Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Exclusive Dirt #flashfiction #amwriting 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. 

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Credit: @Shivamt25

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Allison arrived at the local coffee shop for her morning tea. Her duchshund, Peppy, trotted beside her. His ears stood alert as he waited for his morning treat. The coffee shop was also an independant tea shop. There were black teas, fruit teas, herbal teas, white teas, green teas, and all kinds of delicious tea blends. 

When Allison asked the barista for a mango green tea, Trisha sighed. “Sorry, Allison. We’ve had to cut back on teas we serve. We only serve three unique kinds each day. Too much competition with David’s Tea.” 

“Okay, what should I try?” 

“How about the pineapple, squash, and blueberry fruit tea.” 

“Not a fan of that mix, Trisha.” 

“How about chocolate and marshmallow with asparagus?”

Allison closed her eyes for a moment. “Any Irish Breakfast tea with a twist of lemon? Or green tea with papaya?” 

Trisha shook her head. “No, our tea selections are three exclusive flavors each day.” 

Allison rubbed her eyes. “I’ll have a medium latte.” 

“You don’t drink lattes,” 

“Today I do.” 

Trisha bent to give Peppy his treat. While Allison sat down, reading the paper and sipping her latte. 

Then she felt as if she was going to throw up, spitting a mouthful of latte into her napkin. 

Even the lattes had become exclusive. This one tasted like dirt. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Tale Weavers: Views on Death by Emily Dickinson and John Donne #amwriting #poetry #JohnDonne #EmilyDickinson 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weaver’s Prompt based on the figure of death. Emily Dickinson’s poem “I could not stop for Death” and John Donne’s Holy Sonnet – “Death Be Not Proud” seem to say exactly what needs to be said for me on the prompt. And whatever I do, I can’t think of something I could say better than these poets due regardimg the personification of death. Please enjoy!

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Credit: Google images for Reuse

Credit: Google Images for Re-Use

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1. Because I could not stop for Death (479)

By Emily Dickinson, (1830 – 1886)

http://www.poetryfoundation.org 

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 Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me –  

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  

And Immortality.

*****

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility – 

*****

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –  

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –  

We passed the Setting Sun – 

*****

Or rather – He passed us – 

The Dews drew quivering and chill – 

For only Gossamer, my Gown – 

My Tippet – only Tulle – 

*****

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground – 

The Roof was scarcely visible – 

The Cornice – in the Ground – 

*****

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads 

Were toward Eternity – 

*****

(www.poets.org)

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Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud

BY JOHN DONNE

wwww.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

*****

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Writing 101: Graffiti – “Art Without Subterfuge.”


I could paint you a brilliant picture in so many vibrant colours; I don’t know if you’ll like it, but it will still be art. And it might only be words. 

Art has such varied definitions. I’ll give you every kind. The tattoo  of a woman hair blowing, she flies across  your back and chest — one of my favourite species of art. 

Graffiti of the skin is truly sublime. Graffiti on the wall can be merely a mural. When I was in high school Art,  I painted murals across the school. I learned the texture of a  wall.

Michelangelo and Adam touching fingertips by the stairs. And a leafy haven enfolding items of art and drama. We viewed them both as art, glimmering and sublime. 

But the building changed functions and they painted over the murals. To them they were just tasteless high school meaningless graffiti. They weren’t works of art to liven up the solid, boring, white wall paint. Some people are boxed in by definitions of what art is and is not.

When I visited San Diego, under all the bridges was this fantastic and beautiful graffiti. It was art out loud and it was allowed to beautify a dirty place, under a bridge. It was enlightening, let them do graffiti. 

And I’m always wondering when an artist paints a mural to make an area prettier, why some kid has to ruin it spray painting orange profanities.

I guess to him his graffiti is a greater art. But to anyone who knows beauty, a terrible sin was created when he sprayed over a mural which told a story in paint already.

If you are going to do graffiti, you should do it at the right place or atleast do it well. 

I love it at the skateboard park when all those skinny skaters, bring their spray paint and go wild on the places they do flips and ollies. 

Graffiti can be outstanding a burst of skittle colors on blank pages of a building. Like the tattoo artists who create images of meaning on our body, there can be so much meaning behind Graffiti.

And it should be allowed because art is a personal freedom. If you have the skill to electrify and colourize any white surface professionally or learning, let the artist work. Let them rain beauty. 

As a girl who has done some art and knows something on the subject, I can tell you the kind of tools and subject matter is different with every person for any drawing or painting done in art. 

And you can see the varied methods of art when we explore collages, or twisted metal sculptures. Rooms of installations with the sounds of birds chirping and flying.

You can see art in the artists who stand still for many hours, when we light up a bridge or tower, when the sky springs with pride on our country’s birthday with fireworks.

You can’t fit art in one place. It is everywhere and everything. Art is people kissing and the way the sunlight hits their faces. Art is old men walking, and the heart and effort it takes to walk with a healing hip.

Art is graffiti. It is any kind of inspiration that can be found or can be given. It is crazy thoughts we think will never work. But one day they do. In a starburst of evolution art is created.

So give me more graffiti, as long as it’s quality. As long as for me, it’s beauty. Art is central to the individual as the butterfly tattoo on your hip. Or the poppy tattoo you can’t quite convince yourself to get.

Put Graffiti on white spaces. Like the little guys who put crayon and felt tips on their mother’s walls. 

Spray paint a glorious vision of passion and reality; the metaphysical delusions that only make sense to you.

Spin for me a radiant vision of a catastrophe honoured or a special day realized. Make your art poetry, make poetry graffiti.

You can spray the truth and I’ll write it without subterfuge. I’ll give you a blast of colour, shape, line, form, and design with my words. 

My words are the spray paint and I’m painting your soul. A spectacular illusion of light and space that alludes to deeper meanings and all the colours celebrate. 

The beauty that is Graffiti. 

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©Mandibelle16.All Rights Reserved.