100 Word Wednesdays, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Free Verse, History, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Quotes, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

 Day 24 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Art of a Story and Death” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #100WordWednesday #poetry


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting last week’s #100WordWednesday flashfiction prompt. Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is “to write a poem of ekphrasis — that is, a poem inspired by a work of art.” The A to Z Challenge GoodRead’s Prompt begins with the letter U. 

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Credit: Bikurgurl – Her Photograph and work of art for the prompt 🙂

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To write is to forget. Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life. Music soothes, the visual arts exhilarates, the performing arts (such as acting and dance) entertain. Literature, however, retreats from life by turning in into slumber. The other arts make no such retreat— some because they use visible and hence vital formulas, others because they live from human life itself. 

― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet”

(Sorry finding a Q name for this piece impossible but there is Q in Disquiet!)

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The photograph is lovely at first, 

A brilliant blue sky, soft winds of cool breezes, 

The Atlantic still icy, but forgiving. 

Trees rise and guard the home, the lighthouse, 

Ancient ones in slumber as spring yet approaches. 

Rock walls prevent a fall below, to the unforgiving chill. 

Hypothermia comes quickly here, 

But the scenery makes up for the inherent danger. 

Bright pink of the house stands out and the tower above matches, 

Glows in the night when the boats pass by, 

Protecting and guiding ships. 

The long grass still waiting to be verdent, 

Not dry crumpled straw. 

And the owners of the house are silent, keeping to themselves, 

Their only sense of existing, is the light that glares, when outside the tower is dark. 

Spring is slowly birthing, but the ocean’s still freezing, 

And the danger is too real for ships too close.  

And a stranger walking watches from the dim, 

Holding back a dog barking in madness. 

The bulb has burnt out, now disaster is unhinged, 

The ship clips the cliff, the house crumbles and the ship sinks, 

Screams in the night, in the Atlantic’ waters cold numbness. 

And when all is said and done, only the lighthouse stands, 

With a burnt out bulb of fault. 

How can this photograph be a work of art? 

Is there art in dying? 

Or is art and death as a perception, to ambigious to be real? 

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©Mandibelle16. 2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Animals/Pets, Books, Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, History, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 15 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Tale Weavers: Poem – Italian Sonnets – “Unbirthday Hell En Medias Res” #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #taleweavers


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write poem in the middle of things en medias res. The A to Z Challenge GoodRead’s Quote is for the letter N. The Tale Weavers Prompt courtesy of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie is to write about an unbirthday. 

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Credit: Not on The HighStreet Enterprises – http://www.notonthehighstreet.com

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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. — Pablo Neruda

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Serve me tea and cut the cake quickly please,

Ensure my tea is cold with no odd hares. 

Or rabbit fur, or door mouse flees their. 

My unbirthday, she is here — the tease

She comes most everyday to say ‘breathe!’ 

You’re not old yet, many unbirthdays left,

Hold your years close to your beating chest.

You look like twenty-five, oh please

Each and everyday there is chocolate cake, 

Loud parties; a mad hatter who is weird,

Yes, the craziesness gets to me some days.

The party is brilliant, but I always peer,

For an escape home en medias res. 

Alice is happy with one birthday day. 

——–

So back to the town, back to my hills, 

No more unbirthdays? Mind left reeling;

Alice’s leaving Wonderland? Sad feeling. 

Pictures on walls here are hung straight — be still, 

To think on leafy forests dear, woods filled. 

The voice of the rain as it falls and it glows, 

But I’m too drawn to rabbit holes at will. 

Back amidst glamorous parties thrown, 

Having left peace a mere second ago, 

The town brook,  seems a mellenia’s dream.

Same crew in Wonderland serving tea. 

Too hot, too cold, to much cake makes me grow, 

Back to unbirthday hell — un medias res. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Ghazal, History, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 13 – NaPoWriMo/ A to Z Challenge/Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Ghazals – “The Dragon Boat Returns to Shore” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #poetry #flashfiction


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a ghazal. The GoodReads Quote begins with the letter for the A to Z Challenge. Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF as well. 


“A Ghazal is a poem that is made up like an odd numbered chain of couplets, where each couplet is an independent poem. It should be natural to put a comma at the end of the first line. The Ghazal has a refrain of one to three words that repeat, and an inline rhyme that preceedes the refrain. Lines 1 and 2, then every second line, has this refrain and inline rhyme, and the last couplet should refer to the authors pen-name… The rhyming scheme is AA bA cA dA eA etc.”

See: www.shadowpoetry.com


Dragon Boat SPF
Credit: Alistair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

“And though I came to forget or regret all I have ever done, yet I would remember that once I saw the dragons aloft on the wind at sunset above the western isles; and I would be content.” Ursula K. Le Guin, The Farthest Shore


The dragon boats arrive, the sea pulling them into shore,

Watching remotely from a distance, will he be on shore?

For many months they wandered, the boat their prized shelter,

Now they are home, the boat still floats, they’re at the shore.

I’m afraid to see them, brothers, their friends, so dear to me changed,

I wave, my kin they come forward their eyes remote, onto shore.

They’re gaunt, they’re battle worn, they need food, steaming hot baths to soothe,

Once they settle, they talk, thick coats warm them on the shore.

My brothers, my childhood friends, have lost part of themselves,

On the ocean suffered, in baren lands they smote on the cold shore.

They’ve treasures, furs, they’ve jewels, silver, gold — they lost their life spark,

Gazing at my love, his face coated in grime, eyes dead on shore.

The days pass by, the village returns to normal almost,

Except the men who left; returned forever remote to shore.

I talk to him, I talk to my brothers, hearing how each piece,

Of their self died, no matter we doated on them on shore.

Time passes, I think I’m seeing things when his eyes alter,

Warmth returns, he takes my hand, away from the boat on shore.


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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, My Thoughts, Photography/Visual Art, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sully Award Entry: One Step Too Far for Modern Art #amwriting #fiction 


I wrote this last year for FFftAW and it’s my piece of Flash Fiction with the most likes ever. It’s a strange story, maybe that’s why? Anyways, I’m entering it for a 200 Word or Less Writing Contest on Hey Look Writer Fellow’s Sully Award Competition. It’s open until March 28, 2017 and the rules are in the link above. Thanks to Michael for sharing the contest, visit Michael’s awesome blog Morpethroad HERE. 

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Credit: S Writings

“Look at those cows, incredible,” Dorothy said.

“This entire gallery is full of painted cows. Is this the artist’s ‘thing?’ Dorothy’s husband, Stanley, asked a gallery employee.

“Hi, I’m Theresa,” the woman said. ” How do you like The Moo Gallery? Isn’t Shaunda Rose talented? I’m not sure why she chose cows but I adore how every cow is a unique work of art, don’t you?”

“Shaunda is ridiculously talented. Painting plastic cows, she’s brilliant,” Dorothy declared.

“Cows? Really? Who wants a painted cow in their home or office?” Stanley asked.

Theresa smile was unnatural, “You’re right,” she said nodding at Dorothy. “Cows are Shaunda’s specialty. In fact, these cows were once alive. She has the cows sent to a taxidermist and then has them resurfaced so she can paint them. It’s why they’re so authentic, a fabulous example of Modern Art. Each cow sells for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Dorothy’s enthusiasm for the painted cows evaporated and she gazed at Stanley alarmed. He simply shook his head at her and smiled because he’d known all along Shaunda Rose was crazy. Theresa attempted a sales pitch again but he held up his hand to stop her.

“ Shaunda Rose is a nut. Tell her Stanley Manet said so. Manet was an authentic artist, he was also my Great-Great-Great Grandfather.”


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables, Writing, Writing Challenges

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.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Children/YA/Family, Etheree - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 syllable count, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Collage Prompt: Poem – Cascading Etheree – “The Inner Child” #amwriting #poetry 


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

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie; Bottom Right – Jeremiah Morelli

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You might think it peculiar to let kids,

Be small, to let them be silly, weird,

When most of their life is spent in,

‘Adulting,’ learning how to,

Be big, responsible,

I say as Auntie:

Let them be them,

Creative,

Full of,

Fun.

——

Let,

Them be,

Wild beings,

Think of stories,

Imaginative,

And implausible, but —

Believe them because you’re,

Playing along, taller tales,

Demonstrate creativity,

For kids, it keeps them young, growing older.

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Think of tilting towers, Big Ben in blue –

Green prairie sky, a storm brought him here.

But he bends, tilts just because and,

Storm brought along a grand,

Gothic cathedral roof,

Pointed top I’m sure —

Missed somewhere; hot —

Air balloon,

Holds our,

Dreams.

—–

Where,

We live

With such rich,

Possibility.

Imagining,

Tall towers floating in,

Moon lit skies, princesses,

Saving themselves, jumping from,

Clouds, the moon indeed smiling so proud,

Girls and boys — escape from their own towers.

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Locked fortresses floating, new challenge,

Escaping by flying pirate ships old,

Never turning back to the light,

Of a trapped home, wishing most,

To be little, secure,

Not worry about,

A dragon’s fire,

A port in,

Mid-air,

Light.

—–

Sought,

In night’s,

Binding grip,

All children search,

For understanding,

A hug and kiss when they’re lost,

Hurt, or at least a safe place works.

For home; mom’s gentle touch when,

Nightmares thrive; become to real, kids hide;

But parents are there, provide a haven.

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So encourage kids to harness their,

Creativity, to paint and draw,

To find their passions in life, so —

Maybe they can live them too.

Or find a haven in,

Their talents, their skills,

Urging away,

Stress; relief,

‘Cause life,

Hurts.

—–

So,

We teach,

Live your dreams,

Let them unwind

You; be as free as

Butterflies; don’t be tacked,

To a board on the wall kept.

Fly lovely, safe, remembering,

Humanity is indeed so —

Delicate at times; you’re not invincible.

—–

But in the power of the imagination,

You can always escape the threads,

Binding you to reality.

You can have liberty,

Smile, eat your cake too,

And hopefully,

Your partner,

The one who,

Loves you,

Most.

—–

Has,

Their own,

Inner child,

Understands and,

Knows, love is gentle,
Love is fiery, bold,

Love and creativity,

Both hold; let you be dauntless, free,

Full of life, security to —

Be held; be wild both as adult and child.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Memories/Childhood, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer P1: The Liberty of Choice #amwriting #flashfiction #music 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Apologies this is a longer piece than should be but sometimes pieces develop into much more and there is also a second part to this prompt.

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Credit: Mike Vore
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Part 1: 

Evangeline was a child prodigy playing songs on the piano from the radio, by ear, at age six. Her mother, Ruth, had dreams of her daughter being a classical music concert pianist.

Grudgingly, Evangeline passed all her Royal Conserveratory piano exams up to the tenth grade when she was only nine-years-old. Although forbidden from playing popular music, when she was home alone, she sang along to her Ipod and wrote her own songs with vocals.

Then, Ruth forced her daughter to travel the world playing classical music concerts.  Evangeline’s classical piano arrangements were powerful and exhilarating to hear because of her resentment and hatred blended into every composition.

After graduating with an honours BA in music while touring, Evangaline refused to do more university degrees in music or to tour playing concerts. She had never been given a choice about how she wanted to use her talents or live her life. Her mother calling her ‘selfish,’ pushed her over the edge.

She left home and didn’t look back.

Find Part 2 (here). 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Animals/Pets, Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Writing, Writing Challenges

Saturday Mix: A Pug Life #amwriting #flashfiction #pugs 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. We have a cute tale to tell this week, life from a pug’s view. You can see the little guy/gal below:

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Credit: Lorraine 2017
Credit: Lorraine 2017 – MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie
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“So you’re home. It’s about time, I had to go outside and use the grass but you took your sweet time coming home today. You shouldn’t do that — I hate going on the rug because you label me a ‘bad dog.’ But I’d like to see you hold it from 8:30 am until 6:00 pm at night. 

Oh by the way, I ate kibble for breakfast and supper and you were stingy on the foods scraps. I live for table scraps. Well that and going to the offleash park but I’m feeling suspicious. Last Saturday you promised the off leash park and instead I ended up at the V-E-T. I know what that means now! 

The V-E-T is a nasty guy, he cut my nails, a couple so short they bled. And those ‘shots,’what did I ever do to you but love you? You deserved it when I ignored you the next two days.” 

“Here Carla, treat Carla. Sit pretty!”

“Oh yes, you said treat! I want it now. I’ll beg, sit pretty, act all lovey, whatever you want!!!” 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Event, Fiction, Finish Off Fridays/Saturday Mix FlashFiction, Flash Fiction, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Published Work, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Finish Off Fridays: Home #amwriting #flashfiction #finishofffridays 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting FOF.

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Credit: Lorraine – MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie
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“Clementine anxiously waited for the 5:40 out of the city, wondering if he would be on board.” It head been two-years since she’d seen Philip. He’d been sent out to fight the Nazis in France. She’d faithfully written to him but Philip hadn’t been able to send many letters back.

After the harrowing footage she’d seen of soldiers fighting on the beaches of Normandy, Clementine wondered if her Philip would be himself; how could he? The train arrived and she continued waiting. 

Seconds later Philip was holding her so tightly she couldn’t breath. He cried into her neck,”I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I had no doubt you would,” Clementine whispered back, stroking Philip’s hair as his tears dried.

It was almost as if he’d never been gone; in each other’s arms, they were both home.

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Phillip Phillips – “Home” 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesdays, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Health, My Thoughts, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

100 Word Wednesday: For The Love of Pizza #amwriting #100WordWednesday #flashfiction 


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.

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Credit: Frank Jansen

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Jason required an inconspicuous place to meet Eli for the drop off. The old Kodak Photo building a few blocks from home worked. He checked his watch feeling antsy, would Eli ever arrive? 

Finally he came delivering Jason’s pepperoni and bacon pizza.”Thank god, Eli,”  he said handing Eli cash.”Tiana has us on a this vegan and no processed foods diet. Sneaking out for pizza when she’s on a work trip is the only way I’m surviving. If I eat pizza when she’s home, she can smell it.”

Eli nodded. “Yeah, Jason. You say this every few weeks. Maybe you can find a better location for me to deliver to next time? This parking lot is creepy. She’s not watching you that close, is she?”

“You’d be surprised.”

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.