Fiction, Flash Fiction, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Stuck In A Moment


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.


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Credit: Roger Shipp

Diana was listening to U2 when she spotted the statue. He was carved out of black marble,  his athletic form highly emphasized.

“Stuck In a Moment” played on her phone and she chuckled to herself thinking this statue was indeed “stuck in a moment” and he would never be able to “get out of it.”

Circling him, Diana examined the statues form from all angles. She touched him, loving how smooth his marble skin felt. She was surprised when her touch sparked a light.

The light traveled through the veins and muscles of the statue from his feet up to his neck, flickering into the features of his face. Suddenly, what stood before Diana was an attractive man.

He grinned at Diana, unaware of his own nakedness. Smiling he clasped Diana’s hand before kissing her soundly. Then, he walked off into the crowded street, drawing unheard of female attention.

Diana continued her own way back to work unsure if what she experienced was real. She couldn’t help but think, the man who had been a statue, gave her the best kiss she’d had in forever.


“Stuck In A Moment” – U2


©Mandibelle16. (20170 All Rights Reserved.

Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Poetry, Writing

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Italian(Petrarchan) Sonnet – “Wanderings While You Drink and Eat”


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And now, our (optional) prompt! Today, I challenge you to write a poem about food. This could be a poem about a particular food, or about your relationship to food in general. Or it could simply be a poem relating an incident that involves food, like David Ignatow’s “The Bagel”. Still not convinced? Perhaps these thirteen food poems will give you some inspiration. Happy writing!

For more information on the prompt please see NaPoWriMo. For more information on the form of an Italian or Petrarchan Sonnet please see this link. Also, I’m completing some of last few days of The Daily Prompt by using the word prompts: Faraway, Street, Precious, and Contrast.

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http://www.parisbreakfasts.blogspot.com

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Faraway, ambling drinking coffee,

Down a mysterious street, you walk laughing.

Directionless, photographing —

Precious memories, chewing on toffee.

Character of contrast, stopping now for latte.

Ambling streets, choreographing, 

Dancing; burgeoning day, head feels foggy.

Blending in, eat croissant, drinking frappe.

——

Precious time flying, enjoying frivolity.

In your head, faraway, day calls, “live me.”

Deaf to the calls, adoring causality,

Contrast with the shadows, brilliance you see,

Time spent wasting days, absurdity.

Now’s the day, eat your chocolate cake; be free.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: A Nosy Neighbour


Gia sat in her fourth floor apartment on the balcony. She looked regretfully at her swollen ankle, then down at the street below.The inhabitants of Dawson Street were a collectively an interesting bunch. Like the apartments which were ramshackle and colourful, so the inhabitants were artsy, brilliant, but a bit odd.

Gia wasn’t even surprised when she saw a mini hippy vehicle painted in multicolored flowers pull up across the street. She watched a grey-haired man get out of the car. Later, she saw him across the street at the balcony across from hers, talking to a man she knew named Ralph. The grey-haired man and Ralph tussled.  Suddenly, Ralph was pushed off his balcony and landed on the street on his head.

Gia covered her mouth in horror as she saw what took place. Then she realized the guy with the grey-hair was staring at her. Gia raced to lock her door and to call the police. But the man who killed Ralph arrived first.

Word Count: 172 Words

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Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting!

My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Midnight 


What do you write at midnight? You write a midnight poem. When the spirits of the dead arise and tell a haunted tale with their moans.

What do you do at midnight? You stay inside, try to sleep. But the moon is blood red and it’s dripping from the sky. Crimson drops on a wandering person, out when he should be home.

What do you say at midnight? You say “I cannot sleep. For nightmares abound and the images of goriness, I can’t get them out my mind.”

What do you play at midnight? Well, it’s almost Halloween. Put on your costumes, scare the hell out of a stranger. Let the spirits howl in their graves, gather your candy and run away.

Whom do you seek at midnight? I seek the siren’s singing. A voice as compelling as fine chocolate absorbed by your tongue. A voice of creamy dark delight ensnares a fool who dares to taste the musical sound. 

What do write at midnight? Of strange happenings and wild youth under the blood moon. Full moons change people, it lets the monster come out. Be careful who you play tonight, your act could be cut out. 

What do you yearn for at midnight? I yearn for an evenings walk. To promenade on the   shrouded dark street and let loose the demon inside; at night she can arise to join the shadows until she finds daylight.