Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo (Collage) Prompt: Adventures in Wonderland Continued #amwriting #fiction 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage photo prompt.


collage31
MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

“Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks/things you can think up if only you try!”

― Dr. Seuss


Alice was growing older and she hadn’t been to Wonderland in years. Yet, she had not forgotten the lessons she learned there. 

She was an imaginative girl, so much so her mother could not figure out where Alice came up with her fanciful ideas. 

But Alice’s mother adored her daughter so she let her creativity run free, including playing outside and having tea with her imaginary friends.

While having tea, Alice talked to the Mad Hatter, the White Rabbit, the Door Mouse, and March Hair. Often, she talked to a smoking Catipillar, whom her mother naturally disapproved of. But Alice only laughed at her mother saying: 

” Why the Caterpillar needs the medicine he smokes. He’s in a great deal of pain becoming a butterfly.” 

 Alice’s mother had been making ice tea in a pitcher as it was summer. Alice didn’t know what to do at first, her friends enjoyed hot tea. But she determined after a while, they would have to make do with ice tea. She poured the cold tea into her prized teapot. 

She brought the tea to the marigolds and dandilions in the field by her house and poured the cold tea at the base of all her flower friends. She even brought them a few cookies, which she crumbled around their stems.

Sometimes Alice liked to sit out in the field and read. She brought out a fancy white cushioned chair from the parlour to a field of grass and flowers. She sat there considering life and paging through a novel. She was wearing a hat her grandma had given her to keep the sun from her face. 

Alice fell asleep outside in the chair and dreamed she was in Wonderland. She dreamt she had eaten bread to make her big and tall. 

She found herself next to a curious house with the appearance of a giant 🍐 pear ; it had a small red door with steps going down to the grass below. 

There was a handsome Raven sitting on the house, opposite of where Alice stood. She placed her ear against the house, trying to hear if anyone was inside. 

“You won’t find anyone in there,” the Raven told Alice.

“But why wouldn’t they be at home?” Alice asked. “Its Wonderland, creatures here don’t go to work even if they’re adults. Besides, wouldn’t a mother or wife be at home?” 

“I wouldn’t quite call them adults and it’s presumptuous to think all women should stay at home.” 

“If they’re not adults, how come they have a house?” Alice wondered. She looked back to the Raven, “I only thought the wife or mother  might be home because she could be like my mother who stays home.” 

Alice sat down, reaching towards the small red doorway of the pear 🍐 house; it was locked up tight. “Why is the door locked? Who would break into their home here? My father never locks our door.” 

The Raven chuckled in the weird way birds do, “I think they are avoiding unwanted guests of giant proportions.” 

“Also, I think you’re forgetting everyone needs something to do in the day, work or otherwise. We all have tasks, seasons of life to experience, even in Wonderland.”

“Seasons of life?” Alice asked confused. “Well, what season am I in? I don’t feel young, but I’m certainly not old. I’m only nine. But since coming to Wonderland years ago, I think of things adults don’t even consider.”

The Raven squawked, continuing to chuckle. 

“Hmmm,” Alice said, “It only occurred to me, no one ever told me why a Raven is like a writing desk?” 

The Raven ignored Alice but began to whistle a discordant tune.

“That’s awful,” Alice said but he continued his song. 

When he stopped he peered with little black eyes at Alice, “See everyone has a song to sing. Not everyone thinks their neighbour’s song is pretty, but it’s their song and so they must sing it.”

“It is the same with the creatures in this pear 🍐 house. They are off singing their life song, doing what they feel they are meant to do in life, in this season.” 

“Each part of life has a song,” the Raven said. “I hear you singing your song when you’re out in the fields having tea with your Wonderland friends, using your imagination. You’re in the spring of life and your song is lovely and new.”

“But,” continued the Raven, “I am in the Winter of my life. I’ve had many children and I am old, but I sing my song anyways. Even when we are old, we have a purpose and must sing our own song.” 

Alice thought a long while about the seasons, singing, and what the Raven told her. Then she smiled, ” I understand what you mean now. But do you think you and the owners of this pear 🍐 house would mind joining my other Wonderland friends and myself for tea?” 

The Raven cawed laughing at Alice. He nodded his little black head and flew away. 

The next moment, Alice awoke and found herself sleeping in her mother’s plush parlour chair out in the grassy field. Her mother looked down on her gently and smoothed Alice’s hair: 

“Alice there you are. Oh, my good chair. It’s white and you’ve got dirt and grass all over it,” mother said sternly. 

Alice sleepily smiled and said,” I was in Wonderland and talking to a Raven about the songs we each sing in life in different seasons. I’m sorry about the chair Mama.”

Her mother shook her head sighing and ruffled Alice’s hair, “Oh you and Wonderland. Will you ever grow out if it? Little girls will be attending school again in Fall.”

Alice sighed and helped her mother bring the chair back into the house to be cleaned. She decided to visit the roses in the backyard later.

Aluce had told her mother many strange stories about red roses. So much so, Alice’s mother gave her the job of watering and caring for the roses in the garden; she babied her roses. She didn’t want anyone to think she’d been painting her roses and that they weren’t truly red — that always led to problems. 

She wondered about what season of life the roses and all the flowers in the field were in? What was their purpose except to be beautiful? Alice began to hum the particular song of the flowers, watering her roses and caring for them. 

Suddenly, she remembered it was her birthday in a week. She would be ten-years-old; how could she forget? She must go inside the house and remind her mother she needed more bowls to match her tea set. 

For a moment Alice sighed thinking about school beginning soon. Children at school didn’t understand her much. Often, they knew less about things than many adults. Girls at school sang their own songs and Alice as usual, sang a unique tune. 


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Lune - 5,3,5 or 5 words, 3 words, 5 words, My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Lunes – “Never Stopped” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction #lunes


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——

The Storyteller’s Abode (Louise)

——-

Hidden between rocks, the ocean —

Returns a treasure. 

A time piece once given.

——

A woman’s long hair blows,

Trailing in winds. 

She inspects the pocket watch —

——-

Before dropping it off the —

Cliff it tumbles, 

Onto rocks, clattering sounds lost —

——-

In the darkness of nights, 

Grip so intense.

Ocean steals the pocket watch —

——

Woman stares down below peering —

Her Grandfather’s watch,

Forever lost, his presence grieved.

—–

Into cold bitter waters enclosing,

Covered in waves. 

Gone for years, taken away.

——

Now a small boy picks up —

A watch and —

Smiles, his new treasure found. 

——-

Dangling it infront of him he —

Puts it to —

His ear; ticking, never stopped. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Daily Prompt, Mirrored Refrain xaBA, xbAB, xaBA, xbAB, etc, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Mirrored Refrain – ” Babe to Little Girl”


Thank you to The Daily Post for the prompt words: Playful,Smooth,and Connected.


Baby Girl
http://www.pinterest.com

Softest, palest skin, girl with bright blue eyes,

Tiny, huddled, swaddled in blankets tight.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.

Smooth, delicate artistry; babe thrives.


Connection between child and mother strong,

Small babe in pink, flaxen blond hair curls.

Smooth delicate artistry; babe thrives,

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.


Developing, playful; peering, curious eyes,

Sits up on Mama’s lap; with head up right.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide,

Smooth delicate artistry; babe born, thrives.


Seated in bumbo, gurgling smile, laughs,

Lifted into the air, Dad’s hands girl whirls,

Smooth delicate artistry; babe thrives,

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.


Time to crawl around, then up on her feet,

Flaxen hair lengthens, tiny teeth start to bite.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide,

Smooth and delicate artistry; babe thrives.


Independence forms, play-dates, swimming lessons,

Not a baby long; connects with other girls.

Smooth and delicate artistry; babe thrives,

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.


Away to playschool and kindergarten,

Babe a moment; small girl in Mama’s sight.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide,

Smooth and delicate artistry; babe thrives.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

 

My Thoughts, Ninefold, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Ninefold Poem: “Blessed Be”


A “ninefold poem” has three stanzas each with three lines and nine syllables. The first stanza represents the aspect of body; it can be visceral and evoke the five senses. The second stanza represents the aspect of mind; it can be about thoughts and perceptions. The final stanza represents the aspect of spirit; it should evoke emotion or some concept of the supernatural realm.

Thanks to Annie from What the Woman Wrote for information on this poetry form. Check-out Annie’s poem if this form at the link given; she does an amazing job!

——

Crystal truth, peering into baby blues, 

Eyes see through my core, into broken soul.

Looking at me far within, sapphire sees.

—–

There’s a name for people attracted,

As we are to each other, attached —

Hearts bleed intellectually bound. 

——

Beyond our heads and hearts connected,

To our cores, our spiritually sound souls,

Knowing before God, we’re blessed be.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Lune - 5,3,5 or 5 words, 3 words, 5 words, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: NaPoWriMo 2016 – Lune – ” Leaving ” 


  

Prompt:

Today, I challenge you to write a lune. This is a sort of English-language haiku. While the haiku is a three-line poem with a 5-7-5 syllable count, the lune is a three-line poem with a 5-3-5 syllable count. There’s also a variant based on word-count, instead of syllable count, where the poem still has three lines, but the first line has five words, the second line has three words, and the third line has five words again. Either kind will do, and you can write a one-lune poem, or write a poem consisting of multiple stanzas of lunes. Happy writing!

Please visit www.napowrimo.net for more information.

——

http://www.buddhabarbie.com

——
Peering your way advertent obscure, 

Days have passed,

Shards of glass inside me.

——-

Why is sorrow so meaningless.

Make it better,

Hear me out; you refuse.

——-

Coupledome requires us both to,

Tell the truth,

Communication is key; so listen.

——-

Capricious games are not me,

I’m not playing,

Whatever joke you’re about today.

——-

Be serious, moments are fading,

I’m still waiting,

How many nights spent crying? 

——-

Brokenness, requires feeling I think,

To care enough,

Feeling gutted and raw inside.

——

Thought we were supposed to,

Make our lives,

Lasting moments for each other.

——

Carelessness, you have no soul,

Once you loved,

Love has grown thin, cold.

—–

In Purgatory, if you believe,

What Catholics teach,

Frightening fire, burning soot reeks.

—–

Fire enthrals passion, makes heat.

But you’re ice,

Was there ever crackling flames?

—-

Again, convinced myself you were,

Healthy for me,

Should’ve kept searching and hoping.

—–

Now, I’m raw, inside out.

Sobbing mess living.

Making or breaking; I’m leaving.

—–

You don’t hear me leave,

It’s fine because —

You never saw me anyways.

—– 

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.