Three Line Tales: Life of A Native-American Tribe’s Woman


Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting 3 Line Tales:


tipi's indians
Maher El Aridi

1.The stars are dazzlingly brilliant in the inky-dark sky; through the small circle of space in the top of my families tipi, I feel the warm summer air breathing down on me; tomorrow is another day of rigorous work for the women of our tribe, we tan animal hides, gather fruit and nuts, and smoke our meat into pemmican.


2. The men will be off hunting in the morning; chasing the deer, buffalo, rabbits, foxes, and any animal which will provide us food presently, and in the winter months; the braves bring the animals to the woman and we skin the animal’s of their fur; the men will sell some of our beautiful soft fur to white-man traders; some of the furs we’ll keep for ourselves for in winter, so we won’t freeze to death;


3.When our braves hunt, our tribe prays for the animal spirits and we ask mother-earth to be kind to us and take the animal spirits; though we eek our living from nature, we always give her thanks; sunlight filters through the hole in the tipi and my mother starts a fire;  I aid my mother with the morning meal sighing as smoke obscures the hole in the tipi; there are days I feel, life is only a trap and I will never see the blue-sky.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Maydays: Poem – Tankas – “The Best Kind of Mad.” #Maydays #amwriting 



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Thank you to K.L. Caley from new2writing for hosting #Maydays prompts. Today’s prompt is good madness. 

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http://www.pinterest.com

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I love that you have that —

Good madness, a bit of quirk.

Laughing and smiling, 

I’d rather have you a bit crazed, 

I worry when you’re lost, sad.

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When you’re mad I know you’re —

Alive; your heart beating genius. 

Found in Wonderland, 

Where my favourite Alice went, 

Your my Mad Hatter; my match.

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Not everyone would get —

Your peculiar mind which bends, forms.

Brilliant, but held, 

By societies normal.

I love your real craziness.

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Genuinely you, 

I never worry you’re fake.

You always reveal, 

A hint of absurdity, 

You finish my sentences.

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Your crazy begins,

It meets with my own and we’re —

Blessed to be us; home.

In our otherly world lost, 

We are the best kind of mad.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Word Wrestling 


Pages of books not written; I’m smitten with writing and making connections. Between the exertions of the mind and the final piece laid out before me; a master piece a sculptural word image.

Many pages have been torn out so worn with notes and ink they had to be reborn upon the laptop screen, reformed and moved around until an agitation would cease to exist inside the writer’s mind.

Placing words are like placing memories. A smell of leather and glue can you bring you back to those first books, the classics, made in ancient form; but now the books aren’t even paperback or on thick paper; now the books are read from phones and tablets. It’s a new form of perception for words.

Words have no meaning until you make them a sentence, until you move them around with more of their kind and place them between periods, commas, semi-colons, question marks, and other punctuation. But in saying that, arrange them properly or abandon all hope.

Words don’t have meaning until you say what you mean using examples and making the sound of the words pleasing; perhaps, you’ll alliterate or personify. Or maybe you’ll say exactly what you meant sparsely and short.

These words are all tools to build the illustrious novel, the poetry book, the poster, the newsletter, or the magazine. You can use them with images snapped by a camera, but you can make them an image. Smash together words like ants coming from a hole in the wall.

You can poison with words the way you kill ants – Borax and Icing sugar – a deadly sweet treat like words that linger for their artifice. Words that are artificial, extending their life just to be, we don’t need them here.

We could spend hours debating word usage, sentences, and clauses. But who cares really? I just wanted you to comprehend the connection of words to final draft, to your fait accompli. I wanted you to dream while you type away that words can actually mean a great deal when they are used properly.

They can snake into your mind, a superhuman surprise and in a rush you’ll hurry to write down your word picture. You’ll create another part, a piece of the pie, and for moments you’ll dream sipping on endings. And eventually it will fit, click and create the last words ever written on the subject by your author, unknown. But you can call her Jane Doe.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Six Word Stories: November 2, 2015. 


1. Where are my keys? Purse bottom.

2. I hear noises; sorrowful stifled cries.

3.  Souls burn, water won’t quench fire.

4. He said you’re fat; fighting words. 

5. Mirrors reveal light; hide your darkness. 

6. World turns; we don’t get nauseous.

7. She hated him; he never cared.

8. I live with irony; it’s dramatic. 

9. There were unicorns; reality in legends. 

10. A lie in few words: omission. 

11. Blood coagulates to heal; skin scars.

12. I improvise my mistake; judgement error.

13. He smiled that way; I’m mesmerized.

14. Genies grant wishes; wishes are cursed.

15. He climbs mountains; playing with sand.

16. Baby knows you’re sleeping; wailing banschee. 

17. Car crash; much blood; life lost.

18. Live and let live; or die.

19. This was the beginning, and end.

20. Circles have no edges; they’re soft. 

21. Give the world; it’s not enough. 

22. Monarchies lost for democracy, or colonialism. 

23. Interesting news; bear floating down river. 

24. It kills me; justice isn’t swift. 

25. Too much writing; too little sleep,