Interviews, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Poetry

Interview Sangbad Mitra: Writer, Blogger, and Go Do Go Barista #amwriting #interview #nonfiction


Welcome to a new interview, this week I’m interviewing Sangbad Mitra a writer, blogger, and barista at the Go Do Go Cafe, where his interview will be simultaneously featured. Please check out this blog to read some wonderful writing and to submit your own work should you wish. For now, let’s get on with an interview with Sangbad Mitra and his blog: Thoughts of Words: Let the Words Get Freedom and Thoughts A Stage


Sangbad Mitra
Credit: Sangbad Mitra

1. Sangbad, Please Tell Us About Yourself?

I’m Sangbad Mitra from India. I live in Kolkata, West Bengal which is also known as the Cultural Capital. My blog name is Thoughts of Words. Kolkata is one of the major Indian cities. I live in the south of the city which is popularly known as ‘South Calcutta’ or ‘Kolkata’—however, you take the name of a country. There are malls and colleges in this portion.  There is also a bypass in front of my home and there is a National Highway two kilometers away.

2. When Did You Being Writing and Blogging? Was there a Reason you Did? What Do Blogging and Writing Mean to You?

I’ve been writing for more than a decade. Teacher’s Day will be the thirteenth year of my writing spree. Most of these years, I’ve been a closeted author/poet, until this November. After my last and my first true relationship ended abruptly. I needed to vent my feelings in order to remain calm. I started writing to deny the call of addiction such as alcohol and drugs. And I re-embarked on my writing journey. Before that, there was a gap of two or three years where I hadn’t written anything. It was a relief to write the world a few stories and poems again. 


” I started writing to deny the call of addiction such as alcohol and drugs. And I re-embarked on my writing journey. Before that, there was a gap of two or three years where I hadn’t written anything. It was a relief to write the world a few stories and poems again.”  Sangbad Mitra


3. Where do you Find Your Inspiration and Motivation to Continue Writing and Blogging? What is it important to you to continue with your writing and blogging? 

     When I began my blog, I used to write out of nemesism mostly. But, in April, this changed. I participated in the National Poem Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). On the first day, the prompt was to write a poem such as Kay Ryan wrote, and I wrote a poem. It was called “Crow.”

The next morning I saw that my poem had been featured on the NaPoWriMo prompt website. This made me think and change my view on life. I stood in front of mirror asking why I had been writing what I had been, before. That’s when I began I writing what I wanted to write and not what other wanted me to write. When I write poetry, now write to express my thoughts and my view, all because my poem about my pet crow was featured for NaPoWriMo. 

As well, my writing became a cathartic process. In my new phase of writing, my inspiration mostly came from my broken relationship. I wrote to keep thoughts of her out of my mind, to ‘forget’ about her. Before, when I used to feel depressed or low,  I wrote using my experiences, writing what others would like. That was my purpose in writing. Nonetheless, I was satisfied with the changes in my writing after 1st April and NaPoWriMo. Now, I write what is on my mind, directly, and this is freeing.

Another thing that inspires and motivates me is my city, Kolkata. The vibrancy, the vibe, the beat of my city inspires me. I also have a section on my blog for writing about my city, under the Anthology section of my blog.


4. What are your Writing and Blogging Habits? Where do you Most Enjoy about Writing? Is there a Particular Time of Day you Prefer to Write? 

I don’t have any particular writing habits. You may find me on the subway and writing on phone or do the same while taking the bus. Standing and writing on my cell phone is pretty typical for me. I use the WordPress app to write on. Although, at night, I maintain a diary.

Additionally, I like writing about the citizens of Kolkata. I write about people such as my Lady neighbor. She’s a recurring character in many of my Kolkata series poems. As well, the neighbor’s Neem tree also is the topic of some of my writing. There’s a poem called “Neem, my Neighbor”  about this tree from NaPoWriMo.


 “Another thing that inspires and motivates me is my city, Kolkata. The vibrancy, the vibe, the beat of my city inspires me. I also have a section on my blog for writing about my city. . .” -Sangbad Mitra 


Sangbad Mitra
Credit: Sangbad Mitra

5. What Are Your Most Current Writing Projects with your Blog and Outside of It? 

Right now, for my Thoughts of Words blog (I just call it my “Thoughts” blog), I’m writing a novella Captive which is in hiatus state now and will continue in July. Outside of this, I’m also writing stories which I’ll share once a week beginning next month, in place of my serialized novel Fables of Time. I’m also writing more fables for this series and will share them on my blog when I’ve written considerably more of them.

These fables are something I’m also writing, outside of my blog. Other projects I’m working on outside of the blog include preparing my Chapbook for self-publishing. A portion of this chapbook will be the poems I wrote for NaPoWriMo. There’ll be forty poems in the book. A third project I’m working on outside of the blog is an epic novel. 


6. Have you Published Any Writing or Poetry Before your Recent Plans to Publish your Writing? Can Your Briefly Describe Your Writing Process?

No, I haven’t published any of my writing at this point. By the end of the year, I aspire to publish the Chapbook.

When am writing a poem, I write my piece and then I read it few more times before putting my signature to it. In the case of writing a story, after I complete writing a chapter or a short story, I set it aside. It reread my chapter or short story and then after a few days, I rewrite the portions I’m unsatisfied with. I also rewrite parts of the story I feel is not what I want them to be.  In the case of essays, I write them over a day or two before finishing the final draft.  So, it’s writing, rewriting, reading, and re-reading.


 “When am writing a poem, I write my piece and then I read it few more times before putting my signature to it. In the case of writing a story, after I complete writing a chapter or a short story, I set it aside. It reread my chapter or short story and then after a few days, I rewrite the portions I’m unsatisfied with.” – Sandbad Mitra


Sangbad Mitra
Credit: Sangbad Mitra

7. Do you Prefer Certain Areas of Writing and Readings Genres? 

I’m much inclined to reading old Bengali classics than writing in the English language. As well, I prefer reading Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay over Mark Twain. For genres, I prefer to read/watch thrillers for the most part. In the past few months, I’ve read the Travelogue of Marco Polo and now am reading story collection of Kafka.

When it comes to writing, I prefer to write whatever it is I want to say. It may be words against terrorism or it may be words describing a summer night. The only genre I feel I’m incompetent is erotica, although, I’ve written few. Recently, I post one on Saturday’s if I’ve been able to write one.


8. Do you have Any Helpful Advice for Other Bloggers and Writers? 

My advice is to never stop writing. Write, share, and listen to what others are saying. Don’t get down or agitated because readers are useful as teachers to writers. Also, don’t be vain or self-proud. Pride can be the worst enemy and causes the greatest of writers to fail. I like to hear my readers’ views. Comments make me happy along with receiving ‘likes.’


“Write, share, and listen to what others are saying. Don’t get down or agitated because readers are useful as teachers to writers. Also, don’t be vain or self-proud. Pride can be the worst enemy and causes the greatest of writers to fall.” -Sangbad Mitra.


9. For fun, What Are Your Top-Three Favorite Blogs? What Do You Like About Them? 

Top three…there are more than three…but there are these two bloggers to whom I always remain indebted to in my blog journey. Both Meenakshi Sethi (my Elder Sister’s blog) and Gina Gallyot’s blog: SingleDust. I call her LoveDust. Both these women are my oldest followers but are also always pushing me to write whenever I want to quit. I read their reviews of my writing and I change my mind. Sometimes I also ask them how they tolerate my nagging and they inspire and help me despite my flaws. 


10. Please Share with Us Some Pieces from Your Blog: My First Post: The Morning That Was Serene and Melancholy

The Morning That Was Serene & Melancholy

by

Sangbad Mitra

(Posted: February 9, 2017)

*****

David Marcu UnSplash
Credit: David Marcu via UnSplash

*****

The morning is here…

Is it?

The gloomy sky, the shroud of smog…–

All is gray, all is cold…

Are you sure of it?

Yes, my friend…said the guest as he sipped on–

His cup of morning tea.

I haven’t looked at the sky for days,

The Death is not coming to me, my friend,–

Fast; it’s dragging…it’s dragging… The poet is lost for words.

The guest smiled and said, do you want it fast and quick?

The pale poet nodded his head and collected his breaths-

Even a small movement making him tired and drained out.

The guest smiled and passed him the vial, —

Bye, my friend, hope you have a safe journey…

The guest left the poet; the poet sighed.

He looked at the mirror, adjacent to his bed–

And saw the guest looking at him–

They smiled at each other…

With a trembling hand, the vial went up to the mouth..–

Few drops slipped out of the edge of his lips-chafed and dry…

The November morning out there, outside the room,

Was gaining a serene turquoise color…

*****


11. Here are Some More Pieces from Sangbad’s Blog:


Thanks to Sangbad for agreeing to interviewed and providing insight into his writing and life. If you would like to be interviewed for your writing, blogging, or cause you write or blog for, you can reach me through my contact page. See You Next Week!


© Mandibelle16. (2017). All Rights Reserved.

 

Current Events, Event, History, My Thoughts, Pinterest, Quotes, Writing

Notable Quotes Part One #pinterest #quotes #Canada150


Happy Canada Day all you Canadians. Today our country is 150 yrs old. This may seem a small number to some if you, especially in Europe. But to us it’s pretty awesome! 🇨🇦🎈🎉🎂🥃❤️
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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays, Blank Verse - unrhymed Iambic Pentameter, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 19 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Blank Verse – “Mythology Not Lost” #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #100WordWednesday 


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to recreate a myth in a poem. The A to Z Challenge quote from GoodReads has an author with a P in their name. Also, thank you to Bikurgurl for hosting last week’s #100WordWednesday. 

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Credit: Anjo Beckers Photography

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” I moan with pleasure.

“Did you just have a foodgasm?” he asks, wiping ricotta from his lips.

“Where have you been all my life?” I ask the beautiful panini.” 

― Stephanie Perkins, Anna and the French Kiss

———

There are those who believe the Greek gods left, 

Went away, didn’t return, disappeared. 

Where there was greed, pride, avarice, lust, and war, 

There was no longer, because these gods were, 

Never gods, more like spoiled children who were —

Tolerated for a while until the —

 God who is the God, decide that they, 

Need find another place to play, beyond —

Olympus, and Athens, and Rome — and then, 

Came the Popes and the Cardinals, more sin. 

They had always been there, but now they —

We’re warriors and wise men, judges and —

The Greco-Roman gods and goddesses, 

We’re invisible, ethereal, just air. 

It’s what becomes of beings that ‘are,’

But aren’t real, they’re missing a certain —

Quality that means that in some form they’re —

Alive; full of heart, blood, bone, marrow, soul. 

But these gods were but mythology so they, 

Faded as much mythology does.

Legends of all kinds and all cultures who 

Have been, before and after them, or so —

I was told, ’til I began to see such surreal —

Things in town, at dinner talking with —

My dad, about life, and school and then, 

Beside us was this old man; and his eyes, 

We’re blue and twinkled, he had such, 

Vigor for his age, he smiled at me while he —

Talked to his friends, other gods he said. 

Not the God, but gods, he said who had been,

To me they were all invisible; he said —

Long ago in Greece and Rome, he was king. 

As Zeus or Jupiter, but now they —

All blended into humans, they had their —

Special places where they could go, greeting —

Their old friends and eating what gods do. 

He ate panini, talking loudly, 

Today it was Aphrodite, he also —

Said he was eating Ambrosia, the food, 

Gods required, and an extra plate lay, 

Near his hand, licked clean; he said that his son, 

Apollo, had been there, eating with him. 

He calls me granddaughter and one day —

The old man gave me a small piece of his, 

Panini he loved, saying it was ‘good.’ 

Said it was in my blood, so I ate and —

The amazing delicious panini, 

Became a hunger inside me for more and —

More, until I no longer visited the, 

Restaurant with my folks or my friends, 

But to eat with the old man and our kind. 

Who no longer rule, but have special spots, 

In restaurants such as this, where myth, 

And reality meet, somehow they reform. 

Because at tonight’s feast I find them all, 

Gods, goddesses, of mythology lost. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Free Verse, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Healing Touch” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt challenge.

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Credit: Laura Williams

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Many faces have I, but don’t let me evaporate.

Too many masks I wear within to cover the scars that bind,

The twisting vines of ruined skin,

Not even plastic surgery could heal.

And the whispers of the dreadful night,

They haunt me in my sleep.

Each nightmare worse than the last, entrenching me in madness.

Crying and shaking, in a world I cannot escape.

My screams echoeing from the domed ceiling,

In St. Peter’s Basilica, my heart a kindled pyre.

Does God hear me, my fervent prayers without pride?

I know if He did, he would answer what I seek,

Provide relief from the cruelty of my suffering;

Of the ache and the burn in my skin.

He’d be a cooling gentle wind to end the burning flames,

I hope in my meekness for God as Elijah knew.

I try to forget. to move on, hiding behind masks so I’m safe.

My scars are not physical but they hide beneath skin,

Where plastic surgery cannot salvage a broken soul.

I’m a wretched bloody mess and my stomach is churning,

Why are the worst injuries, the ones you cannot see?

Why do people only see skin deep?

Not many will peer beneath the perfect layers of white ivory,

To see the layers underneath charred and scorched.

Many will not look past the words on your lips,

They are not interested in how a person says certain words,

Or why they say what do.

Many people hear only what they want to hear,

And if you choose to scream,

Than you’re the crazy one seeking attention.

But many screams are silent,

Before they are ever heard out loud,

This is why we need listeners and those with empathy,

To overcome those overflowing with ignorance and apathy to life;

To realize there is meaning in helping your neighbor out.

For we all have hidden scars and screams,

And most of them are dug deeply within our souls.

They wind around a person’s heart, a choking vine envokes —

A cry for help, so please hear it, long before we shout out loud,

Be still for a moment and listen well.

Respond before the masks hide many other faces and mine;

Act before you start cutting into our hearts,

Doing much more harm than good.

Watch your words and carefully avoid —

Assault and battery, for refusing to help those in need —

Refusing to help those lost in their pain. 

Heal with laughter and conversation,

A piece of your precious time.

Do not forget the meek and lowly,

We all need help discovering pathways into stardust.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Rictameter – 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2 – beg/end same, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Rictameter – “The Angel” #amwriting #flashfiction #poetry  


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Louise – The Storyteller’s Abode

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Here’s she,

His sweet angel,

Wearing her frothy gown,

She’s beautiful, elegant,

A wife any man could love or desire.

She’s the epitome, the standard,

What women should be like,

Humming music,

Here’s she.

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Her hair,

Perfectly coiffed,

Mother of six children,

Few lines on her face, she holds up.

Although, life’s pressure can be confining,

Her lips smile a gesture rehearsed.

What’s underneath in her —

Boarding school mind,

Her hair?

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Model,

She’d wants all to —

Perceive she’s the perfect wife.

Society expects her to —

Set perfect example because —

She’s upperclass, the lead in the charade.

Acting as the moral —

Center, she must

Model

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Portrait,

Of the great dame,

Her family, pride, joy,

Madame’s smile is slipping because,

Performing all the time is exhausting.

She wonders if she might sit with —

Port to sip, not thinking,

Herself; not a —

Portrait

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Poetry, Quatrain -- abab abba ccdc dddd., Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Quatrains – “Tale of The Floating Bride” #poetry #amwriting 


Thanks to NEEKNERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge prompt. 

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Credit: Zhangjinga.com

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Enchanting child in slumber keep, 

Red hair surrounds you as you sleep. 

I wait for you to wake from your dreams, 

No longer a porcelain doll preened. 

*****

A wedding gown white lace so frothy, 

Mother hoped your match was lofty.

That you’d found your life partner, 

Your prince, your man, for life to start.

*****

But day by day you grew sad, 

When pressed with his kisses ran. 

Empty feeling inside you grew, 

Like a butterfly away flew.

*****

Mischievous child, pain grew, 

His fist at your face straight-on flew. 

Hiding the bruises with powder,

Not even concealer shrouds

*****

Pride vital to you, tiny doll, 
Escaped; no one to catch your fall.
Fly in dreams with delicate wings, 

Winter ends, it’s soon your spring. 

*****

Gather your courage –call it off;

Don’t marry him, don’t be soft.

In front of the crowd, show each cut, 

Let them see bruises, you must. 

*****

So they know an abuser, 

Isn’t good enough, he’s a loser. 

He broke your velvet wings, 

Your sanity held by strings. 

*****

But it was too late even then, 

The lake too close; so your end.

Now you float, butterfly who swims, 

Eternity of light your win. 

*****

We tried to save a doll of glass, 

But on death she shattered, passed. 

Down below the water’s dark depth,

She’s tranquil, free; although, she leapt. 

*****

Mind too distorted, destroyed, 

Lover’s hands threw her like a toy.

World tough; his madness changed them both, 

In Heaven she smiles free to float. 

*****

He mourns her death each day, each drink, 

Pretty soon his rage him too sinks. 

Accidents happen to the unaware, 

She pulled him in, drowned his despair. 

—– 

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Sacrifice #amwriting #flashfiction #fiction 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag

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Ellie stared at her teddy bears. She collected them and these three were her favourite. She didn’t much play with them, but they had a place of pride on her daybed. 
Truthfully, Ellie played with other stuffed animals, she didn’t care if she wrecked or ripped them a part. Sometimes she even gave a stuffed animal to her family’s dog dog Artic.

But Mom said she had too many teddy bears and because she didn’t play with these three teddy bears on her bed, she could only keep one of them. 

“But I snuggle with them at night, they keep me safe from the monsters. Even a monster can’t defend himself against three bears, ” Ellie told her Mom who laughed and ran her fingers through Ellie’s curly brown hair.

 Ellie stared at her three soft bears, unable to choose who would go. 

Suddenly, the solution came upon her. If Ellie couldn’t have all three bears, the only solution was to get rid of her Mom. She really loved her Mom a whole bunch, but she thought if she sacrificed Mom to the monsters, she would both be able to keep all three teddy bears and the monsters would leave forever too. 

It was a scary thing to give up her mother, but Ellie thought it was for the best. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Friday Music Prompt, Health, History, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Music Prompt: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Elysian Fields Await” #amwriting #poetry #musicchallenge #writing


This is last week’s music prompt for Friday hosted by MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. It’s a song called, “Elysian Night” by Draconian. Hard metal isn’t my thing, but the lyrics are beautiful. 

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“Elysian Night” – Draconian 

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http://www.jwartsales.com

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Am I nothing without you near my side? 

You feel so far away; I reach for you, 

Only whispers remain, piercing though true. 

I’m bleeding fast, death has no ounce of pride.

“Stay,” you beg, it’s a wish I can’t provide. 

But the sun rises as it always does through —

Whatever pain inflicted, we’ve small clue —

When it’s time — Elysian Fields reside. 

You want me to stay, for us to fly high, 

But death has been calling, counting sand grains, 

You’ll cry those fat tears, and you’ll wonder why? 

Love, I want to see another sunrise, 

But I’m bleeding, death’s crooning, we must divide, 

Elysian Fields wait with finally, no pain. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Word High July, Writing

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!

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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.