Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Prose Poetry – “Chop, chop. He Chops” #amwriting #flashfiction #lumberjack #prosepoetry


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Loretta Notto

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Chop, Chop. Chop the wood. Repeat. Chop. Chop. Day ends — Supper. Shower. Sleep too deep. Jarring alarm, awake again. Breakfast. Shower. Sore muscles hurt. Heat eases. More coffee. Uniform and axe. Greet the guys. Say hello — going off. All directions on the forest grid. Each with a partner. Nick is with me. A cadence of chops. Echoes. Chop. Chop. Chop the wood. Split it. Chop, chop. Chop the wood. The trees are felled. Grinding buzzing. Giant chain saw. Felling trees. Cutting logs. Then we chop. Chop, chop. Chop the wood. Lunch. Hungry. Seconds. Chop. Home. Shower. Supper. Eat. Sore muscles. Sleep and dream. Standing there. In her T-shirt. Sweet lips. Short shorts. Gentle laughter. Stroke of hand. Touch. So real. Chop, chop. Chop the wood. Dreaming. She’s gone. Three hours. Then, chop, chop. Chop the wood. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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Tale Weavers: Poem – Ninefold – “Snow and Spirit” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers 


The prompt for last week’s Tale Weaver is outside your front door. Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting.

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Credit: CJ. Mottley – http://www.deviantart.com

Outside the door, the snow blows so cold, 

Shivering turning our faces too bold;

Seeing beauty of the white world old. 

Here the winds bite at our skin, they turn —
Bare skin numb in seconds outside learn —

For now stay inside be warm discern

The soft fragility floating round air, 

Calls to our soul, beyond reason to care, 

Find peace and in Christmas spirit share. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem -Day 24 – Italian Sonnet – “The Blame”


This days song prompt is “Buses and Trains” by Bachelor Girls.


“Buses and Trains” – Bachelor Girls


woman-hiding
http://www.pinterest.com

Mom, you didn’t say, how cruel the world is,

I could blame you for it all, but I’m grown.

Teach me, I could’ve learned by your grace known.

Each day I’m run down by trains, it’s fun this–

Game; ears ringing from sound trains make hissing.

Or a bus in front of me is coming, near miss —

Only by seconds I’m safe, empty words moan.

Why do I being pulverized feel sewn

Together a quilt, with all pieces, its bliss.

How do I explain I needed guidance?

It hurts me, you decided, gave me up.

 Without your words, boys became as chocolate,

Choosing the worst, failing being grown-up.

Addicted, inhaling them, drug sate.

You could’ve taught me better, it’s too late.


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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

Poem: Free Verse –  “Fraility Flailing” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt Frail.

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http://www.nited-academics.org

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We walk the golden path; we’re frail, 

Is there any other way to wander?

No one stronger or wiser left to fight?

But we’ve aged within minutes, 

We forgot to gaze behind us, 

To see what the past left for us;

Wisdom and knowledge with a bloody trail. 

Instead, we’re continuing on a broken path, 

We’re frail, aging humans by the seconds;

Counting our tomorrows,

Before we have them granted.

Not listening to our elders;

Who lost life, limb, peace, to war and grief.

We don’t look skyward to the heavens, 

We watch our own feet tremble.

Stuttering we stumble down the trail.

Dragging our canes and walkers;

We’re riddled with bullet holes.

Wounds we never felt, 

We never gave up our guns;

Never thought what “security,” meant,

For our children and grandchildren.

We’re all exceedingly frail, 

As if we were ancient beings;

We carry their genes but their wisdom, 

We breathe out like carbon.

The hurricane winds blow through our ears, 

Blocking out what we don’t want to hear. 

Truth is a dangerous weapon, 

The truth can change direction.

The truth can smart and hurt, 

Our lungs can barely breathe.

It degrades and humiliates, 

It stings our eyes and it turns, 

Focused vision, to grey static.

The truth it always is revealed, 

Until all we can see is real.

But real has no pertinent meaning, 

When what you’re used to, 

Lies promoted and shouted.

Lies built upon lies, 

More colourful than, 

The Grande Canyon’s layered rock.

We hide behind our lies, 

It makes us distrusting.

Flailing, we cannot believe in anyone;

Not even ourselves to do what’s right.

We cannot elect using logic; 

No true king on this earthly realm, 

To lead us to glory and home.

We don’t even have faith in, 

Our own minds and bodies.

We’re so frail, as paper cranes crushed, 

As tissue paper torn without thought.

We cannot lift our fingers to point, 

To teach unlearning children lessons, 

Before they end up like us.

We’re frail; yet we don’t know the meaning, 

But as assuredly as the world turns, 

Our ashes and dust, 

Will blow away in the wind.

The sands of time keep swirling, 

And we’re growing ever closer, 

To our own cremation;

We think we have forever, 

But our steps are forgotten memories, 

Or thoughts not even the silt of dirt.

Frailty so visible, we lumber around slowly, 

In our slumber losing memories.

We forget to see where yesterday led, 

Blindly we falter and walk where we may;

Into tears, and traps, we’re used, betrayed —

Abused and hopeless.

But we reap what we sew;

Our harvest was distrust and darkness, 

A black-hole eating consuming all good.

We’re frail, until we fall where we walk, 

Because life is faulty and frail too;

And our short time, 

Has been for not;

If we cannot learn from our past, 

See how history repeats no matter the leader.

But we are human, 

So we do not learn, 

Thinking we’re invincible; 

Until the day we’re not.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Alouettes – “Time Whispers” #wordhighjuly #amwriting #poetry



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http://www.mastermindsolutions.ca

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Transported back in, 

Time we see motion.

Life changing as minutes pass.

Cannot return there.

For we are now here.

Not in memory, or past.

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Gunita capture, 

Threads which sewn fast were,

Unravelled in the mind of, 

Our recollections.

Our past devotions.

Needles sewing, they swerve.

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Stitching anew life, 

Pricking with new strife.

New memories become past.

Recalling our joy.

Thinking of child’s toys.

Children no longer, grew fast.

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Moonlight and stars beam

Under ink sky winds stream.

The leaves of the forest so green.

As we run to wild seas.

Our voices carry dreams.

Full orb, in glory, moonbeam.

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Daylight bringing new, 

Light and laughter true.

Throwing pennies in the fountain.

Wishes and kisses.

True love blisses.

Young then, we climbed high mountains.

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Adventures of us, 

In today’s world fuss, 

We do what we do because,

We have plans, desires.

Travel with heart fire.

Perceive present, will be a was.

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Building and shining,

Memories divine.

For one day will have but whispers.

In our minds thrive, 

Memory keeps alive.

Though the world yells; we whisper.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Afraid to Say – Quatern – “Worth” 


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And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). This one sounds simple, but it can be pretty difficult. Today, I challenge you to write a poem that includes a line that you’re afraid to write. This might be because it expresses something very personal that makes you uncomfortable – either because of its content (“I always hated grandma”), or because it seems too emotional or ugly or strange (“I love you so much I would eat a cockroach for you”). Or even because it sounds too boring or expected (“You know what? I like cooking noodles and going to bed at 7 p.m.”). But it should be something that you’re genuinely a little scared to say. Happy (or if not happy, brave) writing!

For more information please see the website for NaPoWriMo.  Also from The Daily Post I will be using the word prompts Green and Superstition. For more information on a Quatern please see Shadow Poetry.

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Green days gone by, fleeting and lost,

Remember, I felt like a hot live wire,

Pushed into your skin, so alive.

Time moves, I blame God for life’s cost.

—–

Memoirs of our younger days,

Green days, gone by, fleeting and lost.

Superstition, souls embossed.

Magical times new, flowing this way.

—–

Life is a dream, a fast moment,

I keep hoping time won’t accost,

Green days, gone by, fleeting and lost.

Count your seconds, don’t relent.

—–

Facing our challenges exhausted,

Each minute has value and worth.

In life there’s time for our rebirth.

Green days gone by, fleeting and lost.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Time


I tried to measure out the day. Spread my time as it were equally. But time doesn’t stretch easily. It appears and then disappears in moments. There are seconds ticking by. 

Some of them are meaningful and some of them are small and incidental. You never know the meaning of each second.

You can’t stretch time backwards; you can only move on. Until you sit in bed at night and realize the whole day is gone.

What tomorrow brings is a mystery that enfolds? What if something unexpected occurred? What if the day wasn’t usual at all.

And you can’t stop time either, although sometimes you can get stuck in a moment and it feels like time stood still.

Moments and memories, clippings from the magazine of life and stories spread across the wall. Taped and cut hastily, with little bits of memoriabilia here and there.

A movie ticket here, a picture drawn here, a cut out of an image of your tattoo. There are locks of hair, old poems and essays, photographs, and the first outfit you ever wore after you were born.

That is when the moments came to be and stuttered and started as you rode up on both feet, developed a voice, and learned to read and write. When you wrote the last essay for your Bacholer Degree. 

And every now and then I here time ticking in the night. I wonder if have spent it right?

If I can divine some meaning from life so far. Make the seconds count more and make certain memories freeze. 

But all hope is in the future and I’m looking at poinsettias on the coffee table. I think life life is something like a poinsettia.

It’s lovely to behold and you need to maintain it and grow well; but for those who take piece out your life, who bite in and destroy you. They can’t handle the poison from a plant so beautiful at Christmas. 

They inhale the parts of you that are toxic and we all have these parts. They are a bitter pill to swallow and can rip another person to pieces. 

But better are the people who have always been here and see the poinsettia lose all it’s leaves until it is baron and stick -like. 

Better they see a person in a moment for themselves and accept them anyway. They have seen us beautiful and they have seen us weak.

Then we know in a second, those who loved us first. 

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved. 

Writing 101 – Seconds – Sonnet – “Bearable”


 

http://www.metroimago.com

Your breath ticks by each second and I lie

beside you still,

I think of all the time we spent lying here,

And for every prayer that leaves me,

A sweet offering to keep you beside.

—–

Tomorrow we start a new count,

Can I make it through until I can be,

Close, snuggled in your side and hide my face.

On your chest and beneath your chin.

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I’ll stay here and wait for the morning sun,

I’ll live and breathe the scent of you before,

The day takes you far from my gaze, I sigh.

A moment without you and I find that–

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I am lost in time, in space and find,

You fill the void in the spaces,

Between my heart and veins, and thinking is —

So hard to do without that time we spend.

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Mere seconds in memory imprint on me.

The time we share breathing as one being,

Makes the moments without you bearable.

You make our time together meaningful.

—–

You and me without each other were —

Terrible; life is made of our little–

Moments.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Literary Lion: This Thing Called Time


” How much time until I need to go to work,” you ask your partner as you get ready in the morning. ” What time do I pick my son up from soccer” you ask your sons coach. “How much time do I have?” you ask your doctor after discovering you have cancer in your bones. Time. There is never enough of it yet we seem to be overwhelmed by how much time we have.

” I should be doing something, I feel bored” you say as time ticks by slowly. ” There is such a long time between rounds in play off hockey” your husband says thinking the time off will spoil his teams victory run. “I wish the time would just fly by” an expectant mother feels as she labours for the twenty-forth hour. 

However, if I were to think about it I would say we have a great deal more trouble with not having enough time in today’s society as we fill every moment we have with work, gym, and meetings; piano lessons and sports for the kids inbetween school and homework and friends; preparing healthy meals, and keeping your white picket fence house clean and designer looking; all the time we spend on technology googling, answering emails, typing documents, creating presentations, tweeting, face booking and text messaging; there is never enough time to do it all.

Time is something of an interesting term because it will exist long after we and our descendants are gone. What is time? That’s a hard question maybe a philosophy professor or physicist could answer exactly but I don’t think so. 

Time is what we live in, what limits us from living to long, what limits are cells from regenerating after 120 years if we make it that far. Time is moments we wish to remember forever, it is memories lost to itself, it has a beginning — a Big Bang from an intelligent designer I believe — but we don’t know of times end. We can’t function without time, it would be impossible. 

I guess since we don’t know how much time we have we had best use it well, to help others, and make the world better for a future time. Because we can’t change the past we need to live with passion because every day draws us closer to the end of time as we know it. 

At the end of that time I see God and Heaven, a place that is timeless. What you see, you must decide in what time you have.

Thanks to I am Smith for the prompt time.