A L' Arora, Event, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Quotes, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 5 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge: Poem – A L’Arora – “Steps To Eternity” #amwriting #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge


For Day 5, the NaPoWriMo poetry prompt is ” to write a poem that is based in the natural world: it could be about a particular plant, animal, or a particular landscape. But it should be a slice of the natural world that you have personally experienced and optimally, one that you have experienced often.” The accompanying A to Z Challenge today starts with a GoodRead’s author’s quote, with a name beginning with the letter E.


Forest Pathway NaNo
Credit: http://www.combiboilersleeds.com

“I’d rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.” ― Emma Goldman


*****

Down the path of foliage, between all the trees,

It’s where I find my space, my home sweet home.

There’s something about crisp green leaves,

Wet after the rain, while the dew clings, not letting go.

With road passing through, steps to eternity,

Enthrall me in summer’s breath, the scent of the morning,

Let me stay in mother nature, her security.

*****

Tree branches entwining, limbs gripped with passion,

Used to the presence of parallel lovers.

They’re completely attached, unwilling to let go,

Nymphs holding fast, enraptured with each other,

With the road passing through, steps to eternity, 

Absorbing the thrill of the mid-summer fairy dance.

Let me stay in mother nature, her security.

*****

Some brilliant reckless person crafted this road,

Travelers speeding through trees, guarding the sacred path.

Some pause knowing they’ve discovered sanctuary,

Freedoms breeze, they’ll stop to admire the sentinels guarding.

With the road passing through, steps to eternity,

A place where verdant nature, holds a secret prosperity.

Let me stay in mother nature, her security.

*****

For hours I’ve wandered through lush trees,

Delicate roses growing, shadowed by dripping leaves.

Overcome am I, by epic beauty, of roses sweetly pink,

Crushing them in my hands, to absorb the memories.

With the road passing through, steps to eternity.

Inhaling the fragrance of aspiring life, in roses soft,

Let me stay in mother nature, her security. 

*****

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

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

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “A Nightmare of Ink” #amwriting #poetry #nightmares


Thank you to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the his week’s Photo Prompt chalkenge.

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Credit: Reylia.deviantart.com

——-

She holds the flowers teaming with a life force all their own, 

Knowing the ombré blue blossoms will escape; 

Flutter into the world carried on the wind, 

Pettles and fluffy white seeds blown across the land. 

Messengers of hope and artistry, a beauty undefinable. 

Her hands tightly grasp the stems, no thorns to prick errant fingers. 

She can’t let go, however, she she tries, 

Hands entrapped on rough stems holding too hard. 

So rigid are her hands, blood comes forth, 

The pressure of her grip too intense;

With great thought, he watches her, observes her reactions, 

She doesn’t understand why he’s hurting her; she needs help. 
She’s dressed in her navy dress and in life he loves it, 

In her dream, he picks at the fabric of her sleeve in disgust. 

Mumbling to himself, then struck with a thought, 

He’s found a thin fluted vase in blue to match her flowers. 

She doesn’t conprehend the symbolism or the reason, 

When ink he pours onto her flowers from the vase. 

He stains her hands until they appear black, 

The flowers are ruined and slicked with ink like oil. 

The streaming ink is everywhere, 

Her beloved smiles at her, he chucks her chin and winks, 

Takes the flowers and places them in the vase. 

The ink is all over her hands and arms;

Hers and his, and he’s laughing. 

Saying how difficult ink is to remove from one’s skin, 

So he cradles her face and he kisses her long, 

But then she awakes in her dream, 

To permenant ink stains all over her face and hands.

He smirks at her, walks away no care for the ink staining him. 

The moon gleams in the sky and it rains — buckets of tar black ink, 

Caressing her body, covering as sludge, dripping and spilling. 

What value is ink if she has no pen’s cartridge to put it in? 

She’s not able to use it to write. 

The world around is flooded by this precious commodity, 

And when she finally awakes for real, all is forgotten. 

Yet, the hands she holds up to the sunlight, 

Are stained dark black;

She’s tattood in the memory of a dream, 

Nightmares and reality never giving way to truth. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

 

Children/YA/Family, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, Licentia - aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Poem – Licentia – “Some Magical World” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers


Last week’s Tale Weavers prompt was for us to write about a magical place. Thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting. 

—–

Credit: Adventures In The Wild

——

Place I drift when life hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling.

A magical place where the grass stands high,

Lush ’round my legs, where Gerber daisies spy.

Tipping towards the sun, technicolor,

Bright, inspiring, blue of sky discover.

A hole in the ground or Wonderland? 

Pixie dust sparkling in my hair, Neverland? 

Is this my own magic kingdom I’ve found? 

Place my mind travels inspired profound.

Place I drift when life hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling 

——

A magical place where the grass stands high,

Lush ’round my legs, where Gerber daisies spy. 

A hiding place where I often prefer,

Don’t search for me in my valley secure. 

I’m riding raindrops, kissing the sun,

I’ve never had so much freedom or fun. 

Gentlemen here, always decent and sweet, 

A wink in their eye, naughty whispers keep.

They’ll treat a girl well, hold tight if she weeps, 

And if you would like, they’ll love you to sleep. 

Place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling.

——

Tipping towards the sun, technicolor,

Bright, inspiring, blue of sky discover.
Gerber daisies everywhere with roses, 

Brilliant vivacity, colors exposed. 

Pixies trailing their dust eternally, 

Wings of lace light night, give hope certainly. 

Everything’s first bloom, so never spurn, 

This place humbles beautiful; with tears yearn

No contacts, surgery needed to peer, 

With clarity of soul, all vision clears. 

Place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling 

——-

A hole in the ground or Wonderland? 

Pixie dust sparkling in my hair, Neverland? 
Here is my land, I’m caregiver among —

Faeries with animals exotic, young. 
In their best-years forever, conversing —

Plainly; furry adore cuddles, nothing terse. 

A tiger cub sits by me so befuddled, 

When wolf pup becomes part of our den.

When I cheer because each word I’ve written —

Makes sense; stories flow unrestricted

 A place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling 

——

Is this my own magic kingdom I’ve found?

Place my mind travels inspired profound.
A comfortable place where I sit typing, 

Art studio where brush strokes have foresight.

Friends visit often, chocolate’s water

No weight gained, eight squares a day should be sought. 

Parties like Gatsby’s with flapper clothing, 

Each night unique theme, we don’t bemoan. 

As if we’re happy drunk with extra spunk,

Able to keep life in moderation’s trunk. 

A place I drift when life it hurts, inspiring —

Ethereal dreamscapes adventures beguiling.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Beauty, Black Out, Fashion, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Black Out Prompt: Poem – Black Out – ” Not Roses” #amwriting #poetry #beauty #politics


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Black Out Prompt: 

—–

Credit: February 2017 INSTYLE Magazine

——-

Spring collection first shown, standout trends captivate. 

Pretty pink dresses, bandeau tops [are] proposed by influential, 

Femininity, classic ladylike variety reflected, underlying desire.

Creative support for the power and rights [of women], 

At a critical moment, clothes mirror complexity and chaos.

[A] new creative pointed statement, paying tribute, 

[Reminding us] attend the collection, printed with a line —

[It] leans [to] the left, favor[ing us] suffragettes. 

Explicit in making politics known, a reaction to unsettling results, 

 [Women and] fashion imagined entering a [new] season, 

Clothing playing [an] unexpected role, [our] viewpoints, [what] the world wears —

Becomes a political act. 

Interpretation, construeing message of inclusion, 

[There’s an] intention to celebrate women, 

We can all agree, [we need] be attentive and open to the world, to our creativity

[It] reflects our desiresembracing the imagery of strong, 

[What we wear is a] universal language women embrace. 

 [Your] engagement [demonstrates] how perceptions can change, 

Judged the same, we don’t assume shallow or [too] serious. 

Imagine in the coming years [unyielding] support, consider —

A contrary affect; [our] standards represent [our] enormous role. 

Perceive beauty’s responsibility taken seriously, 

Heartening to see interest in lives, so moved [knowing] —

We’re more and [moving forward with all] pioneering women, 

We’re not [merely] roses. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nature, November Notes, Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

November Notes: Poem – Day 23 – Tankas – ” Never Us”


Today’s song prompt is “You Are a Memory” by Message to Bear.


 

“You Are a Memory” – Message to Bear


 

http://www.pinterest.com

 

Our pictures scattered,

Cross the ground, snowflakes —

Gathering, wetting,

Our times together lost in,

Snow, packing higher, hiding.


 

Tired of calling, this

Is the last time I’m telling —

You, put my name on,

Your list of significance,

So daft –never mind, too late.


 

Today I quit you,

Today I saw through you and —

Snow piled up on–

Pictures meaning nothing much,

Goodbye, you’re just glass; I’m steel.


 

Walking beneath trees,

Nature inviting me back in,

Your frosty winter —

Gone when spring comes with daisies,

Buttercups, roses, grass.


 

Met you one last time,

Found our pictures decaying,

You looked beneath, saw —

The blue and it was stunning,

But it was never us, thank God.


 


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

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

My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Three Line Tales, Writing

3Line Tales:  Dogs and Death Flowers.


Thank you to Sonya from 100 Words or Less for hosting this week’s prompt.

Kazuend

—–

 1. My dog used to burry her nose in flowers, when she walked outside in Spring and Summer; it was the loveliest moment to witness her absorbing the scent of flowers with her sharp sense of smell; the flowers must have smelled pleasing to her, a fragerent blossom she adored, because the dog would leave her nose buried in the flowers for longer then was necessary to simply check-out a smell; she loved how flowers smelt.

——-

2. A unique talent this dog had was helping me choose the perfect perfume; whenever I received a new magazine in the mail, I would open the flap of the perfumed pages and hold them out for her to smell one page at a time; it got to the point where the dog would expect to do this every time a new fashion magazine came; she could tell if the magazine was one for her to smell and decide if a perfume smelt heavenly, disgusting, or somewhere inbetween; if she liked the scent she would sniff the page, smelling the scent for a while before walking away; if the scent was bad she would smell the page and sneeze a few times right away; and if the scent was only okay, she would smell it, wait a while and then sneeze once; true enough, the scents she sneezed at were never scents I purchased or liked.

——–

3. I’m not sure what kind of flowers these are, they are beautiful and ugly; they speak of springs presence, of hope, and renewal, but I’ve always had this issue with little white flowers, inherited from my Mother; flowers that remind me carnationd, which are small are similar to these flowers pictured, remind me of death; Grandpa Wilson had them on his casket when I was eight-years-old and when my Dad would bring these flowers home for my Mom, she’d sigh and say, “death flowers;” years later, Dad took the hint and now he brings Mom roses on special occasions.

——

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Relationship, Tanka - 5,7,5,7,7 syllables, Writing

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Tanka – ” Gerber Daisies Plus Roses “


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And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). It’s Friday, and writing poems isn’t easy! So let’s give ourselves a break with a simple prompt today. Poets have been writing about flowers since, oh, the dawn of time. So today, I challenge you to add your own poem to this long tradition, by finding a flower, and versifying in its honor. Happy writing!

For more information please see the website for NaPoWriMo.

——

Gerber Daisies and Roses

——–

I wish that you would buy me,

Giant Gerber Daisies, in every shade.

No guy has ever bought,

A bouquet of flowers for —

Me to gush over and adore.

—–

Don’t buy me the type,

Of flowers you would find on,

Caskets for funerals,

No Carnations please, for me,

As on Grandpa’s Coffin.

—-

I’m not huge on a —

Lily, though pretty coloured.

I’d much rather have,

Fantastic Gerber Daisies,

In Pink, Red, Orange, and Yellow.

—-

Such a happy bloom, Daisies seem to me,

They almost are more,

Beautiful then red roses,

But you could buy me both.

—-

Maybe, it’s rude to,

Be so specific to which,

Flowers I would adore,

Many arrangements are nice.

But I know you’re listening.

—-

So, you’ll buy me some,

Roses to accompany my most —

Loved, Gerber Daisies,

Brightening up the room in bloom.

Soft petals glowing, in light.

—–

Those guys who buy their,

Sweethearts flowers do find,

They are rewarded,

I might bake your beloved,

Cupcakes, a home cooked meal, or. . .

——

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

 

My Thoughts, Six Word Stories, Writing

Six Word Stories: December 11, 2015.


1. I tried hard; I still failed.

2. Shoot the puck; might go in.

3. Don’t be a quitter; try again.

4. He gave me roses; I cried.

5. The roses were black; for death.

6. Family are your people, you’re safe.

7. Family gives much security and love.

8. We learn to love through parents.

9. My dog is small, huddling sleeping.

10. My guy snuggles close; I’m safe.

11. Money is nice and spent fast.

12. I like to shop; I like giving.

13. Christmas reminds us of Jesus’ birth.

14. The expensive things, call to me.

15. Many people love luxury, that’s cheap.

16. And luxury doesn’t mean it’s quality.

17. Fashion goes out; older Fashion restyled.

18. What’s new today, is old tomorrow.

19. I like to sleep, dream peacefully.

20. My sleeping is likely disturbed again.

21. I laugh sometimes, no one hears.

22. Laughter is the sound of jingle bells.

23. Chocolate disappears on your tongue slowly.

24. Dark chocolate is for pleasure; sweet.

25. I adore chocolate cake freshly baked.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Wonderland 


Alicia Baker was going for her regular Sunday morning run into the river valley when she came upon a large white rabbit sitting still. The rabbit turned to look at her and stared at Alicia as he wiggled his nose. It was then she noticed a pocket watch clipped to his fur and if she was really honest, Alicia would tell you she thought the rabbit was inclining his head at her as if he wanted her to follow him. But Alicia would never admit to such imaginary notions. 

She picked up speed in her Lululemon running pants and top and started to run away from the rabbit. All was well until she stumbled onto a large hole in the ground. She stood at the prepice of the hole when that strange white rabbit with his pocket watch stood up and pushed her in the hole. 

Memories assaulted Alicia as she fell forever ending up in a familiar place she couldn’t quite identify. She saw the white rabbit again and angrily cried, “Wait.” But the rabbit kept pace ahead of her and as she followed it she heard a dreaded voice, a voice she hoped to never hear again. 

” Whose been painting my roses red?” 

Alicia now fully aware where she had fallen to, imagined roasting a rabbit over a spit. She ran her hands through her blond hair in frustration and remembering it was her unbirthday stomped off in search of a Mad Hatter, in need of cakes and tea. She’d done it again, she’d fallen into Wonderland.

  
Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction.