My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Pinterest, Quotes, Three Line Tales, Writing, Writing Challenges

Three Line Tales: Words Of Daisies #3Linetales #quotes #pinterest #goodreads


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.

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Credit: Bruno Nascimento via UpSplash

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“Behold

the azure sea in front of you,

the turquoise sky above you,

the amber mountain beneath your feet,

and the golden daisy in your hands.

How are you not the richest person on earth?” 

― Khang Kijarro Nguyen (Good Reads) 

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2. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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3. 

http://www.pinterest.com

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Friday Music Prompt, Joseph's Star - 1,3,5,7,7,5,3,1 syllable, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Music Challenge: Poem – Joseph’s Star – “Hope in Love” #amwriting #poetry #music


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Friday’s music prompt, “That’s The Way It Is” by Celine Dion. I’m doing a form of poetry called Joseph’s Star with 1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 5, 3, 1, syllable count in each star. Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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“That’s The Way It Is” – Celine Dion

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Credit: http://www.favim.com

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Battle fought

It’s uphill, it’s true, 

But you’re a fighter and —

I see endurance in you.

Perseverance

You need love, 

True

—–

Some, 

Days it’s hard

Climbing the mountain, 

You’re prepared, capable

You’ve focus, faith, you’re hopeful

Don’t lose your spirit, 

Love survives, 

Through.

—-

There, 

When you need. 

Love intercedes;

You’re suffering has such —

Purpose, your future awaits. 

Love is in you, you’re —

Worthy, 

Of. 

—–

Don’t, 

Surrender. 

You’re good enough, you’ve 

Built a strong relationship, 

And you love with your whole heart.

Don’t doubt, keep your faith

Love you give —

Helps.

—-

Love, 

Makes you bold, 

Love creates safety

You’ve security and grace, 

With your love you’re fortified

You’re a lucky one, 

Blessed to be, 

Loved

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.
 

Fiction, My Thoughts, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables, Writing

Photo (Collage) Challenge: Poem – Tankas – “The Mountain’s Wrath” #amwriting #poetry 


Thank you to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s double prompt:

Laura Bloomsbury

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Black and white can change, 

Become the most flaming bright of —

Colours; yet we’re like —

Dorothy on her Kansas —

Farm, not realizing life is grey. 

Never seeing technicolor.

——–

If mountains are but smoke, 

No one who said those words knew, 

How burning orange and —

Yellow looks when your skin is —

Seared; the mountain spit lava clear.

Blew her top, melted downwards. 

——-

On to the town who, 

Had little idea but should —

Have known this day, 

No technology clued.

Their mountain could release Hell,

Sulphurous smelling, burnt Hell.

—-

Poisonous gases, 

Leaking down to the town folk, 

No chance had they when, 

Ashes fell like snow.

The worst kind of snow signals, 

The ire of the mountain’s breath.

——-

In stores, on boardwalks, 

Going about their day the same.

When she erupted, 

No one cared at first.

But the ash and gases came, 

Killing to begin, before —

—–

Lava reached familiar,

Buildings, the library.

Homes, grocery stores, work.

Yet the sky was filled, 

She billowed out her smoke rings, 

And she was just beginning.

——-

Threy should’ve known to —

Leave earlier but no one, 

Takes responsibility;

To late to lay blame.

Run far and fast, lava spews.

Keep going magma flows, kills.

——

No Dante’s Peak is —

This; only mother nature’s, 

Roaring and giving, 

Life as she takes it.

Many die unaware, don’t see, 

Never knew today would be —

The end: waiting done, 

Here comes the promised one near.

Yet some survived it.

Never took lightly, 

Those words: A Mountain is noth –

ing but smoke — they lived through it.

—–

Those who rebuilt knew, 

As the lava and fire burnt their —

Homes, loved ones to crisps. 

Beware the mountain;

Geologists trained don’t know, 

When she’ll yield furious wrath.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reseved 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: She Looks Like Gollum


Thanks to Alistair Forbes the gracious host of SPF.

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A Mixed Bag

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“Wow Mom. Can we do this going back the other way?” Tyson pleaded.

“Yeah, Ty of course we can do the gondolas on the way back. How else would we go back down the mountain?” 

“We could walk?” Tyson suggested, shrugging.

” I think we should go to the museum about the mountain and town that used to be here. Then we can walk to a few look-out points, before taking take the gondola down.” Trish said.

She held Tyson’s baby sister in a snuggy. Trish peered down at tiny Dora. 

“Look who’s awake Tyson.” He made a face at Trish, regarding Dora with destain. 

“She’s ugly. I thought girls were supposed to be pretty; she could be Gollum.”

Trish swatted Tyson playfully. “Don’t call your sister Gollum.” He giggled. 

“She’ll grow into herself. You’ll be playing the role of her protective big brother in no time.”

Tyson laughed. “I think I’ll be protecting the boys from her…”

Suddenly, he felt the gondola fall. It haulted, hanging from half the original cable at an angle.

Dora was crying and Tyson was afraid. His arm hurt terribly and was at an odd angle. Tyson’s Mom kept repeating prayers, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I take it back Dora is pretty,” Tyson cried thinking his words had made God mad at him.  That had to be why is Mom was praying so much.

Ten minutes later a helicopter arrived saving Tyson and his family. Tyson was thrilled to be riding in a helicopter, even with a broken arm.

 He patted Dora’s head as she wriggled in the snuggy his Mom still wore.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Books, My Thoughts, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Fire in the Sky


“Oh misty eye of the mountain below . . . ” words of the song that Tolkien wrote; the desolation of smog made the town burn, and fire reigned in the sky, a dragon’s evil. Or, maybe evil in real-life?

” Fire in the mountain . . .  we see fire burning the trees . . . if we should die, then we’ll all die together and raise a glass of wine, for the last time.”I repeat these phrases in my head. I wonder if Tolkien thought about fire burning lives to pieces in reality. 

You see in life their are many dragons, they put afire everything, the town is like the buildings we put in place to prop up our lives, to live in peace supported. But not even shelter can save us. 

When those supports burn, where are we then, just fodder for smog and his smokey breath. Buildings are wood and wood goes to ash. Where’s that one little spot on the dragon we can hit, a missing scale, a little nick, bring down terror to his knees. 

But in life our dragons are fiercer then smog. They are thin as vapour and kill us with smoke. We cannot see them but we know they are there, an evil dreaming the Devil’s nightmares. If we see them, God give us hope. 

Does good overcome in real life too? Or do we die as dwarves, and Elvan folk do? Do we cry as a woodland creature over our loves? Do we go off to battle to forget our problems? Are we so surrounded and submerged by evil that we cannot see, daylight and peace in the morning breeze?

Do we offer jewels from the sky, to keep us alive? Promises to this and that if only we can keep on fighting; or do we raise that glass of wina and plan to fall today? No strength in us, though strength was what we found when we thought there was none. 

Misty, eye? You look troubled. Do you know the threat in a mountain full of gold? The troubled breath of a mouth of fire? Rage and deception to keep all that’s gathered. Cursed bits of our souls, like cursed bits of gold. Coin upon crown, upon necklace, upon throne. 

What keeps us together while our supports burn? When the coffers are empty, when we have no cheer? Do we sing lovely songs while we die by trial? Do we come to the aid of perfect strangers? Battle makes friends out of enemies. And dragons fall from their places of gold and emeralds. 

They’re are dragons in Paris, a place I’ll see one day. Terrorism brings fire, makes the ancient town burn. One-hundred people fall in a concert venue and more across the city, people held hostage.  A form of Smog, that vindictive evil kills the innocent.

In ‘The Hobbit’ many died, and Bilbo found out that even a Hobbit can do a lot, though he is small. But bodies lie dead where the armies have fought, no invisible ring to save you from a shot. The terror is real, he comes in so close. Not in stories but in real life. Terror from the sky, terror haunts us in real life. 

———

“The Hobbit” JRR Tolkien 

Flash Fiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Inside the Hill


There is this ugly hill that I peer out at whenever I look out my bedroom window. What tectonic activity put it there a millennia ago accidentally made this hill ghastly and abhorrent to my senses. 

The mountains and hills that are farther away, now they are something to look at. Gigantic rocks jutting out of the earth, elephant grey, white drifts of snow, pine trees, and treacherous cliffs where mountain goats cling to. There, I am free. 

I really don’t mind the hill itself.  I don’t hate it because it’s located where it is or because it’s boring to look at. I hate it for what’s buried in the hill – –  my husbands, numbers one, two, and three. Number four has it coming it’s only a matter of time. I look over at Charlie softly snoring away beside me on the bed. He’ll never see it before it’s too late. 

That loathsome hill, I can’t face what’s buried there. Their voices rise up to me when I sleep, condemning me, a black widow. But how can I disagree with the truth, I can only hate the hill. 

  
Thanks to  Alistair Forbes for hosting! 

Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Hiking the Hill


I wish you were here at the top of the hill, where the sunset gleams on boulders and rocks.

This place that we hiked to is far out of the way, there’s not a soul for miles either way.

So, we sweated and breathed in the humid air, yet we kept on walking through heat and sunshine shower.

You fell once as we stepped over circles or rocks and forest debris, you may have twisted your ankle,

But you continued just the same, and we both kept on going though you limped as we strode.

The wood was alive with the smell of pine, and a rabbit just stopped to stare at us hiking.

We were panting and dirty and there was a moment or two, I thought we’d have trouble with a little brown bear.

When we reached the hills summit, we looked down below, the great hill (a mountain) was glowing in sunset.

We camped for a day or two, you hated that the most, rocky hills are not places for sleeping your best.

And stiff and stumbling we came back down the hill, many hundred pictures, and aches and pains later.

The hill is a memory, that I fondly look upon, the time that I spent with you, now that your gone.