Animals/Pets, Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Memories/Childhood, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nature, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Photo Fiction: What Does the Fox Say? #amwriting #flashfiction  


Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

—-

Credit: Alastair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

——

Yelvis -“What Does the Fox Say.”

——
Geraldine giggled. “What does the fox say, Daddy?”

“Um, I think he barks.”

“Could I be a fox for Halloween?”

Brian shuffled his feet. “If that’s what you want, we can attempt to find a costume for you. You don’t want to be Belle anymore?”

“I like Belle but Elsa’s a better princess. But the best costume is a fox, like in the song.”

“What song?” Brian was confused. 

Geraldine shook her head making a show of sighing. “How can you not know the song. It’s on your iPad Daddy?”

“Mom put it there.”

Geraldine giggled again. She started laughing. “Your just saying that, Dad. Can you make the fox noises again, like in the music video?”

“Err, not here.”

“Yes, here now.”

“Well we’re in the middle of the Halloween costume store. I don’t want to embarrass myself, Ger. Let’s see if we can find your fox costume, okay?”

“No Daddy, sing it. Sing the whole song.”Geraldine’s doe brown eyes began tearing up. 

Brian sighed, flipping to Geraldine’s favorite song on his phone. “Do I have to sing, can’t I just play you the song.”

Geraldine sniffled and shook her head. 

Brian tried to breath deeply. “Okay, here it goes . . .” 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

100 Word Wednesdays, Free Verse, Health, History, Interior design, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Sing me a Melody” #amwriting #100WordWednesday #poetry 


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday’s on August 16, 2017. Poem for Oneta Hayes of the blog: Sweet Aroma

——-

Credit: Bikurgurl

——–

Sing me a melody, 

Write me a song.

Songs of celestial glory. 

Of love that’s deep sweet. 

Save me from the dark, 

Inner demons disguised. 

Write for me, 

Crystal clear notes,

Ones angels simply respire. 

Sing me a melody, 

Calm and serene. 

Of the cereulan blue sky, 

Of hope in eternal life, 

And time past misery. 

Sing notes cascading, 

Sung lentement with —

Unbending trust; 

That those in “[D]arkness

Have seen a Great Light.” 

Sing me a melody, 

Tear drops on cheeks. 

Of joy, deliverance —

Of liberty, and grace. 

Sing harmoniously, 

Or in a caphella. 

With light’s pure —

Luminescent brilliance —

Never snuffing out. 

Sing me a melody, 

As light as air that trills. 

Glimmering with sunbeams, 

Ringing with care for hope. 

Simg of vivacity, 

Surpassing the dark of night. 

Sing me a melody, 

Of healing that restores. 

Sing songs of bravery, 

Of endurance. 

Songs overcoming shadows, 

And landing in the dawn.

Sing me a melody, 

Bring me sweet relief. 

Among beauteous architecture, 

For all those times gone by. 

Sing me a melody;

Surrounded by the skills, 

Of artists and writers 

So profound there work, 

Sings me alive. 

Sing me a melody, 

For all I wish for is peace. 

In sleep to hear, 

Sonorous songs. 

Transcendent, complex, 

Yet, utterly simple as —

Those words that say, 

“Be still.” 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fashion, Fiction, Free Verse, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Jolly Sailor Boys” #amwriting #movies #mermaids #poetry


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Photo Challenge. 

——–

Credit: Natalie Fedajeva

——

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea.

My sisters cried and sang for me;

But no siren’s song, 

Could sway those ‘Jolly Sailor Boys.’ 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea. 

Said I had to walk and run, 

But my legs were far too weak.

I stumbled, I fell,

These legs are pure Hell;

Some incantations, my tail was gone.  

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea. 

My tears required for eternal life, 

They fell in floods and showers, 

I drowned them in my tears. 

Gaia’s answer from the sky, 

Her thoughts of ‘Jolly Sailor Boys.’ 

My teeth tainted razors, 

Ripping throats for dread,

Of what a Captain would do to me, 

A creature pure, unperverted, 

Mermaid tears were dredged. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea.

A siren’s ancient rage awoke, 

Became my new morality.  

And though I long for waves, 

My sisters who live below;  

I cannot even swim in the corner, 

The ocean’s rejected me.  

It seems to me, my tears did mix,  

In some fountain of ancient yore;

My only place to freely swim, 

So I swam all the more. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea, 

Now I bathe in this youthful fountain, 

No immortality I wanted;

Only my home in open seas. 

I wasn’t given a choice, 

Only vast eternity. 

Forever I was altered, 

And one by one they drank; 

Those ‘Jolly Sailor Boys’ dead fell, 

Into the sea, their bodies compelled. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from the sea

Brought me to gates of immortality,  

Trapped in a glass crate. 

And when some old spells, 

Had me walking regularly; 
I hummed my mother’s tune, 

Singing for the lost men, 

No more ‘Jolly Sailor Boys;’ 

For Gaia turned on them. 

I used to be a mermaid, 

They stole me from my sea

Though, I’m now no mermaid, 

I sing the same old tune, 

I’ll sing it long, in a siren’s song, 

Luring ‘Jolly Sailor Boys,’ 

That tore me from my sea; 

Because when I was once a mermaid, 

Those ‘Jolly Sailor Boys’ stole me. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, Event, Fiction, History, La' Tuine - A, B, C, D -last lines all same rhyme for each stanza 9,8,9,8 syllables, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Wrapped Refrain, Writing

Day 26- NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Tale Weavers: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) – “Under the Same Moon” #poetry #AtoZChallenge #NaPoWriMo #future


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write about wondering what “future archaeologists, whether human or from an alien civilization, will make of us . . . exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.” Thanks to Michael of last week’s Tale Weavers from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie who provided a prompt about the moon. As well for A to Z Challenge for a GoodRead’s quote the letter today is the letter W. 


The Moon
Credit: Michael – MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie

” . . . All that is now / [a]ll that is gone/ [a]ll that’s to come / and everything under the sun is in tune/ but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

“There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it’s all dark.”
Roger Waters


Gazing into the future, ‘neath a pale moon gleaming bright,

Hard to believe, people who were, saw the same moon’s shining light.

They had houses, electricity.

So many ethnicities.

It’s different now, the gene pool changed,

Those who look unique all estranged.

All look like us, all brown eyes, dark hair, and medium skin too.

I can scarce picture blond, red-haired, green eyes, or eyes so blue.


Genetic defects they called them, so now we’re all plain, the same,

It’s weird to think, they dyed their hair, all colors, none went gray.

How was it to be individual,

Not for the whole good — sacrificial.

What makes a person now is,

Incredibly different knowing this —

Society of people who fell as those before left their cities,

Frames of what once was, rusted metal, not all that pretty.


Their language full of slang, we cannot pin down lingiustics,

Cannot find words, spoken globally, their lyrics I sing.

But their music is strange, listened —

To some and our technology it fits.

Technology they had weird, but we —

Discover strange things, sound gleaned.

Words not understandable but melodies clear and bright,

 Music is forbidden, I sing in secrecy to ancient tunes light.


Some days we watch their stories, their films, when the moon is round.

My favorite days, those brilliant plays, words with lovely sound.

And we find little toys, scrapbooks, phones,

While in the distance the guns drone.

Each man, each woman a soldier,

Controlled by who knows? With no souls.

No hope as those gone far ago had, of a war ending soon,

Gazing into the future, we lived under the same moon.


img_3554-10

img_3552-19


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Interviews, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Religion/Morality

Interview With Jasminder Bains


Welcome to another biweekly interview on Mandibelle16. I’m hoping where ever you are the weather is nice and spring is on its way or summer isn’t too hot. This week I interviewed the impressive and talented writer Jasminder Bains from the United States. You can check out her blog here: Confessions Of A Reborn Girl


interview-jasminder
Credit: Jasminder Bains

1. Hi Jasminder. Please Tell Us About Yourself? 

Where to begin…I live to write because it’s my form of therapy and I love weaving words into stories. I’m a full-time dream chaser with a knack for crafting things and philosophizing and overthinking when I can.

I’m two years clean and keeping it that way. Psychology fascinates me; hence, I’m majoring in it. You’ll find there is a lot of psychology based posts on my blog. I love to sing and dance to KPOP when nobody’s around, or at least when I think nobody’s around. I had to run up three flights of stairs because I got caught once.

Also, I’m obsessed with green tea and I like to meditate because it clears my mind. I prefer video games and Doc Martens to dresses ( I only own one dress) and makeup. The only makeup I wear is eyeliner and it’s about as good as my sense of direction. I get lost even with a GPS to help me find my way. I’m an aggressive middle-class minimalist who pillages anything I can get my hands on; this is why I have a ring of rocks sitting on my dresser.

I have moments where I’m incredibly with the times and others I’m not. I set up a Twitter account recently. I have no idea what half the buttons mean. But I can give you Excel pointers and talk about ‘markdown formatting;’ I can’t tell you much about Facebook.


2. When Did You Begin Writing and Blogging? What Does Writing and Blogging Mean To You? What motivates and inspires you?

I started blogging last July, but I’ve been writing since I was in fifth grade. Poetry and blogging are how I vent as well as defeat stereotypes. I write because I want to heal other people and because I love doing it.

I find inspiration from my life because I’m an avid people-watcher and I overthink everything. I find new material is as simple as walking into the middle of a cafeteria and sitting down. I learned so much about human interaction by doing this. I make time for writing whenever I can.


“I live to write because it’s my form of therapy and I love weaving words into stories. I’m a full-time dream chaser with a knack for crafting things and philosophizing and overthinking when I can.” – Jasminder Bains


3. What Are Your Most Current Writing Projects? Any Future Projects You Have In Mind?

I’m planning on participating in the 2017 Kindness Challenge! The link to sign up is here if you’re interested. I’m also hosting my own blogging challenge, it’s called the ‘Boundless Challenge.’ The premise of the challenge is to share a #boundlessmoment from the past week where you did something that you thought you weren’t actually capable of doing.

I started the challenge not too long ago so it’s relatively new. My goal is to inspire people through this prompt. Maybe they will believe they are capable of doing much more than they think they can do. Check out the sixth #boudlessmoment challenge on my blog HERE.


4. Can You Tell Us More About Your Blog and Why You Started Blogging?

When I founded @Confessions (Confessions Of A Reborn Girl) I had one goal and one goal alone: to teach others about human potential. Too many times I’ve heard stories of people who gave up on their dreams because they didn’t think they had it in them or someone discouraged them from their path. I’m here to tell you that you are good enough and that nobody can tell you otherwise.


“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” – Alice Walker


That being said, [my blog] would qualify as a lifestyle blog, though I focus more on mentality and mindset rather than fashion or food. My blog categories are different takes on that ‘boundless lifestyle’ if you will.

Life, as the catagory name states, revolves around my everyday thoughts and experiences. [As I noted above] you can also find my own blogging challenge, the Boundless Challenge, which is devoted to inspiring the WordPress community to achieve their full potential. At the end of each week, I share #boundlessmoments of my own and from across the internet. . . Who knows? Maybe next week you’ll be featured!

Writer’s Corner is [a segment on my blog] where I analyze social norms and American culture along with occasional philosophizing. DIY is exactly as the name states. I have this category because crafting opened up my thinking in a way nothing else could. I believe that it can do the same for you. [Lastly, my] meditation journal [catagory] stems from my adoration for — well — meditation. [Since I] over-think, meditation is the perfect counter to my habit and it helps me analyze my emotions and inner conflict. 


“Too many times, I’ve heard stories of people who gave up on their dreams because they just didn’t think they had it in them or someone discouraged them from their path. I’m here to tell you that you are good enough and that nobody can tell you otherwise” – Jasminder Bains


5. How Does Your Blog Tie-In With Your Stance on Mental Health?

I continue to challenge the stigmas and negative stereotypes surrounding the field of mental health. There’s so much more to psychology than depression or schizophrenia or bipolar disease; [these are] only a small branch of [what is called] abnormal psychology. In order to understand the abnormal, we must first understand the normal.

I hope that by being open about my own experiences with mental health challenges and triumphs, I can give others the strength to do the same. There’s nothing wrong with having a bad day, month, or year. There’s nothing wrong with having things that keep you up at night. There’s nothing wrong with being broken.


6. Do You Have Any Other Projects On The Go? What Is Your Writing Process Like? Do You Have Any Genres of Writing or Reading that You Prefer?

I’m planning on writing a fiction book called Project Rebirth. I’ve no details other than that because I hardly know what the book is about myself. 😛 For me, writing is painful.Writing is life. WHAT WAS I THINKING WRITING THAT?!! Editing is painful. Editing is life. Rinse and repeat.

Fantasy is my FAVORITE genre. None of this 21st-century teen smut fantasy romance. I mean classy fantasy like Cornelia Funke’s Inkheart series or Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling or The Ranger’s Apprentice booksI prefer these types of books so much more than teen romance novels. 


“I hope that by being open about my own experiences with mental health challenges and triumphs, I can give others the strength to do the same. There’s nothing wrong with having a bad day, month, or year. There’s nothing wrong with having things that keep you up at night. There’s nothing wrong with being broken.” Jasminder Bains


7. Do You Have Any Helpful Tips for Other Writers? Is There Anything Else You’d Like to Share Pertinent to this Interview?

Keep writing. It’s the only way you get better (and shameless). Also, I want to fight the negative stigmas and stereotypes around mental health because it’s vastly misunderstood and generalized which is dangerous for everyone.


8. What Are Your Three Favorite Blogs You Follow Of Any Kind?


interivew-live-boundless
Credit: Jasminder Bain

9. Can You Please Share With Us Some Pieces from Your Blog?

“Pain”

By Jasminder Bains

August 26, 2016

*****

What’s this? My insides feel like they’re tearing apart. 

Something’s wrong, I should take some medication.

Something’s wrong, it’s 3 A.M. and I’m awake again. Did I ever fall asleep? I feel like I’m dying. 

I’m frozen, I feel like screaming, is this really real?

Maybe this is the dream I have to wake up from, I don’t remember falling asleep so maybe I never woke up. 

Something’s wrong, it’s 4 A.M. and I’m still here. I should just close my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to sleep if it was appendicitis….would I?  

Something’s wrong, it’s only 7 A.M. and I’m already awake. No, mum, don’t leave for work just yet. There’s a patient lying here in bed who needs to be seen.

Mum is gone. My brother needs my phone for school. It’s low on battery because I stared blankly at music videos and funny vines for half the night unable to react thanks to the burning sensation in my stomach.

Dad wants to know what’s going on so I spill my guts on him. It’s time to try another medication, stay hydrated, and ride things out.

Mum says book an appointment if it doesn’t get better. I wonder if it will get better.

I’m a statue, unmoving and emotionless. I thought today was yesterday. Guess my brain didn’t register that I ever went to sleep.

Should I feel crooked that this pain is now who I am? I don’t want to do anything let alone go the hospital. It could be nothing. Just like me.

Dad wants me to make him lunch if I’m able. Fine. The pain is mostly gone and I can wait 10 minutes to pass out.

There are two types of naps: the kind that make you feel worse than before, but you know you had no choice, and the kind that make you feel energized. Mine was the latter. Maybe it’s because I slept two hours instead of 20 minutes. Oh well. At least the pain’s almost gone.

All I’ve had to eat today is half a bagel and a tin of Chobani yogurt. I should eat something else. A salad sounds divine only I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to eat the croutons and leaves yet. Only one way to find out. Verdict: I can chew a crouton. I can’t chew a spinach leaf. I’ll just have a burrito.

Something’s wrong, it’s been 18 hours since I laid awake in bed screaming in my head and I’m doing it again. Except this time in a chair with a plate of food in front of me. Forget it. I’m not eating if it’s gonna sting this bad. Time to take some more medication. 

I don’t want to be a physical embodiment of pain, I want my life back. I want to feel joy again, I want to listen to music that lifts me up again, I want to write a blog post ahead of time again, I want to have faith again, I want to feel healthy again, I want to have both feet planted firmly on the ground again, I want to be me again.

~Live Boundless.

*****


Here are Some Additional Posts By Jasminder: 


Thank You Jasminder for sharing so much about yourself and your blogging. You’re an incredibly inspiring and motivational thinker and writer. 

If you would like to be interviewed for my biweekly interview series, please contact me HERE on my Contact Page. Once more here is the link to Jasminder’s BlogConfessions Of A Reborn Girl.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Current Events, Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, November Notes, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Shadorma - 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllables

B&P’s Shadorma and Beyond: “Hallelujahs In Loss” #amwriting #poetry #Hallelujah #shadorma


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s challenge.

——-

Credit: National Post

——-

You wrote words, 

That crossed human hearts. 

United us, 

Made us feel;

We’ve all been hurt and broken, 

Your words understood. 

—–

A heartfelt —

Song to carry on, 

Though you’ve gone, 

On with the —

Lord of song where you sing your

Hallelujahs

——

We felt your —

Loss in the words left, 

Behind in, 

Your songs;

Poetry style, your lyrics, 

Wrote for all. 

—–

But mostly, 

We feel more pain, you’re

gone; we feel —

Your absence–

Clear; as baffled King David, 

Who wrote Psalms. 

—-

A cold and —

A broken cry to —

God; we sang —

Your tune, said —

Hallelujah, through all —

Our our pain. 

—-

Praising God, 

Joyfully when wrecked. 

Whenever, 

Wherever. 

Saying Hallelujah

Lord guide us. 

——

Though love in —

Life, tears us apart, 

We still say, 

Your words wrote —

Hallelujah –every

Single breath. 

——

Myself I —

Know when I’m —

Shredded in —

My heart, I cry to God at night, 

Hallelujah. 

—–

I praise him, 

When I’m miserable, 

I praise him, 

When I’m glad, 

Truthfully, I lift my voice —

Most when sad. 

—–

You’re gift of 

Song, one day —

I’ll hear more, 

In heavens —

Grace; our ardent praises ring, 

Hallelujahs

——

We’ll sing on, 

Or praises loud clear, 

No more pain,

No crying. 

Paradise not haulting joy — 

Hallelujah

Hallelujah 

Hallelujah

Hallelujah. 

——

©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

Free Verse, Friday Music Prompt, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Music Friday Prompt: Poetry – Free Verse – “Silence Is A Sound.”


Thanks for the music post from Mind Loves Misery’s Menagerie. The prompt song is “Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garnfunkel. Most recently, it is noted, the band Disturbed, did a wicked version of this classic.

Also thanks to The Daily Post for the prompt words MuseProfound, and Elusive.

——-

http://www.lawofficer.com

—–

Hello darkness you’re my muse;

A have profound “visions” in my mind,

They’re haunting me again.

Such elusive beings, wisps of vapour transforming;

I’m not sure anyone will understand,

But I strum my guitar and I hum the tune, 

A melody to haunt profoundly through the decades.

Darkness, friend or foe? 

Who would know silence has a sound?

What is the sound of silence, no one ever knows? 

If darkness is the place I most hide, 

Where the “seeds” of this “vision” keep;

Than why do I wander “streets“with “lamps . . . stabbing,” 

My eyes in the cold empty street?

How does that light touch the silence elusive

Silent isn’t a concrete thing.

It’s not physical, so how do lights hurt silence? 

How do you not notice all those “people“(thousands), 

And hear their voices while they stay silent?

How do you know what they are “hearing?”

Only they know if they’re “listening;”

And the “songs“they sing in silence –silence would mean, 

You couldn’t hear anything sung, 

Or know the “song“they theoretically, could sing.

And if no one dares “speak,” somehow I think, 

The silence still eludes them.

And if you say silence is a “cancer grow[ing];”

I’ll tell you what peace I find in it, 

When “fools” they do not “speak;”

But you ring your voice, it echoes,

And you know, no one with silence is disturbed,

So your voiceless voice like “raindrops falling,”

 Is silence never heard.

Can silence be heard or unheard?

A paradox, perhaps? 

Are you sheep to the slaughter to this “neon god;

And what “neon sign flashed” in “warning?”

If the “sign“was a god what did it warn, 

That you were all sheep being led astray? 

And who is this “prophet?”

They’re so many to speak, Elijah or Danial?

The Islamic Mohammed?

And “tenement halls” which from came “whispers,” 

They’re overcrowded apartment buildings.

Apartments with small rooms, where people —

Are stuffed, having no personal space.

Even here, is there no silence which has sound?

Wouldn’t it be a dirty place, no room to move,

To breathe, to live, — to find peace?

Yet the words of said “prophet” are, 

On the “subway” walls.

Means I think, the writings on the wall

Or referring to people stuffed into trains,

 And metros as cattle too? 

I think in the thunderous silence, 

Everyone is missing what’s coming;

And no one knows the truth or breaks the silence. 

Yet a few “whispers” I detect,

 Elusive for their sound;

And silence rings and breaks sound barriers, 

A sound which is never heard. 

But you dear listener, hear the sound profoundly clear;

And wonder yet, how silence is a sound? 

——-

“Sound of Silence” – Disturbed 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Word High July, Wrapped Refrain, Writing

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – “Hers” #wordhighjuly #poetry #amwriting #makisig



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http://www.katemcelweephotography.com

——–

He steps out of the shower wearing, 

Towel around waist, torso bared.

Appreciation in her gaze, 

Still lovers in morning’s rays.

He’s shaving at the mirror now, 8:00 am shadow;

Hand caresses his face dear; whiskers bare skin loved so.

—–

She adoringly watches; he does his —

Hair; style enough to say he actually gives; 

Because, he matters to her; he’s attractive, 

Features cared for; laughs, she’s pensive.

He’s putting on a show for her; pulling up his dark jeans, 

Strip show reversed; he stares into her eyes, her dream.

——-

A button up shirt, match his eyes blue, 

No suit today; just hers to amuse.

A watch on his wrist; one she bought, 

Ring on his finger; him she sought.

There’s a song which was sung, about a ‘sharp dressed man.’

He thinks of it smirking; she grins impressed; his fan.

——-

He’s comfortable; she blinks and stares, 

His heart thumps; she likes what he wears.

She likes his bare skin; his heart beat, 

She likes his brain; he’s smart, sweet.

He maybe flawed, she loves him still; everyday he

Steps out of the house; holding her hand and he’s hers.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Florette - aaba 8,8,8,12 - Line 4 - 8th syllable rhymes with b., My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Word High July, Writing

Poem: Florette – “Song of Signs” #wordhighjuly #poetry #amwriting #harana



——-

http://www.cnn.com

——-

I’ll sing you music each long night.

Do you hear my voice take flight?

My alto voice rings loud in my ears.

Wish to be there, so you see dear, my notes just right.

——–

You’ll treasure my words, piercing thought.

Can I reach through your veil, you’re aloft.

Stuck inside, where I cannot reach.

No silence but song, I beseech; sign of love sought.

———-

Dusk, lingering in your splendor,

Hope you’ll hear my words crescendo

Problems arise when you see how I sing,

For I am deaf, my songs hand signs ring, my concerto.

——-

Please my love, notice me noiseless,

Signs speak my ardor voiceless.

You gaze through me, my pretty face

Your chosen love’s voice has no grace; my signs joyful.

——

The Florette, created by Jan Turner, consists of two or more 4-line stanzas.

Rhyme scheme: a,a,b,a 
Meter: 8,8,8,12 

Fourth line requirement of internal (b) rhyme scheme, on syllable 8.

Like the outgrowing of a small flower, the forth line of each stanza is longer, and enwraps the previous lines. Line #4 requires an internal rhyme scheme that rhymes the eighth syllable with the end of line #3, and continues to add on four more syllables than the other lines so that the fourth line ends rhyming with lines #1 and #2.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.