Actor/ Actress, Fiction, Licentia - aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Writing: Poem – Licentia – ” Plastic Drowns” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to ScribblersDip of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this last Sunday’s Writing Prompt quote/collage.

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Credit: ScribblersDip MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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“Stuck in a generation where loyalty is just a tattoo, love is just a quote, and lying is the new truth.” 

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Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Games insane, thinks she’s Queen, now breath wanes. 

Her long voluminous eyelash extensions sweep, 

Dyed hair weeps silver strands on botoxed cheeks. 

Ingenuine smile teeth veneers and braces;

Blond bombshell Marilyn’s plastic twin races. 

Against the clock to keep her youth, nips tucks —

Child’s facelift, brow lift microbladed must. 

Hearts and flower tattoos, she’s loved a few but, 

Never many, not one recalled past lust. 

Queen Bee, they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 

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Her long voluminous eyelash extensions sweep, 

Dyed hair weeps silver strands on botoxed cheeks. 

Today she thinks she’ll dye her hair as red, 

As the hair on princess Ariel’s head. 

Red, red with gown to rival ocean’s surf, 

Sea-green, topaz-mint silk fabric unearthed. 

Some taffeta so dress floats, one-strap to bare, 

More skin, her bodice diamond encrusted layers. 

Lenses to make her eyes seafoam green dots, 

Corset pulled tight, plastic chest pulled up-top. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 
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Ingenuine smile veneers and braces;

Blond bombshell Marilyn’s plastic twin races. 

Thought of need for actual dental design, 

Never entered mind, pristine teeth inclined. 

No thoughts of cost, credit cards, her wealth, 

All for looks, a beauty drowning herself. 

Procedures, weekly treatments, face, body; 

Hair coiffed, eyebrows plucked, tinted; applauded —

By those like her who in shallowness confound. 

In ankle deep depth succumb and all drown. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane game, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 

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Against the clock to keep her youth, nips tucks —

Child’s facelift, eyebrows high microbladed must.

Could one drown, sputter, choke on water just —
Because they’re steeped in procedures, a must?

Plastic to fill the cracks where natural beauty, 

Flourished; sweet, beautiful, but not enough, 

Now fakeness hides inner trauma, no trust. 

Grew up in the snake pit of Divas; ‘subtly — 

Enhanced,’ language unknown, tears burn eyes, flood —

Place she can’t be saved, where the cost is blood. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes

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Hearts and flower tattoos, she’s loved a few but, 

Never many, any one recalled past lust. 

Her love was herself, no one else mattered, 

Life reveals and such vanity shatters. 

Until she realizes the heart must be built, 

For the body ages becomes as ash, silt. 

She can fake youth or be classically

Lovely, elegant, forever dazzling.

Graceful aging,with minor repairs, 

Youth found in caring, she’ll not drown despaired. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes
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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, My Thoughts, Nature, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Killing A Snake #amwriting #flashfiction #fiction


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Grant Sud

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Leonard was absorbed by the red hues of the wide Arizona desert. It was hot outside in the late spring, the cascading layers of rock enthralling and the green shrubs and cacti complementing the red cliffs. Here Leonard could be alone with his thoughts, far from the problems of his life. 

No one was chasing him in the desert. No one was telling him he wasn’t allowed to set fire to buildings. No one was insisting Leonard couldn’t punch a guy in the face and start fighting because Leonard didn’t like how the guy was looking at him, or that the guy had a hot girlfriend which Leonard did not. In the desert, no one knew how much money he’d stashed away in offshore accounts from the company where he’d been an accountant with a falsified identity, these past two-years.

Out here in the desert, there was serenity and quiet. Leonard would in an hour, catch a private plane and reclaim his offshore funds. But he wasn’t counting on the rattle snake who bit his leg when he stood up and stepped on the snake accidentally.

The snake’s poisonus venom made Leonard numb in minutes. Quickly he was fading into obscurity and death; the bright red Arizona desert claiming him for all his wrongs. How curious a snake would kill a snake

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Ninefold, Nonfiction, Poetry, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Poem – Ninefold – “Snow and Spirit” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers 


The prompt for last week’s Tale Weaver is outside your front door. Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting.

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Credit: CJ. Mottley – http://www.deviantart.com

Outside the door, the snow blows so cold, 

Shivering turning our faces too bold;

Seeing beauty of the white world old. 

Here the winds bite at our skin, they turn —
Bare skin numb in seconds outside learn —

For now stay inside be warm discern

The soft fragility floating round air, 

Calls to our soul, beyond reason to care, 

Find peace and in Christmas spirit share. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Writing 101 – The Red Sweater


www.optimalchiro.ie
http://www.optimalchiro.ie

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

 

He hadn’t always wanted  a child. Michael found them messy and loud, a disturbance to his peace of mind. Then, Natalie became pregnant and the way he thought about a child changed. He could see her belly grow and feel the child kicking, a life force all her own saying, ” It’s me Dad. It’s me Mom. Are you out there?” Then the day came when Natalie started having large contractions and he drove her to the hospital excitedly proud that he would be a new Dad soon. The labour took hours and when the baby was born Natalie and Michael waited for it to give that first piercing cry of life, but the little one never cried. She didn’t move, she was still and remained still.

Walking through the park that day with Natalie the tiny red sweater reminded him of their lost baby and he wept. Was it his fault because he hadn’t wanted a baby in the first place that their little girl died?

Natalie watched her husband cry and at first, she didn’t know why. Mike was not an emotional man, she had rarely seen him cry except for maybe after she had given birth to a still-born child in the hospital. Then Natalie saw the little red sweater an old women was knitting and she understood why Michael wept. He was remembering the baby. She grimaced. Hours of labour and she had give birth to a lifeless doll. She didn’t understand why but the baby episode, all the preparations, the looking forward to the baby, the labour, had all made her feel numb. Natalie felt as if she didn’t exist as if her and Michael were 2 completely different people since that time 2-years ago. Mike had wanted another baby as soon as possible, she had shaken her head sadly at him and said, ” Maybe in a few years.” But Natalie didn’t know if a few years would ever come.

Grandma Florence sat happily knitting a little red sweater for her first grandchild. She was ecstatic and had even thought that none of her kids would have grandchildren, since they were all in their late 30’s anyways. She held up the tiny red sweater and a man walking by her with his wife begin to cry in earnest. Florence wondered why she holding up a little red sweater, would make anybody cry? Babies brought joy the world. They were the promise that life, that the world would continue with a piece of you in it. She shook her head absently, noticed she had goofed up the last stitch and went back to finishing the sweater on the bench. Her sparkling eyes and ruddy cheeks gave her the look of a grandma who was extremely happy and had never experienced what Natalie and Michael went through. She had other things to focus on.