Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner:  “Cheater, cheater . . .Oh Baby.” #amwriting #fiction


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

——

http://www.pixebay.com

———

” You never do anything halfway,” Lorna complained. “I used to think how wonderful it was that you were so committed to your research. Then, I realized you were so focused on it, everything and everyone else in your life became second place.” 

“That’s not true,” Kostos said. “I always took you out to various events I had to attend. I spent Sunday’s with you and our boys whenever I could. I’m positive we went on family vacations.”

Lorna sighed. “You don’t get it Kostos. You gave your family scraps, not the main focus of your attention.”

“I was discovering new ways to cure cancer. It’s a vital job and it takes a huge effort directing those technicians and researchers working under me, and securing more funding and grants. There were speeches to be made and proposals to be filled out. What’s more significant than curing cancer?” 

Lorna didn’t know how to maker her husband of thirty-years understand her anymore. She gazed past Kostos to her stunning blue pet parrot. Her friend of many years, Oliver. She wished it was only her and Oliver now.

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy Kostos. I never kept you from your work. I supported you, accompanying you to all your events. I watched you spend time with strangers, more than you did your own kids.”

“What I don’t understand is where you were inbetween, when you weren’t at work, at meetings, home, or even at the gym. So many times I called to talk to you, to meet up with you as we used to do. But in the last ten-years, most every time I called, Jane would tell me you were out.” Lorna remarked.

“What are you accusing me of?” 

There was silence but for Oliver who drew himself up and squawked,  “Cheater, cheater. Oh baby, oh Simone. Cheater, cheater. If only I’d married you Simone. Cheater, cheater.” 

Lorna stared at Kostos, eyes wide, ” You brought Simone, your colleague here? To our home?”

“No, I wouldn’t cheat . . .”

“Cheater, cheater. Leaving Lorna for Simone. Cheater, cheater.” Oliver parroted.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Poem: A L’Arora – “Lover’s Afternoon” #amwriting #poetry #relationships


A L’Arora, a form created by Laura Lamarca, consists of 8-lined stanzas. The rhyme scheme for this form is a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f with no syllable count per line. The minimum length for the poem is 4 stanzas with no maximum length stipulation. The A L’Arora is named after Laura Lamarca as “La” is her signature. “Aurora” is Italian and means “dawn” – “Arora” is derived from this. This form is dedicated to Chad Edwards.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

——-

http://www.pinterest.com

——-

Two of us, we one world in us create.

Timelessness, a feeling we want not to escape.

Not minding how seconds bleed, seemlessly into hours;

Our exploration, decadent; our time spent, 

Meandering paths on skin, journeys in memory well preserved.

The lazy summer days completed, wrapped in your arms hold.

Connection of body, mimics engagement to heart.

I’m safe; limbs meshing with yours, arms hold.

——-

Your each finger wandering my skin, I anticipate, 

In kind, returning the favour; your body I sate.

We two beings, unity forming; while it pours, rain showers.

Rain the melody; bliss an aspiring presence.

Leaving fire in my path, past your hip bones swerve,

Wetness of your mouth past my stomach, bold.

Can’t protect my heart but wisdom of touch you impart,

No hiding; you perceive my naked soul, so I’m bold.

——-

Enthralling euphoria of twilight; I burn, don’t wait.

Kissing shoulder blades; your cheekbones carved of slate, 

Breasts, hands take your fill; lips rapturous devour.

Stroking limbs, both are hands spark, pleasure sensual.

Evocative areas found, your body with desire I observe;

Tongue tracing small of my back; gratified, I won’t withhold.

Laughter, exchange; the language of touch, adoringly imparted.

Revelling in silken skin, with you as no other; nothing I withhold.

——

Our minutes keep stretching; nipping skin, heat burns, captivated.

Bodies combined, as moths to the flame; cannot hunger sate.

Sure hands, wandering mouth; inbetween, all around, retains prowess, 

Your body never leaving me; your kisses across fragile skin ascend, 

 Scared to be known, body, spirit, heart; you’ve me without reserve.

Tender eyes see through me, arms defined, clasp me tight, enfold; 

Ages later, we’re dressed, faces on; a soul wrenching kiss; you depart, 

My lover safekeep; our lives in each other, now enfold.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “A Scream” #amwriting #scream #horror #poetry


I have been watching this Scream series, done by Netflix, loosely based on the Scream horror films from when I was a teenager. The show is pretty decent. It has interesting characters with more depth because you can do that with episodes as opposed to movies. As well, the creators are able to string the plot out, giving the episodes more meat that way. It remains a typical teen horror genre show, as the movies were, but I enjoy it. Maybe it’s nastelgia, or maybe it’s knowing most of the main characters are going to get killed off. But exactly how? And when? 

The poem below is loosely based off of the Netflix series.

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com

——

Life’s a scream,You may not find much, you can redeem.
When life’s a scream,

The parties, drinking, people becoming obscene.

And life’s a scream,

You may not find, the pearl in the center of your dreams.

Life’s a scream, 

But I find this horror genre a has been,

Life’s a scream,

In the day, the conversation ebbs and sways; I lean,

On sidewalk cracks and think, life’s a scream,

Unless you’re out of your mind trying not to bleed.

A wound from your soul; life’s a scream,

When were caught in-between, the middle and the end scene.

Yes, life’s a scream,

The killer lurking, ending all our dreams.

But people keep on saying, ” Life’s a scream.”

Yet, it’s only madness; ripped out seams;

Here’s to everything; life’s a scream,

In the end, a dark blank screen. 

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Spaces


I find God in the spaces we leave inbetween,

In the impact of a heart beating,

In a walk to the bus, while the leaves are gently streaming

I find Him in versus of poets long ago — in Tennyson and Donne.

And even poets who never liked Him.

I find God in the people who do kind things,

Just to be kind, not because they want a favour.

And I find Him in a leather book, that “in the beginning was the Word,”

A disciple John once wrote.

And I find him in a strangers wonder, a pivotal question, that needs answering. 

And I find Him in a past that’s frought with pain, and suffering, and time lost.

I find him every Christmas in a stable, while wiseman followed a star.

I find him in a memory of a pet who helped me through rough times.

I find him in the pain of a moment, because I know He experienced suffering too.

And I find Him as a friend battles cancer, and she is the one doing the uplifting.

I find God, when I’m so frustrated I cry, because then I can see clearly. 

I find Him in a the wiseness of the elderly, a great – grandmother who said “stop worrying.”

I find God in the moments of silence, when everything is still, and I can only be still.

God is in front of you, but he’s also in those tight spaces, 

Where you’d never even think to look.

He is there, and He is just waiting, because time is nothing to Him.

He waits and He acts in every place.