Notable Quotes March 2017 Part Two #quotes #pinterest


Hi hope you’re all having great March. Almost St. Patrick’s Day, green beer anyone? 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Florette – “My Daisies” #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Mike Vore

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Daisy your coat is rough, rusted;

I’d restore your coat true, trust me. 

It used to shine an apple-red.
You’re engine won’t start; words unsaid they’re frustrating. 

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Daisy May you had your days like, 

The woman I named you for, my wife.

But she is gone now, you’ve decayed

Both of you leave me so dismayed; inside I’ve strife

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Daisy, I wonder should I send you —

To the scrap yard, or sell you? 

Should I restore you to glory? 

So those I meet know your story and my wife’s too? 

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Nostalgia overwhelms, memories —

Cloud my mind thinking too plenty —

Of back in the day of youth’s glow

When I had both Daisies, I drove through life, with them. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Synchronicity – “The Thief” #amwriting #poetry #fiction


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting. 

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Credit: Anja Buhrer

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“But how can one regret what, to the mind, has never existed? Even loss is an inaccurate description, for what loss is without the awareness of losing?” – Nicole Krauss 

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Reflections or shadows briefly stand,

Together as soulmates, us two

Lovers.

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Your illusion captivates,

Your splendour resilient,

Eyes bright.

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Even mirror images,

Destain to show your glory told, 

Goddess.

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Knew you once as a child laughing bold,

Called you names and pulled your hair,

Cute girl.

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You’ve grown and you’ve changed,

Hair black and sweeping, shoulder length,

Glossy.

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Green eyes telling a story of —

Smiling lips, straightened teeth gleaming

Perfect.

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Stubborn chin, lovely breasts rising,

Fluted waist, lush body, legs —

Stellar.

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Curves run imagination wild and I, 

Stare, hopeful to hear your lilting voice —

Whisper. 

*****

I examine our reflections,

How strange you hate your beloved —

Husband.

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Caring for you as Alzheimers, 

Steals your lifememories; you’re —

Forty-nine.

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Synchronicity Poetry — A type of poem with events simultaneously related. The last two stanzas reveal a twist and the syllable count for each stanza is 8, 8, 2. 

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem -Day 9 – Blitz – “The Darkest World” #amwriting #poetry #novembernotes 


Today’s prompt song is “Cupid Carries A Gun” by Marilyn Manson.

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“Cupid Carries A Gun” – Marilyn Manson

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Credit: http://www.steamyrainingcards.wikia.com

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Witch drums pounding

Witch drums, I’ll escape your hell

Hell is the death in your eyes

Hell is the blankness in your stare

Stare at today, world has changed

Stare at today, yet we’re all here afraid

Afraid of your spiders

Afraid of your mangled crowns

Crowns are for glory

Crowns aren’t for the gory

Gory I predict your future will be

Gory I predict as your trigger finger pulls

Pulls into hate

Pulls us into helplessness

Helplessness, you say hold your hand 

Helplesssness, if I give in, I am damned 

Damned by your words

Damned by your voice

Voice of sultry sin

Voice of evil intent 

Intent of voice to charm 

Intent of voice to bring pain and shoot 

Shoot your arrow through the hope in me

Shoot your arrow through the hope in this world 

World you’ve with your private hell

World is not yet without hallejeuhs 

Hallejeuhs set me free

Hallejeuhs have more power

Power greater than the wretched Cupid you’ve become

Power greater than your hand scrunching tight my own 

My own prison in your grasp

My own hell is you, on earth

Earth which you blacken 

Earth which you pollute 

Pollute our minds with lies

Pollute our minds with lyrics

Lyrics sung, no love song, you’re no Cupid 

Lyrics screamed, you’re the pitch of dark

Dark of night without hope

Dark of night unfolds its wrath

Wrath so great, I hold my Halo

Wrath so great I stutter my prayers

Prayers so intent, my Halo is safe

Prayers so intent, your tar-black is smothered by light

Light washes away your petrude charade 

Light shines upon your malicious deeds

Deeds should be done to bring light, not frighten

Deeds should be done to bring light, not frighten 

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©Mandbelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

#OctPoWriMo – Day 12 – Licentia – “Keep Fighting” #amwriting #poetry


Day 12 Prompt: Strong

“What comes to mind when you hear the word “strong”? Here are some of my thoughts: strong storm, strong body, strong spirit, strong drink…” 

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http://www.quotesgram.com

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Beautiful, bountiful time you glimmer dear, 

One moment you’re stalled, the next you’re too quick here. 

Strength is a quality not measured in moments, 

Measured in years, standing against time, back bent. 

It’s an eternal struggle with internal —

Thoughts and habits, striving to change and descern. 

Attempting to learn what experience teaches, 

Growing in ourselves and for others reaching. 

Improve upon our lives, our relationships, 

Don’t be still, life needs our participation. 

Beautiful, bountiful time you glimmer dear, 

One moment you’re stalled, the next you’re too quick here
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Strength is a quality not measured in moments, 

Measured in years, standing against time, back bent. 

Fighters push hard, keep trekking through the swamp land, 

Mud sucking at your boots, praying there’s no quicksand. 

Though tangled vines block your path, the machete cuts, 

Letting no vines keep you from glory — sword thrust. 

Old boat leaking, passing through life’s wide valleys, 

A quest you must complete, don’t you dare dally.

A light in the distance, shows your boat safe path, 

Light saves you from ending on rocks, body smashed. 

Beautiful, bountiful time you glimmer dear, 

One moment you’re stalled, the next you’re too quick here. 
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It’s an eternal struggle with internal —

Thoughts and habits, striving to change and descern. 

Looking inside ourselves, we’re often selfish, 

But we can change, help others, give back and wish —

We knew how wonderful it felt to generously, 

Give of all we are; family gives meaningfully. 

Inner strength once found, perserverance we grasp, 

Goes into the world, makes a sad person laugh. 

For finally they can overcome their issues sad, 

They see a light, see truth wins –every card hand. 

Beautiful, bountiful time you glimmer dear, 

One moment you’re stalled, the next you’re too quick here. 

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Attempting to learn what experience teaches, 

Growing in ourselves and for others reaching. 

Spread fortitude, physical, emotional and —
Spiritual; seeing  it bless, teach, understand —

Beyond words and muscle, past many barriers, 

Teach us to grow and find strength as warriors. 

Life such a battle, we do what we can in —

The time we are given, keep fighting and win. 

Glory and honour maybe yours or not yet, 

We go through life either way, path never set.

Beautiful, bountiful time you glimmer dear, 

One moment you’re stalled, the next you’re too quick here. 
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Licentia: 

“The Licentia Rhyme Form, a poetic form created by Laura Lamarca, consists of at least 3 12-line stanzas with 11 syllables per line. Of course, the poem can be elongated adding on to the following rhyme scheme: aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA.” 

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Lauranelle -“Living the Story”



 Please Listen Below: 


The story of our lives, it’s never over,

Until we breathe our last, we keep building.

Transitions experienced, life a changeover.


Loved ones grow, develop; our lives overfilling,

Hoping you experience, best of times; your story,

Ever-glowing, phenomenon thrilling.


Praying your lives keep moving, with pose; glory.

Even in the darkest times, search for light.

Live through each of life’s interesting short stories.


In the long road run, your epic takes flight.

No, life is not one or two, short stories formed.

Life the story, keeps changing; keep fighting.


At times, you must overcome frightening storms,

You must battle through blood; strike through the gore.

But there’s reasons you’re you, why you were born.


Lessons to be learned; experience fought for.

Life means continually rebuilding.

Worry not, when you fall; God rescues you before —


The waves pull you out, and drown you in salt —

Water takes away; it gives too, no fault.

The story of our lives, it’s never over,

Until we breathe our last, we keep building.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse –  “Fraility Flailing” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt Frail.

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http://www.nited-academics.org

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We walk the golden path; we’re frail, 

Is there any other way to wander?

No one stronger or wiser left to fight?

But we’ve aged within minutes, 

We forgot to gaze behind us, 

To see what the past left for us;

Wisdom and knowledge with a bloody trail. 

Instead, we’re continuing on a broken path, 

We’re frail, aging humans by the seconds;

Counting our tomorrows,

Before we have them granted.

Not listening to our elders;

Who lost life, limb, peace, to war and grief.

We don’t look skyward to the heavens, 

We watch our own feet tremble.

Stuttering we stumble down the trail.

Dragging our canes and walkers;

We’re riddled with bullet holes.

Wounds we never felt, 

We never gave up our guns;

Never thought what “security,” meant,

For our children and grandchildren.

We’re all exceedingly frail, 

As if we were ancient beings;

We carry their genes but their wisdom, 

We breathe out like carbon.

The hurricane winds blow through our ears, 

Blocking out what we don’t want to hear. 

Truth is a dangerous weapon, 

The truth can change direction.

The truth can smart and hurt, 

Our lungs can barely breathe.

It degrades and humiliates, 

It stings our eyes and it turns, 

Focused vision, to grey static.

The truth it always is revealed, 

Until all we can see is real.

But real has no pertinent meaning, 

When what you’re used to, 

Lies promoted and shouted.

Lies built upon lies, 

More colourful than, 

The Grande Canyon’s layered rock.

We hide behind our lies, 

It makes us distrusting.

Flailing, we cannot believe in anyone;

Not even ourselves to do what’s right.

We cannot elect using logic; 

No true king on this earthly realm, 

To lead us to glory and home.

We don’t even have faith in, 

Our own minds and bodies.

We’re so frail, as paper cranes crushed, 

As tissue paper torn without thought.

We cannot lift our fingers to point, 

To teach unlearning children lessons, 

Before they end up like us.

We’re frail; yet we don’t know the meaning, 

But as assuredly as the world turns, 

Our ashes and dust, 

Will blow away in the wind.

The sands of time keep swirling, 

And we’re growing ever closer, 

To our own cremation;

We think we have forever, 

But our steps are forgotten memories, 

Or thoughts not even the silt of dirt.

Frailty so visible, we lumber around slowly, 

In our slumber losing memories.

We forget to see where yesterday led, 

Blindly we falter and walk where we may;

Into tears, and traps, we’re used, betrayed —

Abused and hopeless.

But we reap what we sew;

Our harvest was distrust and darkness, 

A black-hole eating consuming all good.

We’re frail, until we fall where we walk, 

Because life is faulty and frail too;

And our short time, 

Has been for not;

If we cannot learn from our past, 

See how history repeats no matter the leader.

But we are human, 

So we do not learn, 

Thinking we’re invincible; 

Until the day we’re not.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Still Grins On #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF


Skull
A Mixed Bag

Whose skull was this?

Painted with black,

Pagan man with Celtic designs.

Artwork of black paint done with care.

Celtic chains round the chin,

Eyes the deepest black holes,

Examining his head thinking,

Under every living human head,

Lies bones, a skull.

More chains around his forehead,

Celtic chains connecting what?

Fans of decorations highlighting cheeks,

And lines underneath hollow eyes.

Teeth broken, some full and functional.

But some teeth chipped,

Decayed from no tooth brush or paste?

What artist drew on a human skull?

Had he or she no respect for the dead?

But I think this skull we’ve found,

Designed with detail,

In the middle of the Ireland,

Tells a story of a time long ago,

No saying how gentleman skull died.

If he was sacrificed,

Or passed away from illness,

These decorations seem to tell me,

He died a man of a great respect.

I do know he was not so old,

And someone saw value in his bones,

To delicately, with care, design his skull rare.

Perhaps, frightening away the other dead.

Or with an artists eye,

Giving glory and tribute to this man’s remains.

His skull the most valued,

For there sat his brain, where he thought,

Ruled kindly and wisely, a leader,

Before death took his life.

And the painted skull through time,

Still grins on.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: A View From Space #3Linetales #amwriting


Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting Three Line Tales.

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NASA

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1. The astronaut stared at the ethereal painting until time dissolved around her, visions and gradations of colour enthralling her in their vise; tears ran down her cheeks, floating with no gravity to push them down.

2. How fantastic and brilliant was the artist to create such a bright and vivid picture; to catch the flares of fire from the sun burning, and the bright blue tendrils, wispy and trailing around the earth appearing more like solar storms than the oceans and clouds of the planet.

3. What was even more captivating, was the artist Himself, a being infinite in wisdom, mercy, and grace; a designer with vision, who within his wisdom devised such an inspiring and beautiful creation as earth, which teamed with diverse and intelligent life; the view from space was so heart-stopping, it made the astronaut sob.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Saturday Night to Life


I use to think the whole world was alive and vibrant every Saturday night. I looked forward to the rush of excitement, the shouts of joy, the laughter, the dancing, and a few drinks (or more). I remembering going out in a big group and loving every single song they played ( because it was my favorite) and taking my poor dance moves out onto the floor with the lights, fog, and other dancers encroaching on our space made around a pile of purses. It was a soaring feeling dancing to a hypnotic beat and loving all your friends — even though there was drama of one kind or another always. I think when the drama gets too much you start to grow up and not put up with a group mentality.

That’s when you stop getting together as a group first and start living other lives outside of school. It’s when you start to develop a career, start to not just hook up but find a lasting boyfriend or girlfriend, it’s when some of your friends become parents, it’s when your friends become engaged and get married, it’s when you can’t stay hung over the entire weekend, and it’s when things start to go wrong in life. 

Some friends you knew in high school or university die or get into serious accidents, mental health takes on a new meaning for you or those around you, and some parents of kids you grew up with become ill. You may stay home or have a job but things change. The glory of life is no longer yours in the same form it was in your late teens and early twenties. Glory comes sitting at the pub with a few good friends some nights. It comes in the birth of a child or seeing your best friend get married. It comes in finding the person you love and staying in together. It comes in lunch with a dear friend you haven’t seen for ages or an elderly grandparent in their 80’s or 90’s. 

Drama changes from little spiteful fights between girls or brawls between guys to real life problems and issues. You feel alive for different reasons, you dance in your car on the way to work, and your packs include people of all age groups. Life changes because suddenly you’re not preparing for it, you’re in it for better or worse. Now you really are an adult with much greater responsibilities, outcomes, failures, resentments, moments of pride, vulnerabilities, and happiness. 

But then some have said we never ever really leave school we just move up to different classrooms, classes, and teachers. Life is a classroom and we are always pupils. What do you think?