Writing Prompt: Poem – Octaine Refrain – “Sweet Peaches” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for writing prompt #217. I have chosen to use the topic a walk in the forest, the male nam Uyeno, the female name Ulestra, the fruit a peach, the color cerise, and the sensation shiver

——–

Credit: Ian Baldwin via Unsplash

——–

Wondering in the forest, found sweet peaches

Away from the brilliant lights, the gasoline —

Cars running down pedestrians unseen. 

Away from advertising, such harsh cries —

Selling products, various foods tendered. 

My pockets are full and I’ve my own splendour. 

I, Ulestra, have what I need supplied.    

I don’t want to bicker with faceless vendors, 

Wondering in the forest, found sweet peaches

Wonderimgin the forest, found sweet peaches

I’ve no love but for what nature she brings, 

Other days I’ll shop, enjoy frivolties. 

Those who want my peaches they come to me,

Cerise and sunrise peaches for a fee. 

My massive dog, Uyeno, stops thieves’ sting. 

Loud barks, I shiver but I’m safe rendered. 

Wondering in the forest, found sweet peaches

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.


Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – The “Orange” Painting


” This is not quite what we are looking for Jane,” Mrs. Hammerstein said to me. ” It’s a bit abstract for my tastes.”

” It’s a wonderful painting,” declared, Mrs. Hammerstein’s son Bobby ” those drops of water are so clear and they jump right out at you and out of the orange background. Well it could be anything: it could be a sky, an orange sunset; it could be a view of nature that the sunset colors. . .”

“Oh, I agree” I said to Bobby smiling ” it’s a beautiful mish mash of orange. And those rain drops, it’s as if you are looking through a window at such glory, they are the best part of the painting.” Bobby smiled back at me. Mr. Winehouser was going to be so impressed with me when I sold the “orange” painting from the art gallery.

The same day it sold to Mrs. Hammerstein, the painting was stolen. I felt I must have really sold the picture, for someone to steal it. To bad for them, it was just a fake. The real one hangs over my bed at home.

Word Count: 181 words

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting. Please feel free to join us.