Elevenie - 1 Word - Noun, 2 Word - describes 3 Words - Place, 4 Words describe, 1 Word ends, Fiction, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Travel, Writing

Day 23 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Photo Challenge: Poem – Elevenie – “The Mending Woman” #AtoZChallenge #NaPoWriMo #photochallenge 


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write, “an elevenie. An an eleven-word poem of five lines, with each line performing a specific task in the poem. The first line is one word, a noun. The second line is two words that explain what the noun in the first line does, the third line explains where the noun is in three words, the fourth line provides further explanation in four words, and the fifth line concludes with one word that sums up the feeling or result of the first line’s noun being what it is and where it is.”

The A to Z Challenge GoodRead’s prompt is for the letter T. Also thank you to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s photo challenge. 

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Credit: Source Unknown

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“[F]abrics doesn’t make exquisite dresses, it is the stitches. — Treasure Stitches

———

Seamstress,

Sewing powerlines, 

Deserted highway dusk. 

She fixes everything she’s —

Skilled. 

—–

Highway, 

Snowy, windy,

Middle of countryside 

A giant needle weaves, 

Stitches.

——-

Seamstress, 

Never pausing, 

Amidst winding roads, 

Fixing energies flow, she’s 

Wired. 

——

Fixer, 

Forever career, 

Barren places found,

Mending for others but —

Forlorn.  

——

Belongings, 

In backpack, 

Town to Town, 

Igniting power’s wicked spark, 

Gone.

——-

Hitchhiker, 

Purposeful steps, 

Melting snow puddles, 

Spring follows, winter mended, 

Warmth. 

Mender, 

Stitching problems, 

Walks estranged roads, 

Sewing all problems, she —

Disappears

—–

Gone, 

Out of —

Sight of strangelands, 

Goes where the wind, 

Blows. 

——–



——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Dodged A Bullet” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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Credit: http://www.pixebay.com

——

Song of love he sings for her, poetry;

His heart in words difficult to sing.

Lyrics mean everything; his voice brings —

Such soft words gently strummed; he’s lonely

What weapon wins love’s war? The truth only? 

Does she understand? His music, his heart? 

Fact of his feelings —life with her, prays starts.

His daylight is her smile, his voice slowly

Sings last syllables; his baritone stops. 

She listened not, she had such vanity

He never knew she was so off-handed, 

Laughed at his song with her heart made of rock.

Raised her nose, sauntered away cruelly, 

She said not a word; he dodged a bullet. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Actor/ Actress, Beauty, Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Free Verse, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

Poem: Free Verse – Thoughts of the Mockingjay #amwriting #poetry #fiction #symbolic 


Credit: Wikia

———

Mockingjay, pretty bird or elegant deadly queen? 

A woman, a creature of dystopia and mythology

If there’s one bird to be, it would be a Mockingjay

Though I know they’re imaginary,

Mockingjays are real as symbols of courage.

Birds which don’t break, they carry on;

Nature outlasting outlandish experiments,

Reinventing, Mother Earth evolving and re-working, 

What humans would call a mistake; 

Yet these Jays cannot be hidden away, they’re fierce warriors risen. 

——

As a Mockingjay, could I fly close to the sun? 

Icarus (I think) burned off his majestic wings doing such a deed, 

 I’d think a celestial queen of Mockingjays is smarter

She’s a stealthy bird whose whistle, repeats any tune heard, 

Her mimickery can be confusing to her enemy. 

A Mockingjay queen, would keep her scars hidden, 

Safe beneath feathers which float, as hope; 

Now fuzz, falling furiously as she grows, dropping downy —

Fast, no longer a chick adorned with puffiness

Now a full-blown black and white glory who sings life’s story, 

The story of pain, betrayal, and loss;

Your average adventure and most tantalising tale. 

Oh, what a Mockingjay can truly be, 

When her heads adorned by sunlight and truth,

Choosing her battles and using her melody

The Melody you’re humming to yourself. 

The sweetest songs of tears, quicksilver and liquid gold, 

Molten metal glimmering

She burns with fire in her soul, though she is no mythical Phoenix;

Yet she rises from the ashes of society and science

She repeats your tunes, the echoes throughout her wild lands. 

——

Credit: http://www.nerdist.com

—–

You’ll never catch a Mockingjay, there’s wrath in her footprints, 

Her anger caused, ignites an inner flame brilliant. 

She’ll swoop from above and end you below, 

The dignified woman, no longer laughing,

Going to battle, her war song a trill

The Mockingjay flies her wings fluid, her form grace designed. 

A legendary bird of modern times,

Survival of the fittest crossing genetics; 

Nature re-designs better than a science lab of horrors

Mockingjay is more than bird she is the huntress

The symbolic warrior of Ancient Greece and Rome – Artemis;

Bow with blazing pyrotechnics and lethal skill, pointed at her kill. 

She lives and she dreams of the day, the war is long ended, 

Where revenge and the cold stone hearted have no meaning. 

Her desire is the melody so beautiful it thrills and heals

Enraptures a soul with clearly sung words. 

She’s a warrior with golden platted lashes, winged at her pray;

A sultry seductress and and goddess flying free. 

Mockingbird walks, she sways, feathers flocked close, 

She’s as precious as the sparrow, calling lonely for her love.

She’d scarred, her heart torn

So strong but in need of help most of all. 

Even symbols of strength such as her, 

Who mimick a fictitious tune with ease;

Need more than survival to hope for. 

She needs more than, a gilded bird cage. 

—–

Credit: Laces and Tiaras

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Friday Fictioneer, My Thoughts, Nature, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Friday Fictioneer: No Place Like Home #amwriting #flashfiction #fiction 


Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields for hosting FF.

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Credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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It was difficult living on the farm, being cutt-off from other people when there was a blinding snow storm for days. Marion felt the numbing loneliness deeply and her husband James only amplified her sense of isolation. 

They were still a relatively young couple but James made her feel as if she were old, dull, and boring. He barely acknowledged Marion except when he wanted food. He hadn’t actually conversed with Marion for what felt like years. 

She observed as James lived alone in his head, always ignoring her attempts to talk. As the harsh winds and snow isolated them in the farmhouse, James isolated Marion in their marriage. 

When the blizzard ended, Marion had had enough. She peered at James one last time and left. She drove to the nearest city and caught a flight home

—–

©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.

——

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.

——-

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.

——–

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.

Fiction, Music Review, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories

Sunday Photo Fiction: Still His #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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A Mixed Bag

——

Caden wasn’t sure how he arrived at the park; his feet had walked themselves there. He sat on a park bench feeling empty and worthless. In front of him sat an old Chinese stove, but he gave it little thought. 

He’d lost Caroline for real this times and Caden didn’t know how to get her back. Lyrics from the song playing in the pub as she walked away from him, were on a continuel loop in his mind; she loved that song. He sighed, begging his mind to forget the painful lyrics.

“She’s imperfect but she tries, she is good but she lies. She is hard on herself, she is broken and won’t ask for help. She is messy but she’s kind, she’s is lonely –most of the time. She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie; she is gone but she used to be mine.” 

Caden hadn’t ever felt so low. What did a man do when the woman he thought he’d stay with forever disappeared and wouldn’t talk to him? 

No one seemed to know where Caroline was. He had almost cried in front of her Dad saying he only wanted to apologize and win her back. Caroline’s Dad patted Caden on the back saying,”Things will get better soon.” 

Caden stared at the odd Chinese Stove wondering what its purpose was. He attempted to distract himself with the stove as the lyrics from that damn song floated back to him:

“If I’m honest I know I would give it all back for a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two. For the girl that I knew who’ll be reckless just enough, who’ll get hurt but, who learns how to toughen up when she’s bruised . . . she is gone but she used to be mine.” 

Caden pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block the words out. 

Suddenly, Caroline was standing in front of him, “How did you get here?” He asked her.

She gazed at him, “You look horrible Caden. Did I do that to you?” 

He gasped shocked at seeing her, truly there now sitting beside him. Caden couldn’t hold back, he cried into Caroline’s neck as she stroked his hair; he held onto her tightly. 

“I thought you would never forgive me,” he said. 

“It’s alright,” she crooned to him, “I’m not leaving you ever again.” 

Caroline was still Caden’s girl. 

——-

Sara Barielles – “She Used to Be Mine” 

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Lyrics from AZlyrics Sara Barielles Lyrics.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories

Poem: Free Verse – “Self-Healing and Caustic” #amwriting #poetry 


http://www.123hdwallpapers.com

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The darkness conceals, filthy misdeeds. 
Hidden weapons, malovelence.

Daggers hidden in tips of boots,

Removed from suit coats, in suit linings revealed, 

To silence my heart, and I think it’s the end.

But my heart keeps beating, a hard steady beat;

I hear it alone, only in my ears because everywhere else —

There’s dead silence; but in the silence, 

My heart is a drum, banging out the beats of life and renewal, 

The thump thump, the tempo which will not end.

You’re too generous to stab me in the back,

So it must be in my chest, through the organ which loved you. 

Now my blood spills, but my heart keeps up a ‘Lub-dub,’ 

Waiting for a death which never arrives. 

There is only the sound of my blood pooling in silence.

Yet, I’m only pained by the horrific sound of nothing, 

My heart is strong and I struggle through,

Only to find I have not what most call life’s blood. 

My veins weep venom, for I run on poison — not blood.

And the vitral having leaked into ventricles, 

Pumps throughout my body, 

My own sickly blood healing me and —

Killing my lost love, a murder; 

All those exposed, the blood is poison for.

I’m overcome by sadness as I’m lying here, 

Heart beating, but I should be dead? 

But I’m still going strong with my blood self -healing.

A poisonous farewell I give to everyone I lose.

 I’m unaffected by a dagger aimed, 

Didn’t conceive of my body regenerating.

And my blood in the open — it ends lives.

I rise and into the night fade, as if I never was.

Tears leaking down my face, caustic themselves. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Wrapped Refrain, Writing

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – “Memory Made Reality.”


 

http://www.s1147.photobucket.com
 
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He’s a memory, her calm heat,

With his beating heart, she’s replete.

Stars align, she’s within his firm grasp,

Moonlight fades, she sleeps on his lap,

The future arises, calamity waiting, 

Willing her, choose without decisions she’s hating.

—-

Reminisce, a salty kiss, breathed — swim.

Happiness, bliss, she seeks him, 

Noticing absence —  can’t resist,

Hoping, their closeness bought her a kiss.

Dreams, echoeing serenity, sharing two grins.

Silkly, embracing softness , across, sweet skin.

—-

Momentarily, caught napping,

Her and him, resting, gasping.

Infinity of time, not clear.

And hearts of lovers burn and sear,

Scintillating caresses, two lonely hopes,

He’s a memory, reality, her life rope.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Writing

Poem: A Night at Home


alone girl
http://www.pixhome.blogspot.com
On a lonely Saturday night she sat at home, turning textbook pages. She was supposed to be reading but the words blurred before her.

Like any other night she was at home, no place to go when you have limited energy. No place to go when your friends are coupled up.

The night outside was peaceful, and it was warm for November. When the darkness rolled in, it was fast a midnight sky.

And the stars twinkled down on her, she hadn’t seen them glimmer in ages; she felt as if they knew her secrets, that she longed to be strong again.

But the stars had heard billions of pleas for change and prayer to prevent suffering. They reigned down supreme as many begged to Him ‘on high’ for relief.

The snow lit the ground so it was slightly easier to see. When you drove home it shone, a white neon sign that was to remain until April.

And the houses with their lights off were slightly alarming. The world was out celebrating that the holidays were here. But some people were just stuck, marinating in their chairs.

But not everyone could party on warm nights. Some such as her, had things to do and places to be tomorrow.

But what she wouldn’t trade to be as most everyone, to not have to worry when the clock struck midnight. Not to have to feel a sickening in her stomach.

To not feel a terrible exhaustion hit her and feel herself fading away while the people around her move like puppets, never knowing that for her something isn’t right

The sound becomes to much, her ears are hurting. There are too many people here now. And she runs for the door only to be stopped by a woman she knows little, slurring her words on Bourbon.

Yes, better to stay at home and have a glass of wine. Better to stay at home and ace the exam on Tuesday. Better to be well for tomorrow and do some Christmas browsing. Better to be well.

But she can’t stop from wanting what she knows she can’t have. She prays every night but He ‘on high’ keeps whispering for her to go on, how she is. She’ll be fine.

And for her, that’s not an option. That’s not a choice. That is a sentence given and she lacks the power to change her direction.

Flipping pages is alright some of the time. But some nights are for party dresses, and high heels. Some nights are for music and a fantastic meal.

Some nights are for friends and staying up until dawn. Some nights are for memories that keep carrying you on.

But some nights are for typing and writing a poem. Writing on the screen what she is thinking and wondering if anything will change.

Or if the world will keep on spinning endlessly, ignoring her prayers. But she keeps on writing because it’s an escape from her mind.

Where the wheels are turning and the clock won’t go round, wondering when she can again begin; to begin anew, does that take until New Years?

—–

 

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Health, My Thoughts, Writing

Somber Sunday


It’s a somber Sunday in September. All the rain we have been wishing for all summer finally came and it’s cold, wet, and uninviting out for a Labour Day Weekend. I didn’t have much planned for this weekend, something I miss about not having a boyfriend was having someone to do stuff with on weekends like this. My friends are now spread out over the city so it has become more difficult transportation wise to do things with them. But I’m excited for a friend’s Birthday next Friday. At least I will make it for the dinner part and we’ll just have to see about the going out part. Another friend turns thirty today but I’m not sure what she is up to. 

I’m all about getting organized to take this one silly class. I realized I don’t have the textbook and can’t get it until the end of the month. Plus, it took so long for the U of A to get back to me on how I should approach this course as a disabled student that I just mailed the forms in with doctor’s letter on Friday. Plus, their is a portion of funding I have to apply to for student grants/loans and I’m waiting on this pin to access my grade 12 diploma marks. They said that would take 2 weeks by mail to receive. Meanwhile, class starts Tuesday and I have no idea how any of this is going to work out — taping lectures and getting handouts.  It has made going to just one three hour class stressful. 

On the medication front, I have emailed my doctor after a really bad last appointment where she didn’t do anything helpful for me but leave me between a rock and a hard place. She did not increase the amount of one drug I need to fall asleep or increase my clozapine so I can sleep just on that. So, hopefully she responds to the email and I get that sorted out. I’m worried about how that will affect my course. Clozapine is an antipsychotic and those pills can be really aggravating side effects wise. 

Every Sunday I go and get my blood work done as per the Clozapine. It’s nice because the place we go is usually deserted on a Sunday. I did a bit of shopping at Kingsway this week and am wondering why places are so late in getting Fall clothes out. It gets chilly pretty quickly here. Wish I had more exciting things to tell you but life is a bit of lemons lately. 

I have a makeup blog coming out, a fall fashion one, and the usual flash fiction stories.

Take care