My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Pinterest, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

Notable Quotes: August 2017 Part Two #Quotes #Pinterest


Welcome to almost September and Fall. I love Autumn but I also hate that it means summer is over! Here’s Quotes to inspire your week! 

1. 

http://www.pinterest.com 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Nature, Writing, Writing Challenges

100 Word Wednesday: Fishing for Life #amwriting #poetry #100WordWednesdays 


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays.

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Credit: Bikurgurl

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We live along the river in delapitated shanties. At sunrise we sleepily pull on our rubber boots and checked flannel shirts. It’s late fall and the days are chillier. It doesn’t mean we can’t fish, but the joy of a temperate summer is a distant memory. Gone are the laughter filled nights of plentiful fish, drinking rice wine until midnight. 

Harsh temperatures have arrived. Our mornings are early so we can chase the waning light. Evening arrives and the catch is not terrible but not plentiful. The fish at this time of year are wiggly and stronger. 

I shiver in the morning light, winter’s stinging winds drawing near. Soon the river will be coated with ice. Then, all we can do is drill a hole and hope for something to bite — anything.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Books, Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, My Thoughts, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: ‘All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here’ #amwriting #flashfiction #Dante #TheInferno


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

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“THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye. Justice the founder of my fabric moved: To rear me was the task of Power divine, Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” –  The Divine Comedy, The Inferno (Canto III. Lines 1 -9). 

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“Abandon all hope? How can this be right?  I didn’t kill anyone and I was no pervert. I stood for my political office. I did what I had to do,” Ker said. 

“How do you know it was the right cause?” 

“Well, I just do.”

“What about those you hurt along the way? Your wife, Meredith, who now rests in Heaven’s fold? You’re here at the gates of Hell at the river Acheron for a reason,” the wise Charon told Ker. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, to use her to get where I needed to go. I loved her, but I didn’t mean to leave her. I prayed and I apologized. I admitted my sins to a priest in confession. Yet, here I am in Hell at the Traitors’ Gate, why here?”

Charon sighed and whisked the regretful Ker’s soul into the boat. “I wonder Ker, where Midas will send you? Will you be in the eighth circle as a corrupt politician or the ninth circle for being a traitor to your wife, to your family? Will you spend eternity ‘a Judas?'”

Ker shook his head, “This is nothing but a dream. Dante’s Inferno does not exist. I won’t abandon hope, I won’t. Meredith is not dead and I’m not really here.”

“But you did stop hoping and you’re a traitor so now you face the Traitors’ Gates. You are one of them and that’s why this gate is where you will enter into the ninth circle of Hell.”

“What?! I’m so sorry, I mean it. I repent. I’ll do better and change my ways. Tell me this is just a dream, let me have another chance.”

Charon chuckled and shook his head wearily.”It seems someone up high is fighting for your soul, Ker, I don’t why because your soul is pitch black. Yet, you will have another chance. Remember you won’t get another.”

—–

Ker awakes suddenly whispering pleading prayers in words of Latin and Ancient Greek. He doesn’t know why he understands these prayers to God, but he does. Ker attempts to pick up his smartphone nearby but feels terrible pain whenever he moves. 

Then, his beautiful Meredith walks in the hospital room door. “Meredith? I thought you were dead. That you would never speak to me again. I thought you were in Heaven and I was in Hell, I dreamt it.”

Meredith smiled at Ker with love despite how he had treated her recently: “Who do you think asked God to give you a second chance? I gave up eternity for a later time, hoping you will be there with when I return. Now you must fulfill your promises made in front of Charon.”

“So, can you change, Ker? Can you stop being a traitor and fight for ‘the good’ in this world? Can you fight for me, for us, for our family?” Meredith asked. 

Ker was just grateful to be alive. He swore to do better in life, in love, and he did. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, Free Verse, History, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Relationship, Travel, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 12 – NaPoWriMo/ A to Z Challenge/FFfAW: Poem – Free Verse – “The River’s Course” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #poetry #flashfiction


Today’s NaPoWriMo is to “write a poem that explicitly incorporates alliteration (the use of repeated consonant sounds) and assonance (the use of repeated vowel sounds).” For A to Z Challenge the GoodReads quote is from the letter L. As well, thanks to Pricless Joy for hosting FFftAW.


Water and Rocks FFftAW
Credit: Maria of Doodles and Scribbes

“The thing about love is that you will never run out of it. It’s an ever-flowing river. So go ahead and LOVE. What are you saving all this love for — death?”
Kamand Kojouri


 

The river she flows fluent, flourishing in her mad descent,

Rapids, water reeling past rocks leading her to a path of providence.

Fast, and fleet, a river rivaling; I’ve experienced —

On the weary trail, the river cutting, crushing the rocks.

She carves her path, ploughing silt to the shore,

Debris of dramatic, erosion deciding on the the crooked carved path.

The water, she must flow, finding her fabulous spark in the light of —

Lumionous sunlight, searing in the afternoon heat.

For this river runs through the desert, the orange, organic trails,

Mixed with red-rock, rizing in the Arizona afternoon.

Cliffs creating a canyon so deep and wide, where the water dances through.

No one to stop her destruction of rock, her pounding so hard it hurts,

But the river rivals all, keeps on carving her way —

Through the canyon cringing, when she chops off more silt.

Off its brilliant fire, she finds a place where the —

River rests in waterfalls crashing and carniverous,

Then she wanes as she reaches shore and and lays back breathing,

At ease, she is pleased and settles,

Against the sand of some beach, somewhere; she’s oblivious —

Simply sliding against sand,

No more cutting of solid rock required,

Tranquility is in the tide, easing in and out,

The river finds, rests with her lover,

Her and the shore are silent heart beats.


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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Are Reserved.

Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Flash Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Writing, Writing Challenges

Saturday Mix Flash Fiction: The Weeping Willow and The Rabbit #amwriting #flashfiction #talltales


Thanks to Bastet for hosting Saturday Mix on MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. Today’s theme is ‘Tall Tales.’ 

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Credit: GSK 16

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The sky was falling in large drops of blue glass. The weeping willow was the first to notice so she cried. Her tears gathered creating a river with the drops from the sky. 

A mighty rabbit hopped by, he was a bit confused as to where all this water was coming from. 

“Ms. Willow why are you crying a river?” he asked. 

“I’m a weeping willow and the sky is falling haven’t you noticed?” 

The rabbit nodded, “Well yes of course it falls. Each time it rains, snows, or hails, the sky falls.” 

“You need to stop crying. You’re going to drown everyone in your tears. I’m the  king of all animals, you better listen to me.” 

“Why?” 

“My friend is a massive blue ox named Babe. His friend named Paul chops down trees for a living.” 

The willow immediately stopped weeping and the rabbit’s triumphant roar was heard throughout the forest. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneer, My Thoughts, Nature, Writing, Writing Challenges

Friday Fictioneer: The Winter the Snow Never Stopped #amwriting #flashfiction #snow


Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting FF.

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Credit: Sarah Potter

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The snow began yesterday and hadn’t stopped. By 5:00 pm it was night and the snow continued. Sara peered outside and could see the fat flakes steadily falling. They accumulated into two-foot piles and the city was forced to run the snow plows to clear the roads. 

It snowed for six months starting in December without stopping but remained eerily calm outside and around -12 degrees Celsius. It was difficult for Sara to even buy groceries. The walls of thick snow made her claustrophobic. 

 At the end of May, Sara crept outside and heard the first trickle of the water. The snow had begun to melt. Now, the river was rising and flooding was a concern. 

There was no winning with Mother Nature. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Over Troubled Waters #amwriting #paranormal #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW:

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Credit: Joy Pixley

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“When you’re down and out / When you’re on the street / When evening falls so hard /I will comfort you (ooo) / I’ll take your part, oh, when darkness comes / And pain is all around / Like a bridge over troubled water / I will lay me down / Like a bridge over troubled water / I will lay me down.” – “Bridge Over Troubled Water” – Simon and Garfunkel 

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Wes called up to a young woman sitting on the bridge ledge. 

He gulped and climbed up beside her, assessing her. She shook her head, “I’m not here to jump, it’s only peaceful up here.” 

He settled beside the woman on edge. “I’m Wes,” he said, “I’m not a fan of heights. I don’t understand how you can sit here and find it tranquil.” 

She laughed, “I’m Becca, Wes. Scoot back and look at everything from this gorgeous view.” 

“See, the moon’s a giant light in the sky illuminating everything so the bridge doesn’t feel eerie at night. Now, look at the water below you.” 

He peered down: “I see darkness, turbulence, and fear. I see a river where too many people have jumped and drowned in.”

“You see this bridge as dangerous Wes. But without the bridge, no one would get across to the otherside. Without people in our life–our friends, loved ones, God, helpful strangers –we wouldn’t make it through troubled waters.

“Yeah, I know Becca,” he said.”It’s like the song by Simon and Garfunkel.” 

“Sometimes, we help ourselves, with a little effort.” 

“What?” 

“You stopped yourself, having every intention of jumping before you saw me,” Becca said gently. 

You saved me Becca,”  Wes admitted. 

She shook her head and smiled, disintegrating. He gasped, carefully, moving off the ledge onto the bridge’s walkway. 

Wes ran home; he had hope.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneer, My Thoughts, Writing

Friday Fictioneer: Gone For A Swim #flashfiction #amwriting


Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff for hosting FF. 

Credit: CEAyr

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 “You don’t ever come out here on this balcony alone, don’t open the doors, and no going into the river,” Sandra told her daughters sternly. 

“Why Mommy?” Mia and Ilah asked. 

“You can’t swim my dears. If you fall into the river you’ll drown. Mommy would be so sad without her girls.” 

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A day into vacation, Sandra left briefly to buy sandwiches for Mia and Ilah.  

As soon as their Mom left, the girls unlocked the balcony doors and pulling a chair outside, both of them climbed up onto the balcony ledge. 

“Want to go in?” Ilah asked Mia. She nodded and they held each others’ hands and jumped. 

 Sandra returned to hear her girls’ screams. She dove in the river to save them but it was of no use. 

Tears mixed with water as she realized, her daughters were gone. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.  

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

Poem: Free Verse – “The Writings On The Wall Reveal You” #amwriting #poetry #relationships 


http://www.badjocks.com

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Am I real?

When you look at me,

Do you see me for me?

Do you care what you see?

I’ve only questions,

While you play your cards close.

I’m not going to cheat,

Peer at your hand because —

I’m afraid what I’ll see.

Such truths, I don’t want to gaze upon —

Unfaithfulness,

Only physicality, sexuality;

No emotion or affection,

No conversation in person,

No Voice stroking voice.

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Hands speak with our words,

Eyes glint and reveal,

Secrets you’d rather hide,

With sunglasses.

Staring at your hand,

Trying to beat my cards.

Poker face silent, emotionless;

All bets are off.

Time to show me your cards,

What the river dealt you —

Matters not; but for now,

Play how you like.

Fold if you’re scared,

Of falling into deep,

Of feeling emotion.

Your heart picking-up,

Thumping a beat.

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But, perhaps, I’m a woman for fodder,

For a lonely night at home.

Perhaps, I’m not pretty enough,

Not thin enough for you.

Maybe, you know I’ll ask questions?

Questions you have trouble answering.

Maybe, you know —

I’ll turn the wanderer in your soul home,

And welcome you in my arms.

Maybe you’re not ready,

Perhaps, your only an ass.

A nice way of saying,

Other words I want to shout.

Perhaps, I’m only a date —

And one night.

Is this how you treat women?

I’m too strong for your tricks.

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You may forget my face,

My name, my body.

You may let me do the walk of shame,

Thinking I’m fooled by you,

The man I liked all along;

You may believe —

Finally, you wore me down.

And now I’m flattened,

Nothing left to sculpt,

Nothing left to shatter.

Smithereens, glass embedded.

You may have led me astray,

Made me consider:

I no longer think,

Some guys are good,

And some guys do care.

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But when I chose you,

Maybe I didn’t realize,

I was choosing all wrong.

Maybe, I should’ve gazed above me —

Seen the ‘writings on the wall.’

Seen the woman in her glory,

Waiting for her own life,

On wings to rise and fly;

From your lies and tricks;

You didn’t shatter me,

I saw all the writings,

Every word on that damn wall,

I know all your horrific secrets;

And I read them all.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

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

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Prose – “Poker Face”


Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on things you remember. Try to focus on specific details, and don’t worry about whether the memories are of important events, or are connected to each other. You could start by adopting Brainard’s uniform habit of starting every line with “I remember,” and then you could either cut out all the instances of “I remember,” or leave them all in, or leave just a few in. At any rate, hopefully you’ll wind up with a poem that is heavy on concrete detail, and which uses that detail as its connective tissue. Happy writing!

Please see NaPoWriMo for more information.

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There are memories and memories inbetween memories, things you shouldn’t know. But I write and I say, what naturally comes to flow. Spending a day building raw story into characters who have flaws and appeal. Characters who are relatable and show affection, lust, a special connection with each other.

 I am building story from the ground level, thanks to a friend, who tore my story down line by line so I am able to build. I’m grateful for everything he sees that I do not. How the story doesn’t flow and how the characters actually appear.

What’s believable in real life? I think an interesting situation because the story involves magic and in real life we don’t believe in curses and the power of magic. We write of it extensively wishing for such power, such talents, such super-human abilities. Probably because we’re human, and sometimes being human makes a person feel mighty small. 

Today’s memories are about editing and refinement. Answering questions I wouldn’t know how to ask. I’m learning. Digging deeper, past the simple, into the complex. I don’t want a one-dimensional story. Though it has magic I want the characters to be real people and I want their flaws and likes/dislikes to show. I want what they’re good at, their occupations, their speech and actions, the people they have around them, to demonstrate their characters.

The minds of people are endlessly fascinating, especially the minds of those who say everything or say nothing. My Grandpa said little, his mind was complicated. He was a Pastor whose smoking habit ended his life at seventy-three -years-old. He would ask questions which made one think and consider alternate routes as he taught me the games of cribbage, chess, and when we attempted cryptograms and crossword puzzles. Grandpa’s questions always hinted at digging deeper, searching for another method, and missed details.

But my Godfather, he says everything. And what he says is thought-provoking. He is always thinking of other people, how to help. He is the bestfriend to his friends and he has many. He can listen but mostly he talks and he’s wise with his words.

I miss him and the second place I call home, his and my Godmothers charming house. His wisdom and continual thinking, his belief in God solving all problems, and finding answers from an omniscient God are well expressed; he gives me such peace after we’ve had a conversation or I’ve listened to him talk.

 And I’m thinking about a paint night I’m doing with friends at the bar Sunday night. Painting, did you know I love it? I will need a couple drinks to merely do as the instructor says, but I know what my hands and mind will do.

 I will mix the paint, either ruin or add to the design. I desire creativity. I’ve said it before, creativity cannot be boxed in its true form. But with a drink or two and two good friends, the evening will pass and I’ll come home, painting in hand.

 Also, finding a good guy — one whom you enjoy being with and talking with is difficult. You need to be attracted to their looks and their intelligence. You hope they such as you, have plans to do ‘something’ with their life. Finding a guy with all these parameters, is it asking too much? I’m not sure. I’m not extensively experienced here.

But time after time I’m disappointed when a date becomes, “come over to my place,” usually at night but sometimes in the day. There is no dating involved. There is no understanding of, ” I’m not interested.” And certain men keep messaging or calling. 

I’m not adverse to sleeping with the right guy. I haven’t found a right guy lately. I don’t know if I’m such as Alice’s friend at tea I’m, ‘mad as a hatter’ to believe there are good guys out there who want to have fun out of bed and when a woman trusts them, in bed too. Laying that foundation of trust is vital.

 I don’t think this thought of mine is right accordingto God but I’m trying to find a happy middle. Maybe my happy middle won’t make me happy? 

I’m tired of guys who only want a night here and there. That was university, I’m going to be thirty-one in July. I’m not twenty-one and even twenty-one year old me would have smacked a guy who kept after her after she repeatedly told him to back off.

Guys don’t get it, they scar women. This is stuff I cannot believe I’m writing but eighteen-year-old me was extremely naive at the bar. Her friend ditched her for some guy. She was all alone and trying to get away from this guy who followed her around the bar. She didn’t have the confidence a girl three or so years older had at the bar, batting away and shooting down idiots before they became stalkers for the night. 

She was so stupid. It’s effected her sense of trust ever since. He didn’t stop for a long time; it only felt like eternity. The repeated “No” in his ears, he was deaf to it until she cried wet tears. There were different guys after that, few who she didn’t mind getting close to.

But always, I have this disgust for men who treat women as if a woman’s existence is for their pleasure, because she wants or needs sex too. Should she have to sleep with a man after she has deliberated and said, “no?” No she shouldn’t, it’s always a woman’s choice, it’s her body after all.

Guy’s scar with their repeated advances boardering on harassment. They scar bruising you badly where they should be gentle. You look to see how purple your bruises are. Not understanding how he didnt comprehend, “don’t be rough.” 

Enough. To much info. But this poem is prose; it is memories past and to come — some awful and some exciting. Building memories writing and living in a world that can be cruel at times. 

But I think if you’re building if you’re working towards a goal you can be proud you’re using your talents despite the cards life and your stupid self may have dealt you playing poker.

Cheesy analogy but ever since I learned to play poker — Texas Holdem — in the basement of my Pastor’s house with friends I’d grown up or met in church at that time, I always think back to poker seeing such a carry over for life. 

Each day, place your bets and see what the ‘river’ holds, and how the cards in your hand can be played. Ask for another card if you dare, trading one in . . . 

We’d drink beer and play poker. We’d watch NFL football and play video games. I never entirely got why some days my poker playing was terrific, while other days I could fold most hands and end up broke. We paid twenty dollars in a pot at the beginning of each game. At times my one brother and I would play with the other players until 3:00 am or 4:00 am in the morning.

I didn’t play much poker after those years ended. But I feel sometimes as if I’m placing my bet, and trying desperately to hold onto my poker face. Tomorrow, more building. It keeps me going.

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“Poker Face” – Lady Gaga

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.