Sunday Photo Fiction: “Moonshine and YouTube” #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thank you to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF August 13, 2017.

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alastair Forbes

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“Should we tell the police?”

“Tell them what?”

“About the zombie. What was he?”

Hank covered his face with his hands.”Not a zombie, Ted. Just a homeless guy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, zombies aren’t real. Only on The Walking Dead.” 

“How do you know? Ever seen one? I did.”

“Trust me. You didn’t. This guy was scary but he was human. Angry too, when you ran at him screaming.”

“I would remember doing that.” Ted narrowed his eyes at his friend. 

“Listen, I told you not to drink your Grandpa’s moonshine. One of these days he’s going to notice you’ve been stealing gulps.”

“That’s besides the point. The homeless guy is an actual zombie. The police will believe me, Hank.”

“No, Ted, they won’t. Your ten, they’ll think you’re telling tales.”

“There’s the homeless guy stomping out of the police phone booth, now,” Hank muttered. 

“Let’s get him!”

“I think he called the police. You were badgering him too much.”

“Was I?” 

“Yep, I doubt he was impressed with a drunk kid punching him as he was trying to sleep.”

“Where were you when I was fighting this zombie?”

Hank laughed,”I was filming a video of you for YouTube. You’ve got thousands of views.” 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Saturday Mix Flash Fiction: The Weeping Willow and The Rabbit #amwriting #flashfiction #talltales


Thanks to Bastet for hosting Saturday Mix on MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. Today’s theme is ‘Tall Tales.’ 

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Credit: GSK 16

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The sky was falling in large drops of blue glass. The weeping willow was the first to notice so she cried. Her tears gathered creating a river with the drops from the sky. 

A mighty rabbit hopped by, he was a bit confused as to where all this water was coming from. 

“Ms. Willow why are you crying a river?” he asked. 

“I’m a weeping willow and the sky is falling haven’t you noticed?” 

The rabbit nodded, “Well yes of course it falls. Each time it rains, snows, or hails, the sky falls.” 

“You need to stop crying. You’re going to drown everyone in your tears. I’m the  king of all animals, you better listen to me.” 

“Why?” 

“My friend is a massive blue ox named Babe. His friend named Paul chops down trees for a living.” 

The willow immediately stopped weeping and the rabbit’s triumphant roar was heard throughout the forest. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Saturday Mix: Poem – Five Line – ” The Beetle Prince” #amwriting #poetry #nature #saturdaymix 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this prompt. This week I’m doing a five line free verse with a goal of twenty-five words

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Credit: Lorraine – MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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Gazing across his tiny kingdom, 

Beetle prince prepares for giants.

His shell is thick and resilient, 

He’s difficult to squish; escapes —

Easily, lord over his domain. 

—–

Mushrooms poisonous, his castle found, 

Searching, scrumptious bites to nibble. 

Proud tiny prince he’ll never —

Notice until too late how huge —

Giants actually are — slaying him. 

——-

Forest floor a massacre the —

Castle had fallen; the prince —

Lays dying, his shell breached. 

In his Heaven he wanders; 

No longer minute, he’s significant. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Poem – Rondeau – “Playing The Part” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction #fiction


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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Credit: http://www.unsplash.com

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You may not notice, I’m a work of art

My body my canvas, I define my part;

My vision for my world; Mad Max who darts,

From posers surrounding; their judgment.

Skull rings which frighten, mean I’m them nudging, 

To think outside what they perceive; cold remarks. 

They’ll swear vindictively, “That punk, upstart;

Who’s he think he is? His ink such a lark.”

I’ve tuned them all out, their words toxic sludge,

I’m reckless, I’m fine; I’m a work of art. 

I’m older now, I’ve forgotten their darts

Aimed to hit my stillrock hard diamond heart.

Dress shirts, ties, hide tattoos; I’ll not begrudge,  

Rough nights aided, their beauty never smudged. 

I know too well, what it’s like, to play a part.  

I’m reckless, I’m fine; I’m a work of art. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 
 

Poem: Alouette – “The Past Dying”


 

womanmulticolourface
Credit: Tory K Webb

To you who chips at

My heart who just sat,

With your friends drinking coffee,

Not paying notice,

I guess I’m not quote:

‘A girl who cares you’re lofty.’

*****

I’m not a step near,

For you to but snear.

My presence unwanted your,

Affect forever,

Something severed.

Piece of me died you deploring.

*****

Not all experiences,

Are helpful; hence,

They’re moments disregarding,

All I’ve learned,

Thoughts which make me squirm,

My insides, wretched, I’m left scarred.

*****

You don’t feel so wrong,

Moving to your own song.

Admitting it was about looks,

How attractive you were,

I the ‘disturbed‘ girl.

Went home; didn’t return took –

*****

Other roads, castles

Of sand, no hassle.

I’ve nothing from you I want.

You’re but old history,

Learning experience stripped.

Walking my paths, undaunted.

*****

You’ve gone, gone gone; I’m —

Just swell; days ‘neath time,

Never fully heal, but let —

Old days die in past,

Wither at a glance.

Survivor, blessed delighter.

*****

red-shoes-logo-mandibelle16


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Making Grandma’s Day” #wordhighjuly #poetry #amwriting #marahuyo



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Grandma When She Was Young (www.pinterest.com) Actually Betty White!

——–

You straightened your blue tie;

The ocean-blue of your sweet eyes.

Long lashes, dark styled hair; must be —

Embarrassing for such a strong —

man going on 6’5, to have such eyelashes.

Not that height, 

Makes a huge difference;

But I’m liking what I see.

You smiled, lips full, 

Kissable, and my mind goes south . . .

Then, I’m blinded by another,

Of your sweet smiles.

Gorgeous, open; you appear so alive,

Happy and handsome.

Steamy and hot;

I think it’s love at first-sight.

In a summer suit; a baby-blue shirt.

Blue is your colour, in every shade.

You walk, I get the view from behind;

It all looks good to me.

Big-feet;

I hear that’s great too.

Again, my mind wanders, 

Should I walk the same way you’re walking?

Maybe, you’ll notice plain old me?

Utterly, enchanted by your sight.

On this dreary day, 

Everything’s gone wrong; the cancers back.

But your magnatism, your laugh;

It made my day.

I feel as if I’m some voyeaur, 

To appreciate such beauty,

And care of appearance.

Qualities such as long-fingered hands,

No doubt talented; I miss those . . .

I trip while admiring you, 

So marahuyo;

I can’t see straight.

You turn around alarmed,

Having noticed and heard, 

Me fall on my face embarrassed.

I’m an eighty-six-year-old woman, 

Falls aren’t a good thing and I’ve pride;

To walk yet on my own.

But you’re kind and pleasant;

Though I tremble in your presence,

You bring me ice from a restaurant for my hip.

I say: “If I was younger . . .”

You blush and I do the Grandma thing;

Patting your arm, 

Possibly, inhaling how great you smell, 

And showing you,

A recent picture of my favourite,

Gorgeous granddaughter.

Dark auburn hair and grey-blue eyes, 

Beautiful, healthy, and fit, 

Witty and bright; an Art History Professor.

Your eyes go large and I know you’re, 

Thinking of a way to charm her number from me.

I chuckle say: “I’m where she gets her looks.”

You grin and chuckle.

Your laugh makes me so pleased.

And I accidentally, 

Let my granddaughters number, 

Pop-up on my giant iPhone.

I snap a picture of you Mr.Gorgeous,

You blush so cutely, she’ll love you.

Send your photo to my precious girl,

I just have this feeling. . .

Get you to text: He’ll Call. His Name is Cale. Love Nanny.

I take pictures on my IPhone and call;

Texting is too hard.

After more conversation,

I’m sure of you, wishing I was twenty-eight.

You have to leave, making sure I’m fine.

I’m sad; but my dear girl will bring you over,

Hoping I did her a favour.

My best and only granddaughter;

Smiling pleasantly, at the thought of you, 

A handsome businessman.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Sonnet – ” Ideal Woman, Human Being “


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http://www.theodysse.com
 
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How does the ideal woman actually look? 

Her beauty in each of her beholders —

Descerning eyes; is she grown or is she old?

Younger, then magazines show women look? 

—–

How does the ideal woman choose her dress?

Does she sit all day in her underwear?

Wear a tailored power suit to bear,

Burdens on her of corporate world stress?

——

Perhaps, she wears old jeans and white t-shirts,

Or lives her life in lueon yoga pants,

Affected, men step-up, take a fighting chance?

Does what women wear, make them a tease, flirt? 

——

How does the ideal woman like to talk?

Is she a Bitch upset who whines and nags? 

Does she act like a puffed-up man who brags? 

A level-headed girl always takes stalk.

—-

Is she an honest gentle kind of girl?

Giving the world charity as it wirls.

Maybe you’ve chanced upon a lying girl? 

Sheba wanting grand power to unfurl. 

——

How does the ideal woman actually do —

All the things she has to accomplish?

The pressures forever her’s, she’s no wisp.

Survivors struggle but live, juggle too.

—–

Be the ideal woman, impossible dream–

It’s no job for a modern human being. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.