to quit. I read their reviews of my writing and I change my mind. Sometimes I also ask them how they tolerate my nagging and they inspire and help me despite my flaws. 


10. Please Share with Us Some Pieces from Your Blog: My First Post: The Morning That Was Serene and Melancholy

The Morning That Was Serene & Melancholy

by

Sangbad Mitra

(Posted: February 9, 2017)

*****

David Marcu UnSplash
Credit: David Marcu via UnSplash

*****

The morning is here…

Is it?

The gloomy sky, the shroud of smog…–

All is gray, all is cold…

Are you sure of it?

Yes, my friend…said the guest as he sipped on–

His cup of morning tea.

I haven’t looked at the sky for days,

The Death is not coming to me, my friend,–

Fast; it’s dragging…it’s dragging… The poet is lost for words.

The guest smiled and said, do you want it fast and quick?

The pale poet nodded his head and collected his breaths-

Even a small movement making him tired and drained out.

The guest smiled and passed him the vial, —

Bye, my friend, hope you have a safe journey…

The guest left the poet; the poet sighed.

He looked at the mirror, adjacent to his bed–

And saw the guest looking at him–

They smiled at each other…

With a trembling hand, the vial went up to the mouth..–

Few drops slipped out of the edge of his lips-chafed and dry…

The November morning out there, outside the room,

Was gaining a serene turquoise color…

*****


11. Here are Some More Pieces from Sangbad’s Blog:


Thanks to Sangbad for agreeing to interviewed and providing insight into his writing and life. If you would like to be interviewed for your writing, blogging, or cause you write or blog for, you can reach me through my contact page. See You Next Week!


© Mandibelle16. (2017). All Rights Reserved.

 

Current Events, History, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 29 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Photo Challenge: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Arbitrary Blackness” #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #SylviaPlath


Thanks to NEKEEREJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge. For NaPoWriMo the prompt is ” to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. . . After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem. The last letter of the A to Z Challenge is of course the letter Z for a GoodRead’s quote. 

——–

Credit: Andi Abdul Halil

———–

All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” — Sun Tzu, The Art of War

———

Noun – “arbitrary blackness” 

– “drops dead, “head,” imagined you”, come home, never did, lost love, war, hoping, never returned so he was lost in the war, she becomes this blackness, because he is gone, “Satan’s men” – the Nazi’s in Germany, exit, dreamed was with him in bed, dreams always, but she is mad, he exists no longer, never returned so never was? 

——-

They say this is no war for girls to fight in,

The men go off to fight their battles, estranged.

For everyone, life’s callous rearranged.

If he’s out there, he’s changed, sick as sin. 

Everyone, everywhere drops dead, there’s no win.

In cities, in ghettos, wars collide. 

Drop dead, silly head, mad but I’m alive. 

Gone for all time, years ago in air thin

Arbitrary blackness fills my soul. 

Satan’s men on trial, live in soul’s holes. 

With those from the camps, fuel for fire.

Haunted dreams, PTSD now respired. 

Mad to love you, but I wait and desire.

Arbitrary blackness still encloses.

——

Credit: Sylvia Plath – http://www.pinterest.com

——-

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Animals/Pets, Current Events, Event, Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Religion/Morality, Three Line Tales, Writing, Writing Challenges

Three Line Tales:  The Good Shepard #3LineTales #flashfiction #amwriting  


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

——–

Credit: Gemma Evans via UnSplash

——-

Oh, little lamb so marked for slaughter, with downy wool and bleating softly. Why do you release your life so easily, so innocent, not knowing you are meant to eat. Oh, silent babes, I understand now — it’s not you who die but the Good Shepard who lays down his life for his sheep; his flock he knows and marks them well, his own blood the price paid, the enemy felled

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Actor/ Actress, Beauty, Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Free Verse, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

Poem: Free Verse – Thoughts of the Mockingjay #amwriting #poetry #fiction #symbolic 


Credit: Wikia

———

Mockingjay, pretty bird or elegant deadly queen? 

A woman, a creature of dystopia and mythology

If there’s one bird to be, it would be a Mockingjay

Though I know they’re imaginary,

Mockingjays are real as symbols of courage.

Birds which don’t break, they carry on;

Nature outlasting outlandish experiments,

Reinventing, Mother Earth evolving and re-working, 

What humans would call a mistake; 

Yet these Jays cannot be hidden away, they’re fierce warriors risen. 

——

As a Mockingjay, could I fly close to the sun? 

Icarus (I think) burned off his majestic wings doing such a deed, 

 I’d think a celestial queen of Mockingjays is smarter

She’s a stealthy bird whose whistle, repeats any tune heard, 

Her mimickery can be confusing to her enemy. 

A Mockingjay queen, would keep her scars hidden, 

Safe beneath feathers which float, as hope; 

Now fuzz, falling furiously as she grows, dropping downy —

Fast, no longer a chick adorned with puffiness

Now a full-blown black and white glory who sings life’s story, 

The story of pain, betrayal, and loss;

Your average adventure and most tantalising tale. 

Oh, what a Mockingjay can truly be, 

When her heads adorned by sunlight and truth,

Choosing her battles and using her melody

The Melody you’re humming to yourself. 

The sweetest songs of tears, quicksilver and liquid gold, 

Molten metal glimmering

She burns with fire in her soul, though she is no mythical Phoenix;

Yet she rises from the ashes of society and science

She repeats your tunes, the echoes throughout her wild lands. 

——

Credit: http://www.nerdist.com

—–

You’ll never catch a Mockingjay, there’s wrath in her footprints, 

Her anger caused, ignites an inner flame brilliant. 

She’ll swoop from above and end you below, 

The dignified woman, no longer laughing,

Going to battle, her war song a trill

The Mockingjay flies her wings fluid, her form grace designed. 

A legendary bird of modern times,

Survival of the fittest crossing genetics; 

Nature re-designs better than a science lab of horrors

Mockingjay is more than bird she is the huntress

The symbolic warrior of Ancient Greece and Rome – Artemis;

Bow with blazing pyrotechnics and lethal skill, pointed at her kill. 

She lives and she dreams of the day, the war is long ended, 

Where revenge and the cold stone hearted have no meaning. 

Her desire is the melody so beautiful it thrills and heals

Enraptures a soul with clearly sung words. 

She’s a warrior with golden platted lashes, winged at her pray;

A sultry seductress and and goddess flying free. 

Mockingbird walks, she sways, feathers flocked close, 

She’s as precious as the sparrow, calling lonely for her love.

She’d scarred, her heart torn

So strong but in need of help most of all. 

Even symbols of strength such as her, 

Who mimick a fictitious tune with ease;

Need more than survival to hope for. 

She needs more than, a gilded bird cage. 

—–

Credit: Laces and Tiaras

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Books, Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Fiction – Guardians of Wonderland #fiction #amwriting #Aliceinwonderland


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

——

http://www.demilked.com

——

Alice was excited to be eighteen and have her coming-out party in society. The young girl who talked nonsense about Wonderland was gone — the adult had almost swallowed her fantastical self completely. 

She participated in garden parties, having tea in different settings such as fashionable tea rooms with her mother and girl friends. Alice went out with friends on picnics and sometimes on a double-date with a girl friend, two gentlemen with potential, and of course a chaperone. 

Part of Alice always had a difficult time letting go of Wonderland. She knew it as a world infinantly crazy. At the same time, it was a place where she felt at home and life even though hidden beneath words and rhymes, made the most sense out of any place she had visited. 

Alice had been around the world. Her father and mother had taken her to Europe. She had seen art and buildings thousands of years-old. She studied countless kings, queens, poets, philisophers, and clergymen as she travelled with a tutor. She had even been to the Orient, stocking up on silk and tea for he friends. Something about having tea, always appealed to her. It wasn’t merely Victorian society’s obsession with the past-time. 

Throughout her travels, Alice found herself thinking about her days in Wonderland. She would consider if her two grand adventures actually occurred. If the dreams she still had of people and creatures in Wonderland — new and old, throughout her life –were true? 

Alice could picture her Wonderland friends drinking tea, eating cookies, and talking nonsense; it had all felt real. She missed her childhood, but at the same time thought she had indeed been bonkers. Her friends at school had quickly shown her how odd little girls were treated and mocked, until Alice ceased talking about Wonderland at all. 

As she grew-up, she believed she caught glimpses of a furry white rabbit in a vest following her, keeping watch. The White Rabbit would turn his head and smile at Alice, purposefully checking his pocket watch and then waving it at her. She didn’t know what the White Rabbit wanted from her and she was never quite sure if he was real. Alice began to ignore the White Rabbit, but he was persistent, even invading her sleep. Her dreams became increasingly vivid and she felt wherever she went, traces of Wonderland and its inhabitants,  grasped her with dreamy tendrils. 

Since Alice had first returned from Wonderland as a small girl of six, a pair of intense green-eyes and an attractive smile, had haunted her dreams. She knew this man, knew he’d always been watching out for her in the stickiest of situations as she grew up, keeping her safe. Alice had never had the chance to meet this young man, only knew that he lingered in her presence often, and that when he she felt him, she was at peace. 

——-

Alice’s eigteenth birthday was a grand affair. Several young men and women attended with their families. Last night had been an opulent coming-out ball but tonight was a private affair for Alice and her closest girl friends. The best potential suitors for Alice and her friends were also invited. 

She was sipping her tea when her eyes caught the eyes of a man she thought to be about five years her senior. His green-eyes were familiar and glinted knowingly at Alice. She stared at him enthralled; he seemed to know she was drawn to him. His smile was devastatingly familiar, but only in her dreams. Alice wasn’t sure she believedher dreams were genuine. Could magic still be real? 

The young man was a strange creature to her, as strange as those creatures she’d met in Wonderland long ago. Perhaps more so, if the sins of the flesh the Abbot talked about were as terrible as he said they were. But Alice didn’t much care about the Abbot’s warnings. She was intrigued and had always been a curious girl; she peered at the green-eyed man considering him.

 His suit was finely-made and he smiled at her boldly. He moved towards her, but Alice hid amongst her friends, not yet ready to meet him. Her heart fluttered when her eyes met the young man’s mysterious green-eyes again; he was laughing at her shyness

Alice perturbed by his making fun of her, left her own party and went outside to ponder. She sat on a bench in the garden behind her house. She still tended the roses in the garden but had forgotten the unique song of all flowers, she had sung as a child. Her roses were wilting and dry. She stood up and bent to pick a lone surviving rose. Hearing odd noises she looked up. 

She was unsure of where she was at first, the garden had disappeared and Alice stood on a large slippery brown rock in the middle of an ocean. A young man in a boat rowed towards her and the noises she heard was the water lapping against the stone.

“Oh, do hurry, this rock is so small and I think the water is rising,” Alice yelled to the man. She waved her arms until the boat was next to the rock and piercing green-eyes met her shocked blue ones. Strong hands gently held her steady as she stepped into the row boat. 

Alice was grateful to the man, but then she recognized his face from the party. He pushed his short dark-brown waves from his forehead. His green-eyes knowingly studied Alice. She felt as a if she were a child again, under a teacher’s gaze, but the young man was not upset at her; he seemed curious and careful with her instead. 

“Alice,” the young man said, “Please take a seat so I can row us to safer waters and neither one of us falls in the ocean.” Alice obeyed, sitting opposite of the man with her mouth gaping. The man gently closed her mouth, smoothing her skin with the back of his hand. 

Alice’s face heated and she blushed,”Who are you? And why are you here with me in Wonderland? I didn’t think you were real, real enough to attend my party.” 

The young man’s eyes twinkled cheerfully, “I’m Wren, Alice, and I’m here and your here because Wonderland needs us. It was time for you to return and time I met you in person — not only in your dreams.” Alice flushed red.

Wren chuckled, “You didn’t go easy on our friend the White Rabbit. He’s a bit peeved at you for ignoring him so long. He kept waving his prized watch at you. I’m surprised you weren’t curious enough to follow him, darling.” 

“Wren, are you from Wonderland or did you come here as a child too, like me? You’ve been with me before a great deal. I remember your green-eyes and smile; you keep me safe, but you never say hello. I’ve never seen how you actually look before.” 

Dearest, I’ve always lived in Wonderland and you’re correct, I’ve been with you when you’ve visited and I take care you are safe in the outside world. I have a Cheshire Cat who watches you closely, along with my friend the White Rabbit. I haven’t always been able to be with you, but when I cannot you can be sure the Cheshire Cat or the White Rabbit are there.” 

“Why do you keep me safe Wren and why do you call me dearest? I always thought you lived only in my dreams. It’s been so long since I visited through the looking glass; do you stand with the Red Queen or the White Queen?” 

Wren smiled softly as he rowed the boat effortlessly, Alice peppering him with questions; he listened contentedly as he rowed. “I’m supported by the White Queen Alice, but my influence is greater than hers and so your influence will be greater than any queen as well.” 

Alice studied Wren. She had been staring her boots shyly, for far too long. It wasn’t like her to be shy, when she bubbled with questions. Yet, she could feel herself blush anytime she looked at Wren; his smile brightened when he caught Alice staring. 

She brushed the blond hair out of her eyes and in her frilly white dress, balled her hands together on her lap, determined to have a long look at Wren. She was assured she’d seen him before in some form and felt his presence keeping her from harm. Wren was beautiful to Alice; he was handsome and lithely muscled beneath his clothes. He was from Wonderland so she was pleased not to have to hide nonsensical logic from him; he already would understand what Wonderland was like. 

She noticed his eyes peruse her and Alice blushed again. Wren reached for her small hand and squeezed it gently, as he stopped rowing the boat. “Alice, you’re beautiful.  As a girl, I thought you a fascinating girl, defeating the Red Queen and deftly dealing with Time. You had such a tousled head of blond hair and you still do. You’ve the same inquisitive blue-eyes and you’ve grown into a stunning woman,” Wren told her squeezing her hand again. He seemed genuine and the compliments made Alice flustered. 

“Your beauty is also an asset when one has been tasked to guard Wonderland as we have,” Wren continued.”Beauty can attract and fool people and often, at the same time,” Wren said, absently stroking circles on Alice’s hand. “It’s hard for me to explain. Especially since I’ve much more experience than you’ve in life. Humans age slowly in Wonderland –most creatures here do. But as in any land, we have our own ways to protect and our own tyrants to fight. You have proven yourself twice against our foes.” 

Wren held both her hands firmly,  appearing serious, “We have always had two guardians at a time, for a thousand Wonderland years each pair, ensuring Wonderland’s survival. Our guardians are a couple; a couple is stronger than one being. I am one guardian, born in Wonderland and familiar with its ways,” Wren said. 

“The second guardian is you, Alice, born of the outside world. You have learned and come to love Wonderland — though lately you pretend otherwise. You are the second guardian Alice and I’ve waited forever for you, my other half. You know forever can be a very long time.” 

Alice blushed and then upon realizing the great responsibility she now had, her face went white, “Why me? Is this why I have never been able to forget Wonderland all these years ? Am I to marry you, a man I don’t really know? 

Wren grinned at Alice tugging gently on her hands as she tried to free herself from his touch; he chuckled, playfully. Alice began to smile too and as she peered up from their joined hands, she saw the row boat resting on a beach. They stepped over the side of the boat and the vivacity and colour of Wonderland surrounded her as they walked into the forest. The flowers greeted Alice immediately, so happy she had returned. 

Wren stopped walking a moment, turning to face Alice. He was heads above her and tilted her chin up to look at him. “My Alice,” he began, “Magic is a curious thing. It can find the right people and draw them together. It has always driven me to you. I have loved you since I first saw you.” 

“That makes no sense.” 

“But it does Alice. You believe in magic, yes?” Alice nodded.

“Then you know. If you want magical things to happen, you must believe in them. We must believe in each other. And what’s knowing? People are together fifty-years in your world and they don’t know each other. Often, they’ve forgotten the magic — the love, between them. Here the world is magic and I will not forget you or our love.” 

“Wren, I’m particularly fond of you. I’ve never felt this way, except about you, ever — only in dreams when you visited, when I felt you near somehow. Is that love and is it enough? And I’m only eighteen-years-old, how can I guard Wonderland? 

Wren smiled and he gently pecked Alice’s lips.”We have forever. Forever is a thousand Wonderland years. All your old friends are here. Not those girls who were cruel to you for being you at school. Wonderland needs us both and you will soon know me as I know you. We will even know each other better than most people ever know each other. What you feel for me, I’m so thankful for. And yes it is enough, it is the beginning of love.” 

“I’m not sure couples should always know each other better.  Sometimes secrets are better kept,” Alice said thoughtfully. 

Dearest, we cannot have secrets. We have a responsibility but we have a haven in each other and perhaps much later, a child to carry on as guardian with another girl or boy from your world, when forever comes,” Wren stated stroking Alice’s cheek. 

“I can trust you, Wren? I’d rather have the truth in a nonsensical way than an outright lie,” Alice said firmly staring at Wren. 

He blushed this time, “I will be truthful to you —nonsensically and sensically.” 

Alice smiled and kissed Wren’s cheek before saying,”You never said Wren, who do we guard Wonderland from?” 

“From reality, Alice. From those who do not believe in magic. For those who would tell people love is not real and everything has to be logical and make sense. Though our world is much nonsense, we make more sense than the real world. There are always monsters in the midst and as you know, time himself is often one of them. So are Queens and many tyrants, there is always a bad guy somewhere I’m afraid,” Wren said a bit tiredly. 

Alice stared at Wren, standing on her tippy-toes, and stroking his stumbled cheeks in comfort. She felt drawn to Wren, as if she were in a pleasant fog. Gently her lips met Wren’s for a kiss. He kissed her back more intensely and she could feel what she knew was passion between them; it was Alice’s first real kiss. They lingered a while, walking and teasing each other, stealing more kisses which were more difficult for Alice to step away from each time. 

A stray thought occurrred to her as they walked, “Won’t my mother miss me?” Alice asked, “How can I leave her alone?” 

“She will believe you married a wealthy heir and will be pleased, as that will be the truth; we can visit her often, though she will be gone for most of your lifetime.” 

Alice nodded feeling sad, but realizing her duty with Wren. She wasn’t afraid, knowing he was with her. She knew their relationship was blossoming and would flourish, perhaps, with ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ as couples had — but perhaps, better. Their connection had been built her entire life. 

Taking Wren’s hand, Alice walked off into Wonderland. How curious her home would be here with Wren and his greeneyes  gazing at her with love, and the White Rabbit out of no where, jumping beside them. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, My Thoughts, OctPoWriMo, Poetry, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables, Writing

#OctPoWriMo – Day 9 – Tankas – “Spiralling Nightmares” #amwriting #poetry


Day 9 Prompt – SPIRAL

“I love that you can find spirals from the tiniest places (our DNA) to massive expanses (the Milky Way) and everywhere in between. Free write about spiraling and see where you go – do you spiral up or down? Find where this word takes you and go from there.” 

——–

http://www.thebuzzfeed.com

——-

Whispy visions form, 

In our minds, in dreams, in sleep;

Foggy images, 

Are we us in our dreams so real? 

 Perhaps, we’re who we desire? 

——–

Perfected, ideal. 

No flaws, idiosyncrasies, 

We save the day and —

Our wishes come true and life, 

Is exactly how we would want. 

—–

Then again most dreams, 

Are ghastly and confusing.

People don’t make sense

You’re chasing someone or you’re —

Being chased — there’s no escape.

—–

You’re afraid and lost,

Your dreams, colourful, and vivid. 

Childhood friends are here, 

People you’ve seen only once —

Nightmares spiral, ripe with fear.

——

Facing an enemy, 

Bully from school, or those you —

Loved, or part of you does? 

What’s real? Will you remember? 

Why do your friends hide and yell? 

——

Or perhaps, you dream, 

Much more serenely and feel, 

A peace never felt,

 In waking hours never found, 

Tough living life; then you sleep . . .

—-

Do you sleep enough? 

Perchance to dream, feel refreshed

Or do you thrash and —

Scream, spiralling nightmare, 

Taking ahold preventing —

——

No waking, no sleep; 

Twisted and caught inbetween, 

What’s real and what’s not

The savage territory, 

Our mind’s fears torturing us

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Resevered. 

Event, Health, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Three Line Tales, Travel, Writing

Three Line Tales: The Ferry to Hades #3LineTales #greekmythology #ferry


Thank you to the lovely Sonya of 100 Words or Less for hosting 3 Line Tale prompts each week.


Ferry
Charlie Hang

Come ride the ferry cross the Acheron, the boundary between earth and Hades; come all souls, Charon assures you may enter; your relatives paid your way, placing in your mouth a coin; once entered Hades in the gorge, you can never leave.

Come ride the ferry where the five rivers meet – Styx, Phlegethon, Acheron, Lethe, Cocytus – converging in the marsh called Styx; the river, the marsh, the goddess, all gods swear upon it when they make their oaths, to keep their promises; come ride the ferry dear ones.

Come, where they say, the goddess Styx has healing powers, bathe in her river Styx, become invulnerable; see how Achilles mother dipped him in the Styx, so no enemy could end his life, there was just the exception of his tiny heal; come lost souls take the ferry to Hades, eternity of joy or pain awaits.

Source: Wikipedia Styx

*To give credit: Angie Trafford doing TLT this week used a bit of Greek Mythology and the character of Hades in her TLT sentences. Check-out her blog in the link above. Thank you to Angie for the idea of using Greek Mythology and the afterlife; your idea allowed me to explore the concept in a different direction. 


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Wrapped Refrain, Writing

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – ” Glaring Light “


unknown

—–

Reigns of my courage lives, you don’t —

Know my plight, expectations won’t,

Be lowered for your quarrel, your fight.

Bending rules, wield arms for the right.

The demons abandon with light, with light I’ll prevail.

Darkness hides from being shone upon, darkness wails.

—–

Pushing black-night into harrowed,

Blood run wild, enemy finds woe.

At turn of the tide light blossoms,

Carving out spaces, reveals one, 

Staring into the face of evil, shadow fades, runs.

No fear in sun’s glorious glow, darkness hates sun.

——

Let beams of white with their might,

Tell wicked hiding, no more night.

Streets safe, bathed in fearsome moonlight,

Vermin slink back, abandon flight.

The turn of moonlight in an orb, causing such fright.

Vermin cannot return to old ways, flee on sight.

——

Morning dawns, birds echoing their songs,

Revealing darkness, won’t take long.

Shadows fade into sun’s rays bright.

White light calms, with it’s sight.

Darkness does not understand that which it is not,

Decay no more in pitch, light overrides, becomes sought.

—-

Showing every evil force light beckons,

Calling to those who would be reckoned,

Judgement of the darkness coming,

No place not to be found, running.

Brilliance and luminescence revealing truth,

Reigns of lies you’ll die; truth is elder, light gives proof.

—–

Thanks to The Daily Press for the word prompt Abandoned.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

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

Story Continuation Prompt: Fiction – ” Uncle Jerry’s Photograph” 


Thanks to Wandering Soul who hosts this challenge. You are supposed to write one or two more sentences to make a three line story with the prompt sentence. I tend to get inspired and end up with an entire story, jammed into two too long sentences. So I’m linking to her blog with my story inspired by the sentence: ” The picture on the wall was crooked; a lot like the person in it.”

——-

http://www.denofgeeks.com

——-

The picture on the wall was crooked; a lot like the person in it. I knew the photo was of my Grandpa’s brother Jerry, who had shot himself in the foot to get out of WWII. He had only been in France a week and spent most of his active duty attempting to make himself throw-up daily, so he didn’t have to fight but could remain in the infirmary. But Jerry’s Captain realized what Jerry was up to and put him back with his company to kill German soldiers.

Sadly, it wasn’t beyond Jerry’s cowardice to hide behind other soldiers in his squadron,  or use them as shields. I doubt Jerry’s company minded when he showed them  a German soldier had shot him in the foot; even though his squadron knew Jerry had shot himself to get out of fighting in the War. It wasn’t as if many soldiers hadn’t thought of shooting their own foot to escape War’s reality, but most of them knew their country needed them and took their duty as a soldier with pride.

Jerry’s fellow soldiers were glad to see ‘useless’  Jerry gone. He hadn’t made any friends and most men knew being Jerry’s friend meant he would desert you when you needed help; infact, life expectancy for members in Jerry’s old company went up when Jerry was sent home with a permanent limp.

Jerry told absurd and utterly fake stories about being a War hero when he returned to his family’s house in London. Jerry had even stolen a poor dead man’s medals to make it appear as if he had been recognized by England, Primeminister Churchill, and the Queen, for defending his country. 

But Jerry’s family didn’t believe his stories and doubted he had sacrificed himself to earn such high honours. Jerry’s family knew his personality, the cowardliness and cunning that always lurked behind Jerry’s every action. 

War was awful and terrifying, but Jerry’s father who had fought in WWI and Jerry’s permanently wounded brother Clancy, who fought in WWII, believed Jerry should be doing his duty back in France. Soldiers were being shipped to the beaches of Normandy and neither Jerry’s father or Clancy thought the slight limp that Jerry most likely gave himself, should stop a soldier from doing his duty.

 Jerry eventually left home during the War, wandering the roads in different towns, lost and afraid that death would catch up with him because he had avoided it in France. In the shadow of a pale moon, a bomb flew from the sky one night, and Jerry met his end in England, near his family’s home. 

Both Jerry’s father and brother Clancy, at last we’re proud of him. The bomb from a German airplane had hit Jerry and not another person or a building full of civilians. Jerry hadn’t intended on being the bombs target, but his family felt they could remember the cowardly man with a bit of pride now.

 Jerry’s photo, Grandpa Clancy said, should remind us Grandchildren to be brave and not use others because we are afraid, as Uncle Jerry had done in his life. Grandpa Clancy’s Grandchildren knew what true sacrifice was when their Grandfather showed them the stump that was once his left leg. 

Clancy had never bothered with a prosthetic limb. His leg stump spoke volumes to a generation who did not realize what a sacrifice so many men had made so their children and Grandchildren could be free from men such as Hitler and his Nazis.

Clancy had loved his brother. The part of Jerry who was a scheming coward, Clancy had never been able to understand. Scared or not, a man has to do what a man had to do, especially during a War. Clancy was cheered that in death, his brother Jerry may have been brave.

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.