Notable Quotes March 2017 Part Three #quotes #pinterest #writers #books


I’ve found such a treasureful of quotes this month so you all get a part three. Enjoy, a lot of these are book quotes which I truly loved ūüôā

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Collage Prompt: Poem – Tankas – “Not Perfect and Better For It” #amwriting #poetry #fiction¬†


Thanks to¬†MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie¬†for¬†hosting this week’s collage prompt.

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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Poor little Anne tried,

So hard to fit in; she can’t —

Conform to their look.

Sense of presence in her glance,

Terror; they don’t know freedom.

——-

Yet Anne tries and tries,

To be a cardboard box just —

Like all the others.

Left alone at recess eating,

Ripe oranges, she’s exotic fruit.

——

But they don’t invite —

Her to their parties, Anne cries,

She doesn’t see why,

She has to be so different,

A plant from foreign soil torn.

—-

Anne grows into her —

Self; she stops being afraid,

Sees her beauty is —

That she’s unique not like all,

Those other girls, loathing her.

——

In grade school there’s this —

Small boy painted in war paint,

His Dad went to war,

He didn’t return home, saddened —

Anne helps him; he remembers —

——

So years later they’re —

Attached — those girls all want him.

But his friend is his —

Love; she was with him,

All along; the handsome man,

Love’s different, not perfect Anne.

—–

Though she struggles hard,

Hoping for female friends, he says,

He loves imperfect her,

Because she doesn’t have to

Be ‘like them’; she can be good.

——

Then she starts meeting —

Others, women who become —

Her tribe, with her guy.

The gazes of jealousy —

Double, but Anne doesn’t care.

——-

Anne is as a bird,

A swallow singing sweetly.

She’s lively, vivid;

Her eyes shine bright; he loves his —

Anne, contently, completely.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Tale Weavers: Poem – Licentia – “Some Magical World” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers


Last week’s Tale Weavers prompt was for us to write about a magical place. Thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting. 

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Credit: Adventures In The Wild

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Place I drift when life hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling.

A magical place where the grass stands high,

Lush ’round my legs, where Gerber daisies spy.

Tipping towards the sun, technicolor,

Bright, inspiring, blue of sky discover.

A hole in the ground or Wonderland? 

Pixie dust sparkling in my hair, Neverland? 

Is this my own magic kingdom I’ve found? 

Place my mind travels inspired profound.

Place I drift when life hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling 

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A magical place where the grass stands high,

Lush ’round my legs, where Gerber daisies spy. 

A hiding place where I often prefer,

Don’t search for me in my valley secure. 

I’m riding raindrops, kissing the sun,

I’ve never had so much freedom or fun. 

Gentlemen here, always decent and sweet, 

A wink in their eye, naughty whispers keep.

They’ll treat a girl well, hold tight if she weeps, 

And if you would like, they’ll love you to sleep. 

Place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling.

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Tipping towards the sun, technicolor,

Bright, inspiring, blue of sky discover.
Gerber daisies everywhere with roses, 

Brilliant vivacity, colors exposed. 

Pixies trailing their dust eternally, 

Wings of lace light night, give hope certainly. 

Everything’s first bloom, so never spurn, 

This place humbles beautiful; with tears yearn

No contacts, surgery needed to peer, 

With clarity of soul, all vision clears. 

Place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling 

——-

A hole in the ground or Wonderland? 

Pixie dust sparkling in my hair, Neverland? 
Here is my land, I’m caregiver among —

Faeries with animals exotic, young. 
In their best-years forever, conversing —

Plainly; furry adore cuddles, nothing terse. 

A tiger cub sits by me so befuddled, 

When wolf pup becomes part of our den.

When I cheer because each word I’ve written —

Makes sense; stories flow unrestricted

 A place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling 

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Is this my own magic kingdom I’ve found?

Place my mind travels inspired profound.
A comfortable place where I sit typing, 

Art studio where brush strokes have foresight.

Friends visit often, chocolate’s water

No weight gained, eight squares a day should be sought. 

Parties like Gatsby’s with flapper clothing, 

Each night unique theme, we don’t bemoan. 

As if we’re happy drunk with extra spunk,

Able to keep life in moderation’s trunk. 

A place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Poem – La’ Tuine – “Siren No More”


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


monsters
Credit: Ilmari Nen

Bare feet on the earth, pausing for rest,

She’s weary from the the life she lives, just —

A sister to keep her company, it’s tough,

Freedom it calls, Siren no more.


Burying her face in fragrant earth less,

Her sister find her, cause tussle.

Leave her alone, she’s tired of life’s rust.

Freedom it calls, Siren nor more.


She prays, will the gods release and bless —

Her? Let her be human, lust —

As a woman; not to thirst for blood’s rush.

Freedom it calls, Siren no more.


Her prayers, they’re answered, she’s less —

No longer, living forever, but —

Mortal who can love a man, keep trust.

Freedom it calls, Siren no more.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserve.

Friday Music Prompt: ¬†Poem – A L’Arora – ” Obesssion Deludes” #amwriting #poetry #music¬†


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Friday Music Prompt. Friday’s song was, “Waiting for Tonight” by Jennifer Lopez.

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“Waiting For Tonight” – Jennifer Lopez

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Credit: Art Nouveau VSCOcam, painting art on Instagram

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(Her View) 

Tonight’s the night he’s meeting me here later

Passions ignited, we’ve fires, need sating

All the desires of our time together, at last met

I’ll be shaking, moaning, chasing the stars

Caught in the moment, we’ll shatter as glass

Wrapped in your strong arms, I’ll have a blast. 

Waiting for tonight, excitement beaming

When you and I are lovers holding,  fast. 

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Preening, applying makeup and shaking

Preparing for you, our first time creating. 

Ensuring our night’s perfect; it’ll end complete. 

Skin grazingcaressing, nothing sub-par

Lovers busy enjoying repast

Perfect lingerie, beneath a gown fast

Becoming a favourite; it’s perfect and tight

Rip it off, no need to be so classy

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Waiting for tonight, our love embracing, 

Perfection between us, this night for our sake. 

I’ve planned it exactly, we’ll not overstep

Each moments vital, at the finale beseech. 

Give into our lust, marvel in love far —

Better than any you’ve ever had; here we’ll last, 

Until mornings stunning rays of light

I wait for him, he’s mine; trembling, my hands clasp.

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(His View) 

Tonight it came, the nightmare couldn’t wait

She’s obssessed, unstable, any day she’ll break.

Better to stop, was never invested, not set

On staying with her; she’s a whale beached.

Though thin like a beanpole, not nice at all

Loathsome personality, running fast —

Driving passed; her obsession frightening

I was ‘nice’ once or twice, now there’s an impasse.  

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Need freedom, her annoying voice I hate,

Can life be normal again? Not Hell made? 

Can I touch the one I love, and not regret

Bringing him into drama; twice I cheated, 

Boyfriend enraged; a dumb girl caused my fall. 

 Told her, “I like men most;” but left aghast —

She doesn’t care, spoiled girl; not smart, no insight, 

Traps into engagement; I’ll always pass

—–

¬© Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weaver Prompt: Poem – Wrapped Refrain – ” Fireworks Like Stars” #amwriting #poetry #newyears #taleweavers


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Tale Weavers prompt: celebration and the New Year.

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Credit: © Mara Eastern РUsed with Permission.

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Oh brilliant star once gifted, you 

Blow away all dark, you shine true.

Your colours effervescent, clear, 

Holding eternity in lights sear. 

The calm of night hidden, in sparkle with awe we live. 

Stars erupting vivid, as seen in a child’s eyes bright. 

—–

Dear child do you know, our country? 

Is not young as she was once; won —

Her liberty from England with ease. 

Didn’t as our Southern neighbours cease —

Their freedom; we grew from peaceful roots, we amplify, 

Reason in the world for one-hundred-fifty-years nigh.  

—–

So in this New Years night proudly, 

Watch the sparklers light, the crowd —

Cheering as the stars burst red, white —

And crackle in the air to delight. 

All people gathered to ring in twenty-seventeen, 

The year of Our Lord, brilliant stars gleam.

—–

We’ve more than celestial stars, 

Burning in the night milenias;

Milenias times millions more, 

Kanada, “village,” country born. 

A multiplicity of ethnicities know home,  

Glowing fireworks alight the skies, ample colour shown. 

—–

The stars are our fireworks, they 

Light all our ways home, to know, 

Such a gift we’ve been given, such —

Treasure fine: inspired and just, 

Fire in the sky ignites majestic liquid lights,  

Oh brilliant stars could we touch divinity this night? 

——

¬©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Laurenelle – “Freeing the She-Wolf” #amwriting #poetry #fiction


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

Credit: Natalie Deprina

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I writhe, I wreathe for I’m neatly twisted, 

You’ll never unravel me, my heart unknown. 

You hold the tether on my talons tight fisted

I’m tenacious, a survivor bold, 

You can tie me in knots, try to keep me near;

I’ll escape, live without your blackness owned. 

I don’t quit; you shouldn’t trap me for fear, 

I’ll catch you first, she-wolf who swiftly bites. 

Your callous ropes hurt, but I’ll disappear

Love doesn’t choke, it’s not uninviting

Love is a freedom, not a smoke screen

But you’re in my den, I’m growling my spite

My name isn’t “Sweetheart,” don’t demean me;

Power struggle invoked, within your ropes —

I’ve held dear, but know I’m incharge here. 

Droplets of blood, I swear I won’t be broke

Such a darkness in you raptured by my light. 

Goodness will win; she-wolves don’t quit, they’ve hope. 

My love, no more traps, let my heart be free

Your wolf, let her breathe, she’ll return to thee

I writhe, I wreathe, for I’m neatly twisted. 

You hold the tether on my talons, tight fisted. 

—-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Fiction – Spectre of Death #amwriting #fiction #death


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

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Credit: “Minutes to Midnight” – http://www.hunternif.deviantart.com

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Time’s clock is forever ticking above death’s throne. The clock’s glass face absorbes the colours of the landscape where death resides. The greyish-green of the stone mass, a floating island, and the pinky-red fire of the sky above and below, reflects on the clock’s face. 

The figure of death sits soberly in his throne. The stone carved form a perfect fit for his lanky tall body. Beneath death’s left and right hands, the leering skulls of his first two victims sit. They are from our first two ancestors, people who lived exceptionally long compared to the humans living in modern times. Adam and Eve had tried to evade death, even though they knew he was coming for them. They had been ignorant and had no idea what death actually meant until they breathed their last. 

Their souls he’d had to let fly in heaven, gold birds with giant wings exploring their freedom and return to painlessness. He had kept their skulls, though one day he knew he would have to return them. For now, Adam and Eve’s skulls peered eerily out onto whichever soul was before death seated on his throne. Together with the dying person, death watched their last seconds of life tick away. He towered over them in his realm and let their soul sour to heaven or to hell, there was no inbetween except him. 

Some souls who stood before him were not afraid. This always amazed death. He was an imposing figure, giant and fearsome, his red hair as consuming flames, and his eyes burning coals. Some humans gazed up at him with what frightened death as wisdom, something they had gained, which few knew, not even him. Their souls flew away and he knew he would never see them again. Other people crumbled before him and he took time to torment them whether they went below or above. He was death after all, a fearsome being. 

Yet, he had no control where a soul went. Death had no power to choose or to do as he wanted. He had a job, a task. He was death, he killed; but he was not merely an end. He was also the beginning. What he valued most of all, freeing those souls trapped in decaying bodies or in bodies injured profusely. Death was a contradiction of terms, both good and evil. Souls of faith went above and souls of disbelief went down to hades. Even death was afraid of what lay far beneath him in the abyss. 

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¬©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – “Young and Beautiful” #music #poetry #amwriting¬†


Credit: Chemo Madoz – http://www.pinterest.com

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“Young and Beautiful” – Lana Del Rey 

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Such a wish have humans, 

For the fountain of youth. 

Retaining our vivacity, 
Twenty-something good-looks. 

To maintain an image of fresh faces, 

Yet carry the wisdom age gains. 

I think if we knew anything, 

We’d know it’s a curse to be young forever. 

For all such wisdom acquired in life, 

There’s a price to be paid. 

Experience taught and it —

Marked us with age spots, 

With wrinkles and scars, 

With under eye circles, 

Nightmares and inner trauma. 

Journeying through life we learned

 Our lesson, or perhaps we haven’t yet? 

When we are young, 

We are carefree and full of vigor. 

Not thoughtful in how we think or react,

No maturity, no flash of pain;

The liberty of youth suits the young. 

But to be a man or woman-child with —

The eyes of our great-grandparents,

Bearing several lifetimes of burdens;

I think, for a mere human, 

Would be too much grief to bear. 

For the older we become, 

We learn from birth we’re dying. 

Life is a quest and it’s meant to end

We’re meant for the heavens, 

Free of our lifetime of issues

Emotional, psychological, and physical decay, 

The exhaustion of life. 

The old realize when their time is coming —

That it is right. 

A lifetime of sorrows, to have so many years,

Would break a soul completely;

Nevermind a physical body. 

That’s why the young are beautiful,

Life hasn’t wounded them. 

They are too ignorant to see — 

Life isn’t meant on earth to be eternity —

The light shining to restore body, soul, and mind, 

In heaven shines for all,  

In timelessness we will be young,

All of us appearing how we ought;

No imperfections, 

Perfect creations.

Handling both knowledge and beauty,

Eloquent and graceful;

Gods children thankful

And only those who die young,

When life is torn by accident

By atrocity and ill health, 

(And the aged)

Understand this concept. 

As their grandparents did or do, 

Only the ill and dying, have vantage of this, 

Life is so frail;

A wisp of a veil torn, 

We’re all too busy living to see. 

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¬©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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

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“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. 

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

“In Flanders Fields” 

John McCrae, 1872 – 1918

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 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. 

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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.

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Works Cited: Poets.org

¬©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.