Music Prompt # 8: Poem – Blitz – ” Real Violent Ocean” based off of “Calm Before the Storm” by Sarah Ross #amwriting #poetry #musiccprompt 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last Friday’s music challenge. It was based on the song ” Calm Before the Storm” by Sarah Ross. 

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Calm Before the Storm” – Sarah Ross

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Calm before the storm

Calm perceived, not real

Real quiet, crows flying 

Real quiet, eerie silence 

Silence is all you deserve

Silence before your fall

Fall from saving grace 

Fall from your glories

Glories were lies 

Glories were false promises 

Promises fade, are taken away 

Promise, the storm will be fierce 

Fierce as the rain drowning your voice

Fierce as the thunder screaming 

Screaming across the darkest skies 

Screaming as lightening fires 

Fires and hits you, sparks 

Fires right between your eyes, terrified 

Terrified of the calm before the storm 

Terrified when I warned —

Warned you little boy

Warned you as clouds turned grey, too late —

Too late to hold your breath

Too late as water cleanses, drowns

Drowns your pleading voice

Drowns her cursed moans that flew

Flew freely, you cannot hide

Flew undisguised, I heard surprised? 

Surprised the worst ain’t happened yet

Surprised the storm intensifies 

Intensifies my thirst for revenge, 

Intensifies my grief, you only see 

See the calm before the storm 

See the sky ominous red 

Red as rage, passion emblazed
Red as my ripped apart heart

Heart of the storm rises 

Heart of mine wishes you gone 

Gone your presence 

Gone, don’t let your presence be prolonged

Prolongs my misery 

Prolongs, such hatred brewing 

Brewing tornado in your trailer park

Brewing in the marsh, a wild storm 

Storms create, deep dank of cruel life

Storms erupt in my tranquil ocean. 

Ocean forms my monstrous storm, 

Life, you paid the price in my maelstrom. 

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The Blitz Poem: 

This form of poetry is a stream of short phrases and images with repetition and rapid flow. 
Begin with one short phrase, it can be a cliché. Begin the next line with another phrase that begins with the same first word as line 1. The first 48 lines should be short, but at least two words.
The third and fourth lines are phrases that begin with the last word of the 2nd phrase, the 5th and 6th lines begin with the last word of the 4th line, and so on, continuing, with each subsequent pair beginning with the last word of the line above them, which establishes a pattern of repetition. 
Continue for 48 total lines with this pattern. The last two lines repeat the last word of line 48, then the last word of line 47.

The title must be only three words, with some sort of preposition or conjunction joining the first word from the third line to the first word from the 47th line, in that order.

For more information see Shadow Poetry.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Three Line Tales: Low Places #amwriting #music #3LineTales


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

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Credit: Edwin Undrade via UnSplash

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The resonance of his voice carries in the arena, an audience enthralled by the first twang of his voice. 

He’s a brilliant musician, the epitome of which other Country artists aspire to be –a world wide known musician, a gifted storyteller, with a beautiful famous wife. 

The cadence of his final song’s chorus resounds as he considers the eight more shows he’s playing here; the last lyrics hover in the ambience of the audience as he leaves the stage:”Oh, I’ve got friends in low places.” 

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Note: Where I live, Garth Brooks is performing. His concerts kept selling out so they continued to add new shows, even weekend afternoon performances, until he was performing for nine shows. We’re pretty impressed that he’d play nine shows in our city. If he added a show or two more I’m sure they’d sell out as well; I still couldn’t get tickets 🙂 

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“Low Places” by Garth Brook

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: No Piano Mom.


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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http://www.pixebay.com

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Mom, I don’t want to play piano, 

But you force me every week, no! 

You say “it can’t be that hard,”

My piano playing, will never go far.

You think I’ll get better when you make me play, 

I practice, fumbling the wrong keys — you say:

“My boy he’s going to be a musician,

My Alex is going to go far, be a physician;

Playing the piano helps with math and science skills, 

Playing these notes, he learns to read music: I’ve chills, 

One day he’ll be a musician and a doctor, 

How could a mother want anything more.” 

So I pound out the notes, keeping my hand like a ball,

Ignoring your wince when my fingers stumble and fall.

I want to do something fun, 

I want to play soccer and run.

I want to be an astronaut, or maybe a fireman, 

A hero who saves people, maybe Spider-Man?

I’m not sure yet what I want to be, 

I don’t like math or piano you see. 

But my printing is good; I handwrite well,

My typing is fast; in my stories, witches cast spells.

I like to read; I’m quicker than other children.

Are you listening to me? Or yelling certain —

I should be practicing piano, something you decided for me.

Never asking how I felt as years passed by and I still played off key.

I couldn’t memorize the music; it was tedious, 

I preferred writing stories, characters mischievous. 

How your face dropped, 

Now you never talk to me; you stopped.

Because I didn’t become a musician or a doctor,

I used my talents and your boy Alex plays professional soccer.

Writing stories in the paper about sports and other topics, I glean.

I didn’t meet your standards; I lived my own dreams.

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© Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.