Poem: Free Verse – “A Congested Mind” #poetry #amwriting 


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——–

They call it the unknown

The future lying before you. 

No matter if you’re psychic, 

No one knows what happens. 

There are varied scenarios,

Ways it could play out, 

But truly we don’t know the future

It’s a mystery creeping forward, 

And it pulls us along on our knees.

Whether we go willingly, 

Or go kicking and screaming;

Time marches in to the beat,

Of father time’s own drum. 

****

I don’t know what’s coming, 

I know worrying won’t help. 

I think sometimes I try to give advice, 

Reassuring myself in kind. 

There are bright possibilities, 

Hoping people become, 

More kind than they are mean to each other. 

Pray people look-out for each other, 

But sometimes I think society is self-centred. 

I admit to such fault and others too,

But I’m still fearful;

When I think of a year or two ahead, 

I’m afraid what if it’s not the right plan? 

Experience deftly taught me,

Plans are dim outlines of reality. 

Mostly, life goes where it goes

And God only knows where or why. 

Leading us through dark valleys, 

Into trenches with piercing bullets flying. 

Into classrooms with screaming kids, 

A gunmen on the loose. 

He leads us through to people, 

Whose power makes one nervous. 

How even democracy isn’t safe —

A tyrant could rule all. 

Maybe the world will surprise me, 

But I fear for the little person. 

*****

My own personal fears weigh heavy, 

Though others bear pains greater. 

Of lawyers and cases, 

Of corruption and crime. 

Those crimes we deem terrible;

Those crimes brushed under the rug. 

Greed and all those other sins,

Abhorred but freely ignored. 

Though I can never say what’s worse —

My own flaws or imperfections

Or those I’m faced with. 

Stress shows through cracks, 

Egg yokes running. 

No one likes raw eggs except in cookie dough

The future is overwhelming. 

But at least they’ll still be cookie dough, 

And I don’t know why —

I’m particular and observant

Why I know it’s better to be alone

Than be truly alone with another. 

Why I wait for that spark

Why I wait for the morning dawn. 

A smile in his eyes which is genuine

Wherever he is. 

But maybe happiness is a puppy

Paws following me on the hardwood, 

Barks at random sounds. 

The glory of a puppy skidding down —

The off leash trail and wheeling;

Turning around to jump on me, 

To pick her up when she’s tired. 

*****

My bones are stiff and ridged

My dreams fall to despair

So many books and writers, 

And not anyone can compare

How to rise above the masses, 

Or fill your own niche contented. 

But perhaps one could be something

Success in small moments. 
Afraid and weighted

Need to cry, tears unshed, 

Because disease is cruel. 
Even if Heaven is the end of the tunnel,

So many words are left unsaid

The timing of it all, does it work? 

I feel alienated

Though I try hard to keep the connection

It’s all in your planning Lord;

So must I say, your will be done.

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Saving The Puppy


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Let her know what an amazing job she’s doing 🙂


Horse and Car
Phylor2014

Sweet Caroline waited for her rider, Joy (who was attending a party at the neighbor’s ranch) when Caroline heard a terrified yap from beside her. It was a heat-sick puppy trapped in a car.

Caroline had heard Joy saying certain people were ignorant, believing it was fine to leave a pet in the car when the temperature was boiling inside.

The puppy whimpered and with all her might, Caroline kicked a window out of the car with her hoof.

Joy ran when she heard the car window shatter and Caroline whiny. She gasped, observing the languishing puppy inside. 

Taking both Caroline and the puppy just outside the party tents, Joy gave the thirsty puppy bottled water and scraps of meat from the buffet.

A furious couple Joy recognized, approached her wanting their puppy back, but Joy refused. Instead, she dialled the local RCMP and reported the couple, for leaving their dog in a hot car.

Sweet Caroline nuzzled her puppy friend as the puppy slept on Joy’s shoulder.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Memories of Sparks.


It’s difficult looking at Sparks’ photigraph still. I work at home and Sparks used to lye under my desk. She would put her head on my lap when she wanted attention and I would give her a luxurious head and neck rub. 

If Sparks remained staring at me, I knew it was time for her afternoon walk. As gracefully as a dog could, she would help me put her into her purple harness and I would connect her leash.

Sparks was with us fourteen-years. I recall thinking  a couple-of-years before she passed, that I would have to remember the moments when I rubbed her belly and she made happy sounds. I would need to think about how she cuddled into me with total trust and devotion. I would have to remember because one day she’d be gone.

It’s been awhile since Sparks left us and I haven’t had a dog to keep me company at home. 

My husband drove us to the Humane Society, one Saturday. To his excitement, we found a one-year-old dog who looked a great deal like Sparks when she was a puppy.

“What about her?”my husband asked me and I laughed.

“She’s perfect,” I said and we adopted Dakota.

——

Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting the Flash Fiction Challenge.

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——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Paper Bag Princess.”


  
Here’s for the meanings and the seemings,

The words we’ve been breathing, though they are concealing,

We’re never hidden behind steal, or a solid wall of bricks.

And we’re shamed, peeking out of ‘the cupboard,’ hiding like the Indian did from a childhood book.

 We move through our thoughts, the glances of others who don’t understand —

What it means to remain hidden.

——

They’re all out there with their sunglasses and dreamy looks,

 In a world finding love, come together — some love separates. 

And I haven’t spent the days before Valentine’s Day dreaming,

 I don’t need a man to give me flowers or chocolates. 

I don’t need more demands and inferences of combinations dialled,

Short and electric, but fizzles and drizzles, as the rain pours outside. 

Dividing our time between sleeping and daylight,

And the sun keeps on rising; 

I keep on imprivising all the things I’m construing,

In a mind filled with despising a guy who I left.

Who made me know what it hurts like to feel neglect,

After he’s gone on, but still calling — I wish he would stop.

 That I could forget all about these “tygers” and their wants. 

I’m not happy nor comfortable, unless they get their cut, pieces of my being;

They’re dividing me among each other, taking the best cuts and leaving the scraps.

—–

And outside is a puppy and I want to hold her, because she doesn’t need much —

Only to eat, walk, cuddle, play, and go wee.

She needs her nails clipped and her teeth brushed sometimes. 

I’m a woman begging everyday of her life for things I’m uninspired to give,

If you won’t even attempt to do better, make it as important as a ‘business deal.’

 I’m not above you or below you you dirty-thirty-something.

 I’m just looking for meaning among people who are loyal.

I’m caught in my dreams, betwixt the real and the “real” in this Wonderland. 

And if we look through the ‘looking glass’ we only see people in poverty,

Who are thinking only of eating and surviving. 

Loving doesn’t matter much when you are looking for fresh water, 

When you’re sickly and dying — or does it matter most?

——

But here, won’t you hear me —

In our first- world of problems — 

I’m trying! I’m trying — but it’s never enough.

You dragons eat your steaks and leave me with nothing but my dry bones. 

You ravish a ‘paper-bag princess’ and leave her without a stitch;

Clothes that cover her heart.

And you suck her organs dry of blood and all matter,

You leave a her exposed for the vultures to grasp at,

 You break open a bottle of liquor and the whole room explodes, 

Covered in champagne and the bubbles make you choke.

Sifting through closets, cover up my exposed heart,

I don’t want to reveal myself but in the “real” world I must.

 Because if your broken your fixable and can be put back together,

 A mirror that’s shattered and eternally busted.

——

And these words may make little sense but that’s what you call — prose poetry,

Of a girl, who’s  a woman, who’s a child, who’s lured by the promises,

Of a blackness so bleak no one can see in front of their face,

Because in the darkest depths, the light shines brightest.

Arise and save yourself, 

Think of the words to describe your freedom desired —

Taylor Swift wrote it well: ” It’s too late for you and your white horse to catch me now.”

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

That Day Came: My Dog is Old


NikkiThe first moment I saw my puppy in the pet store (because you were still allowed to sell dogs in the pet store when I was 17-years-old) is forever etched in my mind. My families old dog Spunky a Chihuahua Terrier had passed away a few years earlier but I had never known her as puppy, that I can remember. Spunky was cute but she was my Mom’s dog. Nikki, the puppy I saw in the pet store for the first time became my dog and my Dad’s. She snuggled with me and came to me for attention and went to my Dad for rough housing and runs.

The first time I saw Nikki in the pet store with my brother’s I knew she was ours. At the cash register I picked her up and held her fluffy soft miniature body with floppy ears against my neck and as I petted her and hushed her wimpers with ” Shhhh… it will be alright” your going home now” she began to relax in my arms. She was tiny and fury with a bare pink tummy and floppy ears. She was also the runt of the litter and was a scrappy puppy fending off her 2 furrier brothers. When we took her home I placed her in her small crate in the side of our van and later realized how scared she must have been in there. Then when we arrived home I took her out of her crate and place her against my neck and carried her inside. The whole family gathered around her on the living room floor to coo and remark how cute she was.

When it seemed she was having trouble wondering who she should go to she climbed into my crossed legs and ever since has been my girl. She chewed through Nyla bones like you wouldn’t believe and my favorite hoody had strings on it that she also used to teethe. She would claw her way up the front of the coach and sit on me when I lay on the couch in our old house and she would snuggle in and chew the hoody strings.

The first time she saw herself in the mirror was a big surprise and she wondered who that other dog was in the room but she was smart and that wonder didn’t last long. And the first time I took her to sleep on my bed she would nip at my toes that were under the covers until she discovered what those 2 points beneath my covers were. I would wake up many mornings with little Nikki on my chest or on my legs stretched out and as she got bigger it became impossible for her to share my twin bed and she slept on my parents bed or would try to fit her entirely too big body into her crate, her rump end hanging out. When we moved to a new house, she somehow burrowed her way under my parents bed and when she got to fat for that she slept beside my Dad on the floor.

I have a great deal of memories with Nikki — walking her in the park when I first became ill for 30 minutes a few times a week, Nikki running her heart out with my Dad, Nikki climbing into my lap or sitting up and straight like a little human in my arms, Nikki knowing when I was crying and coming over to comfort me, playing “greedy dog” with her squeeky toys, and Nikki keeping 2 balls to herself at once as we would at our on peril, try to steal one or both balls back.

Nikki also loved to beg and I remember sneaking her treats every night at supper without even knowing it, I think the family did that. She wanted a treat every time she came in from the outside and had a  thing for sneaking out the back yard down the alley until someone would have to go and get her back. I remember her getting lost and always coming right back home. She always knew where she lived. I remember her making dogs 3 times her size ( she is a medium breed) tremble in fear and her utter hate of poodles and “frufee” dogs.

We had to lock her up when company came. She is a pack dog and loves her family, but not anyone else, especially not with curly hair. I remember when she accepted Grandma and Baba into the pack. I remember how she used to try to usurp Nathan from his place in the pack because he was the youngest child. And I remember the day she became old and sickly.

It was just this year. She started to stay downstairs and wouldn’t come up off the coach. Her paws all began to swell up and she wouldn’t eat. Rheumatoid arthritis the vet told us and gave us steroids for her but we are finding they only sort of help her. She painfully and carefully awakes from sleep and hobbles to her water dish. We give her a steroid but still she is in pain. Her tail which always wagged, isn’t wagging anymore, it is slumped and hunched much like she is. She seems happy a lot of the time and just likes to be petted. She sleeps and hobbles, trying to follow you around but it is difficult to watch when she can barely make it up 3 shallow stairs.

How can something so alive and frisky have her day come. Her rheumatoid arthritis hit like that and she went from being a middle-aged dog to an old dog of 12-years. The years passed by slowly it seemed as if we were on a giant Ferris wheel that one day reached the old and crickety chair at the bottom of the wheel. How did she get so old I wonder? She has good breeds in her that can live to 20-years, but I don’t know if that will happen.

She is old, that day came for her and with that day the reminder that in life many things, even our own human lives, are temporary. It is difficult to see my old friend in pain, she is a puppy to me still. She gave me so much now I give to her all I can, hoping to ease her suffering. It doesn’t seem right or fair that any of us should age from such glorious days of youth to become nothing more than memories. And animals, I am told, have no soul so what becomes of them? Do they fade into nothingness? For there will never be any animal like my Nikki again. She won’t be resurrected. She will simply go back to God.