#NaPoWriMo Day 20/Tale Weavers: Poem – Free Verse – “Ember of Glory” #amwriting #poetry #MLMM #TaleWeavers


For #NaPoWriMo Day 20 the Prompt is: ” to write a poem that involves rebellion in some way. The speaker or subject of the poem could defy a rule or structure that’s been placed on them, or the poem could begin by obeying a rule and then proceed to break it.

Also, combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie TaleWeavers Prompt “exploring the concept of longing. What is it you long for? Health, holiday, freedom, love, understanding, acceptance.”


Credit: Robert Lukeman via Unsplash


These cubicles, they’re full —

But outside there’s fresh -air and freedom.

A world to explore, to engage to the core,

Outside these thin walls is liberty.

No more work burdens to bear,

So, the mountains and city steps I’ll climb.

And these cubicles, I’ll slice them full of holes,

Tacking up scenic pictures to inspire my soul.

Nature’s vibrant purple-skies as storms roll in,

Waterfalls that crash, and streams that gurgle.

Cars that absorb the grind of the rocky-road,

Spring zipping through the highways on four-wheels.

All in all, I’m forlorn, for the wide-great outdoors,

Scented pine-needles and decaying earth.

Wings of bubble-bees as they hit the breeze,

And flutter into pale-pink roses.

I’ll knock down these walls with hammers and saws,

Because no architect supposed workers crave sunlight.

No builder thought windows were essential to breathe,

That these gray walls, dense recycled air —

Aren’t places for humans to exist;

To flourish and grow, to be creative and problem-solve.

They’re the prisons where we labor to earn —

The visage of sunlight on rippling waters.

Oceans crashing against rocks —

The flow of rivers down the banks,

And the hustle of people as they swarm live-festivals,

Scamper for cool beer and watermelon.

When we peer to the ceiling, we’re searching for the sky,

So, you can call security, but either way, I’m escaping.

The green-grass is sweet and calling to me;

My heart beats for the tides’ ankle-deep caress.

And a tangerine sunset, it lives inside me,

The ember of glory that leads the way,

Through the dull-dread of each dreary workday.


©Mandibelle16. (2018).All Rights Reserved.

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Fiction: As Siblings Do #amwriting #fiction #shortstory


Here’s another piece from my writing course, edited from the original.


Credit: Greg Raines via Unsplash


Jordan revs his motorcycle for the third time. He drops his helmet, running fingers through his hair. His motorcycles’ roar and grumble soothe him, as he taps his fingers against the handles, waiting for Jessica to hurry up and get her ass out the door.

The door slams and Jessica fumbles her keys, locking the front door. He rolls his eyes as she teeters down the sidewalk in red stilettos.

“You’re so stupid, Jessica. You need to wear descent boots on a motorcycle, or those heels are gonna grind off on the road.”

She punches his arm. “Screw off. I can wear what I want. Mom said you have to give me a ride to class on Thursdays, for as long as you’re living at home again.” Jessica eases a helmet over her hair. “I hate wearing helmets on this thing; it ruins my hair.”

Jordan plunks his on, revving the motorcycle to drown Jessica’s whining. He slips on leather gloves and zips down the street, off onto the freeway and towards his sister’s university.

She’s still talking to him, but he can’t hear her. He grins as her shrill voice fades. Despite her shouting and poking his side, he makes the ride to her school as jerky and frightening as possible.

At the university’s fine arts building, he pulls into a tight parking space, removing his helmet. Jessica takes hers off, hair flying from static. She scoffs.

He peers back at his dyed-blonde dunce of a sister. “You need to wear a helmet, Jessica, because I drive fast. Your head could crack open like a watermelon.”

She screws up her face, prepared to yell, but he cuts her off. “I have a job I need to be back for on time. I can run out and pick you up, but you need be ready, Fluffs.”

She attempts to smack him, but he catches her hand. “I wouldn’t if I were you. If you still want rides, keep your hands to yourself. You can do your makeup and hair at school too.”

Jessica hops off the motor cycle, placing her hand on his shoulder, digging her almond pointed fingernails into the base of his neck. Jordan swears as she balances on her stilettos.

“Don’t call me Fluffs, *sshole. I hate that nickname.”

“I’ll call you what I want. Fluff is all your heads made out of and why you’re getting a BA in Fine Arts, not a useful degree.” He throws his sister’s Kate Spade at her.

Surprising him, she catches it. “I’m an artist. Stop being such a prick, Jordan. It’s what I’m good at. My brain has more creative juice than yours will ever have.”

She pushes him hard, and his motorcycle tips. He catches it. “Grow up, Fluffs.”

It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell over and cracked her skull from wearing those whore-red stilettos. Shaking his head, Jordan speeds to work.

His divorce was through, and he needed to find a new place. Jordan was tired of dealing with Jessica. Like his ex-wife, she was a spoiled princess.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Writing 101: Day 10 – Dentures


Prompt: Let the Scene Write Itself

The taxi drops me off at Jasper ave and one-hundred-and-sixth street. I know Jasper ave well. I’ve been into many of the buildings on the ave. I have been coming to the City Centre mall for errands, lunch, and getting my hair done since I was in highschool.

This building, it’s only the second time I have visited it. On top of a Tim Horton’s and a post office is a highrise full of doctors of every kind. I was referred to go see Dr. P, a specialist, after my regular dentist took one look at my teeth and said: ” I can’t fix these, look at your bottom teeth, you’re going to need a crown on everyone.” I was shocked. I had always had the best teeth in my family. I only had one cavity ever. But since 2010, a year after I started having to take a cocktail of medications, my perfect teeth began to pit from acidity. To this day no dentist can find out why. I don’t drink fruit juice, I only have one pop a day, I don’t eat many citrus fruit, I’m not bulemic, and I don’t have stomach acid.

Dr. P looks at me in the dentist chair, he is showing me molds taken of my teeth. “See how your bite just fits exactly together, there is no space you should have space between the bottom and top. I don’t know why your teeth are so acidic but you need to wear your mouth guard. Your teeth are delicate and thin. See how thin they are? And look at this X-Ray, the roots of your teeth are perfect but when we get up top the enamel is just gone. You have to wear the mouth guard or we’ll have to pull all your teeth out and you’ll have dentures at forty.”

This was not what I expected to hear from Dr. P. I thought he might suggest crowns but instead he says I have to ” protect what I have.” I have to wear the horrible night guard. I told them I have insomnia, I cannot sleep with it in. But he says I have to wear it or I will be like my Grandpa and have dentures. It makes me angry, like I don’t already have enough health issues to deal with. 

I have to wear the mouth guard as much as possible and once we check with insurance, they will make me a new one that fits perfectly. They never fit perfectly. They are always hard to breath through and hurt your mouth. The mouth guard gives me headaches but I have to wear it! I have been grinding my teeth since I was five and now because my teeth are thin, there is no choice but to wear it. No way in Hell are they pulling my teeth out. ” That’s not so bad,” my mother says. I choke down my reply. Would she like dentures? I doubt it and she’s fifty-seven. I keep picturing the cup my Grandpa put his dentures in with polident. That won’t be me.