Blank Verse - unrhymed Iambic Pentameter, Fiction, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Writing Prompt: Poem – Blank Verse – “Atlantis In Popular Culture” #poetry #amwriting #history #legend 


Thanks to Oloriel of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s prompt. First we are to go to Wikipedia and go to the ‘Random Article’ Button, his is our title. Second we are to HERE and find a randomly generated picture. 

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Credit: http://writingexercises.co.uk/random-images.php

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Ring the bells ring them, sound organ pipes too, 

Atlantis sinks to obscurity

Earth trembles, calls with a tune sung, 

Ring the bells; last time you’ll hear them out loud. 

Artistic endeavour, artisan’s craft, 

Carved pipes; hear the organ it booms last. 

Earthquakes, rocks tumble, falling into time. 

A void in the earth barely felt until now. 

Modern humans are obsessed by her,

A lost city never found; for it’s day —

Full of vision, construction, art, thought. 

City that felt it was the greatest, 

The gods thought otherwise; earth swallowed, 

City Atlantis whole, taking everyone. 

Down to earth’s depths, in it’s belly kept, 

Here lies Atlantis hidden, there wasn’t —

Much difference between ‘us’ now and them.

Or hundreds of cities –past, present;

Civilization thousands of years old, 

It isn’t that the the ocean and land, 

Just ended a city; it’s the people

Inside who forget about decency.  

Treating each other terribly and —

No thought for tomorrow, hearts so, 

Cold, stone rigid; they sink themselves down, 

Into the water until they’re nothing

Nothing but a dream, not even memory, 

Just something modern people wonder of, 

Forgetting lessons as Atlantis did. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Licentia - aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Licentia – “Without A Sound” #amwriting #poetry #love


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

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Credit: Rich Howman

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Laughter in the moment, golden hour found

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

Swing her up into your arms, because it —

Felt like the thing to do, she’s dear and swift;

Her punch on your arm, painful kind of bliss

All to happy to meet with a wet kiss. 

Perserved in time the clock keeps ticking fast, 

Moments gone, looking back, it never lasts. 

Years slide forward, what can you do but, 

Move forward too, memories cause a rut. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found, 

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

—-

Swept her up into your arms, because it —

Felt like the thing to do, she’s dear and swift. 

Wiggling and giggling in your —

Arms; begging to have legs on ground restored

She thought she was too heavy for your back, 

You just laughed and kept her close, said “Relax.” 

You were walking barefoot on the cool —

Wet ground, the grass made you slip, such glad fools. 

Drop of joy harnessed in a crystal glass

Kept to hold, make the precious moments last. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found,

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound.

Her punch on your arm, painful kind of bliss

All too happy to meet with a wet kiss. 

Lovers as close as lovers can be, rolling —

On the blanket, on grass, after strolling.

Gleam in her eyes promising heaven, 

Twist of her smile taking you to Never —

-land of pirates, lost boys, and she, Wendy, 

Picking up a sword, fighting for her when —

Pirates attacked; shoeless running in real

Life; time ceasing again, treasures for feels. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

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Perserved in time, clock keeps ticking fast, 

Moments gone, looking back, it never lasts. 

The truth is hard to swallow, to remember

Years pass, euphoria is dismembered

Harsh realities, sickness, health; sickness wins, 

She flew away my sparrow with the wind.

Such disease sucks the life from a body, 

Hope, a religious dream from pain prodded. 

A new eternity to love, swing round with —

Dirty bare feet and love despite death’s grip. 

Laughter in the moment, golden hour found

Hearts beat as one, time stops, without a sound

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Fiction, Lune - 5,3,5 or 5 words, 3 words, 5 words, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, November Notes, Poetry, Relationship, Writing

November Notes: Poem – Day 12 – Lunes – “Our Own World” #music #amwriting #writing #poetry #novembernotes


Today’s song prompt is “Out of My League” by Stephen Speaks.

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“Out of My League” – Stephen Speaks

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http://www.pinterest.com

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Sea of this land where, 

She grabs my —

Hand and we swim away.

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Each day there is something, 

New about her, 

To love and to appreciate.

—-

Today it’s her hair and —

Her eyes —

Make my shiver, good way. 

—-

Pursing her lips, batting her —

Eyes, she smiles, 

I’m out of my league.

—–

My voices it’s shaking and —

I know you, 

I love you with all —

—-

That I am; it won’t —

Change; my hands —

Tremble because I’m too stunned. 

—-

You’re out of my league, 

But I love —

You; you thumb through your —

Hair, bat your eyelashes, smile —

Swimming thoughtfully in —

Strange seas; better than land.

—–

You’re out of my league, 

I love you —

So much; I’d rather be —

—–

Here with you close as —

We swim in —

The strange sea, lovers together. 

—–

I’m out of my league, 

Out of my —

League; we’re our own world. 

—–

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, My Thoughts, Octelle - aa/bb/cc/aa - 88/77/77/88 syllables, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Septolet - 14 words - 2 stanza's of 7 words each., Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Photo Challenge: Poem – Octelle – “Tears On Land” #amwriting #poetry 


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

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Source: illdispose.devantart.com

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She’s a porpoise in water swim,

Life for her, no playful passing whim.

In gossamer gown, butterfly —

Letting out her breath, with sad sigh.

Out of cocoon perhaps she’ll break?

If breathing didn’t count for her sake.

An angel dipping her wings in the dim.

A lonely child, she floats, won’t swim.

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Don’t give up your life in a breath,

Child with wings now so brightly set.

You’re no worm to be ashamed,

No worthless being created, blamed.

Diamond glimmers in God’s eye,

He sees in you no flaw, child abide.

You’re precious treasure life or death,

He handles all — porpoise deep breath.

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Dive in ocean, swim quick mammal,

Don’t be still — inhale air, expand —

Your lungs to breathe, realize —

Reasons, break cacoon and fly.

Leave world behind, most treasured,

You’re worth much more for measure.

Costly jewel cherished in God’s hand,

Angel breathe; let grief form tears on land.

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Octelle:

The Octelle, created by Emily Romano, is a poem consisting of eight lines using personification and symbolism in a telling manner. The syllable count structure for this verse is 8, 8, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, and the rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/aa. The first two lines and the last two lines are identical.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, Poetry, Writing

Writing 101: Day 5- Hope is a Thing with Feathers


Prompt: Use a quote – I know I’m supposed to actually indent this but I found a picture of the poem (quote) I wanted to share. I started out with a different quote but I like this poem a lot better so please enjoy the wonderful poetry of Emily Dickinson “Hope is a Thing with Feathers” and my comments. 

 

I started to learn and appreciate poetry in high school. In school, we studied a unit in English 10 on Canadian Poetry. My favorite line is from a poem I cannot find today: ” No thank you, soldier, I do not like chocolate anymore.” I enjoyed poetry because it was shorter to read then a novel and for me, more meaningful. When I started to study poetry in first year university for English majors, I fell in love with the language of poetry. I love the rhymes, meter, similes, epistrophe, allusions, consonance, alliteration, assonance, metaphors, personifications, and all those other useful tools that form a poem. In my fourth year, I took American poetry and was introduced to the amazing words of Emily Dickinson. 

I learned so much in that poetry class with Dr. McNamara. I learned that you read poetry line by line and sentence by sentence.That the parts of a sentence can be moved around to find the meaning. You can play with words, that’s what this class taught me. You can move words around until you find a meaning, or until you make a meaning obscure. 

“Hope is a Thing with Feathers” is not a poem I studied in University; but I adored it the first time I read the poem shuffling through some Dickinson poetry on the Internet. 

In the poem ” Hope is a Thing with Feathers,” by Emily Dickinson, hope is personified as a bird ” . . .the thing with feathers” (1) and it ” . . . perches in the soul.(2)” Birds usually perch on trees so there is the metaphor of a soul as a tree that the bird perches on. Moreover, the birds song is personified as hope that”sings the tune without the words / [a]nd never stops at all. (3-4).  Like a bird, hope sings a song without words. It has a beautiful song that is only a tune . But unlike a bird, the music that hope sings never stops; the song of hope never ceases  within our souls and it helps us throughout life. The song of the bird or of hope doesn’t need words, to provide help to the hopeless. It is meaningful in a language only the soul understands. 

Additionally, in the second stanza of Dickinson’s poem, we learn “…sweetest in the gale is heard / [a]nd sore must be the storm / [t]hat could abash the little bird / [t]hat kept so many warm(5-8). Dickinson is saying in this stanza that the little bird, the hope that keeps us warm, is not broken by a horrible storm.Our situation has to become terribly difficult for hope to leave us. The bird of hope carries it’s tune even in the biggest winds, the storms, the hard times in life. As well, the sound of hope is sweeter in the wind and storms, because that’s when we especially need hope. Hope would not “abash” us after “keeping us so warm (7-8).”

Moreover, Dickinson writes in the third stanza that she has heard hope (the bird) in “the chilliest land” and on “the strangest seas (9-10).” We hear hope, metaphorically from the bird, when life seems so cold and harsh; when life is moving and changing; and even when a person is sick as a person might become on the ocean which is consistently rolling out waves. Even in “extremity” hope never “. . . aske[s] a crumb of” us(11-12). In the worst times of our lives, hope does not make us pay for having hope. The little bird that personifies hope sings freely, she does not need anything. Hope is given without cost to the hoper even in the toughest situations in life. When everything else is lost; hope remains.

I pray that this poem makes you, the reader, feel better when you are facing life. Know that hope is always “perching” in your soul. It will never leave you in the harshest winds and storms. In fact, hope is “sweetest” in the storm. And to have hope does not cost you. It’s a virtue that’s free. You will never pay for hoping. Even when the harsh cruel realities of the world hurt us, hope will support are plight. In fact, far better for a person to have the freedom of hope, then to not have hope at all. Hope helps us with it’s metaphorical song, to stay strong. 

Flash Fiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – The Castle Falls 


The walls of the castle were impenetrable, or so they thought. Kate was wearing the armour of one of the guards she found dead. She was ready to attack anyone who might steal her away.

The year was 1493 and another vassal had attacked her father when he had refused to cede to him. Kate’s father, Edward, was a proud but good man and it had long been known that he held the biggest slice of the King’s land and had the biggest army.

The other vassal Henry, had longed for Edwards land, army, fortune, and daughter. But Edward had refused knowing the terrible reputation Henry had, but they had underestimated him.

Kate hid amongst the shadows and when Henry came tramping into the castle to her bedroom she shot him through the heart, then escaped out the tunnels that only her family knew about. She met her father badly injured on the way. “We go to your cousin James’ stronghold” he rasped “there will be justice.”

Word Count: 165 words


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting!

Daily Prompt, My Thoughts, Writing

Canada My Home Soil Grown By Rain


Prompt: Write down the first words that comes to mind when we say . . . home . . . soil . . . rain. Use those words in the title of your post.

When I think of the words home, soil, rain, I think of my country Canada. Canada is my home. I was born here and if God be so willing, I will die here. I am so proud of my country and the things we can accomplish as a nation. Some of the things that come to mind are the Olympic’s in 2010 in Vancouver, in fact, every time we compete in especially the Winter Olympics and our athletes do our country proud. I also think of the work our soldiers have done in places like Afghanistan risking their lives so there might be piece on the soil of other nations.

Canada is the soil, that creates this huge country from coast to coast. When people come home in other countries they kiss the earth and this is what I think of when I relate soil to Canada. Also, our soil grows our plethora of beautiful nature — forests, wetlands, prairies, tundra, even beaches grow our trees and the little bits of nature that form our extensive wilderness.

And I think of rain because rain makes nature grow, rain makes a country grow figuratively. We are a place of peace and growth for own people, for refugees, and for immigrants. Canada is a country made up of hundreds of languages, cultures, and peoples. Not to mention, these people are accepted here. We are not a melting pot like the US we are a multicultural society and figuratively rain grows our country, our people, and in reality the things that take root in our soil.