Actor/ Actress, Fiction, Licentia - aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Sunday Writing: Poem – Licentia – ” Plastic Drowns” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to ScribblersDip of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this last Sunday’s Writing Prompt quote/collage.

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Credit: ScribblersDip MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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“Stuck in a generation where loyalty is just a tattoo, love is just a quote, and lying is the new truth.” 

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Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Games insane, thinks she’s Queen, now breath wanes. 

Her long voluminous eyelash extensions sweep, 

Dyed hair weeps silver strands on botoxed cheeks. 

Ingenuine smile teeth veneers and braces;

Blond bombshell Marilyn’s plastic twin races. 

Against the clock to keep her youth, nips tucks —

Child’s facelift, brow lift microbladed must. 

Hearts and flower tattoos, she’s loved a few but, 

Never many, not one recalled past lust. 

Queen Bee, they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 

——-

Her long voluminous eyelash extensions sweep, 

Dyed hair weeps silver strands on botoxed cheeks. 

Today she thinks she’ll dye her hair as red, 

As the hair on princess Ariel’s head. 

Red, red with gown to rival ocean’s surf, 

Sea-green, topaz-mint silk fabric unearthed. 

Some taffeta so dress floats, one-strap to bare, 

More skin, her bodice diamond encrusted layers. 

Lenses to make her eyes seafoam green dots, 

Corset pulled tight, plastic chest pulled up-top. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 
——

Ingenuine smile veneers and braces;

Blond bombshell Marilyn’s plastic twin races. 

Thought of need for actual dental design, 

Never entered mind, pristine teeth inclined. 

No thoughts of cost, credit cards, her wealth, 

All for looks, a beauty drowning herself. 

Procedures, weekly treatments, face, body; 

Hair coiffed, eyebrows plucked, tinted; applauded —

By those like her who in shallowness confound. 

In ankle deep depth succumb and all drown. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane game, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 

——

Against the clock to keep her youth, nips tucks —

Child’s facelift, eyebrows high microbladed must.

Could one drown, sputter, choke on water just —
Because they’re steeped in procedures, a must?

Plastic to fill the cracks where natural beauty, 

Flourished; sweet, beautiful, but not enough, 

Now fakeness hides inner trauma, no trust. 

Grew up in the snake pit of Divas; ‘subtly — 

Enhanced,’ language unknown, tears burn eyes, flood —

Place she can’t be saved, where the cost is blood. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes

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Hearts and flower tattoos, she’s loved a few but, 

Never many, any one recalled past lust. 

Her love was herself, no one else mattered, 

Life reveals and such vanity shatters. 

Until she realizes the heart must be built, 

For the body ages becomes as ash, silt. 

She can fake youth or be classically

Lovely, elegant, forever dazzling.

Graceful aging,with minor repairs, 

Youth found in caring, she’ll not drown despaired. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes
——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Animals/Pets, Fairy Tale Themed, Fiction, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weavers: Fiction – Part 2 – “Running from Wolff” #amwriting #fiction #fairytale


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hasting the Tale Weavers prompt. This prompt was to write about walking or visiting a park [that] turns into discovery.

I’m going to continue with my one of my Tale Weaver prompts with a modern rendition of Red Riding Hood with the main character, Red, who has just met Axel.J. Wolff or ‘Wolff’ in her grandmother’s house. Wolff is house-sitting for grandma Addy who is in Hawaii with Wolff’s Grandpa Reggie. Things were heating up for them at the end, I wonder what will happen when they get to the park? 


Part 1: The Wolff with Shamrock Eyes


Credit: http://www.shutterstock.com

She shouldn’t have run but that’s what she did. Wolff offered her his hand and invited her to keep him company and she panicked. 

“The rest of the food is in the fridge,” she said ignoring Wolff’s outstretched hand. She turned  towards Gran Addy’s bedroom door before Wolff could capture her hands again.

He was gorgeous with shamrock green eyes and tanned skin, probably from being out on the golf course but well, who was she to judge. She had had to learn to golf for work herself but instead of tanning her fair skin on the he course, her skinned often burned.

Red was alarmed she didn’t want to resist Wolff. He had gazed at her as if she were prey, looking her up and down as she found herself caught betweeen him and freedom through Gran’s bedroom door. He had licked his lips and stretched his arms above his head.

As if Red, wouldn’t notice his taut muscles and the pleased grin on his face. His teeth showed as he grinned as if Wolff thought she would give into him like weak prey. But Red wasn’t weak. No one had called her that for a long time. Red was strong. She was first in her class at Columbia and the best young associate at her firm. 

Just the same, when Wolff asked Red to stay she backed up and tripped over her flats caught on the carpet. Then, getting up before Wolff could help her, she took off out the front door towards the safety of her red Coralla.

As she drove off, Red saw Wolff leaning against her grandmother’s front door, smiling at her. There was no doubt his gaze was predatory. 

Thick lust and heat coursed through her veins as she backed up her car trying to force herself to calm down. Wolff waved and Red’s tires squeeled as she took off down the gravel road towards her family’s summer cottage and safety. 

When Red walked in the cottage her mom appeared surprised to see her, “Gina? I’m surprised you’re home so early. Your Grandma called and said you were having a wonderful time with Reggie’s Grandson Wolff. I thought you’d be a while,” Anne said raising her eyebrows.

“Um, he’s fine. Wolff appreciated the food.” 

Then Red got mad, “You should’ve told me Grandma Addy was in Hawaii with Reggie. Wolff scared the h*ll out of me. I didn’t know what he was doing in Gran’s bedroom.”

“Oh, Gran said she had the biggest bedroom. Reggie and she are gone for three months so she felt Wolff should have the biggest room in her house. She bought some manly bedding and packed away her old trinkets. He’s been so good to your Gran and Reggie.”

“You should have said something. I hate being surpised like that. I almost screamed bloody murder. I don’t need you or Gran to set me up like that. I’m a single girl and I like it.” 

Red’s mom chuckled, “Most unattached women say that until they meet a great guy. Axel has his demons behind him and needs to settle down. Well, that’s what your Gran and Reggie said. It was their idea for you to bring him food. I thought it was a great one, ” Anne said winking.

Red stomped her foot, ” I get to choose who I want to date or meet. I mean, he was half naked in Gran’s room. Who does he think he is trying to shut me up before I tell him to get out? He shouldn’t be in there, doesn’t matter what Gran Addy thinks. Doesn’t he have a job and his own place?” 

Anne chuckled again, ” He was half naked, eh? I would’ve loved to have seen that. I’ve seen Axel on the beach a few times and that man works out. Such intense green eyes, an Irish background, a hot body, and helpful to his Grandpa, sounds sexy to me. If I was a bit younger, I’d go for him.”

“Mom!” Red said shocked.

“He likes you, you know?”

“Does not. He doesn’t even know me.He just wants what ‘all ‘guys want.”

‘Did he ask you to stay?” 

“Yeah, he did. But I panicked. I never panick. I’m cool under pressure. That’s why I’m good at my job,” Red said confused.

“You ran, didn’t you? Took off like Little Red Riding Hood being chased by the big bad ‘Wolff?” Anne said laughing a her joke. 

“I did. Not quite like that though. How did you know?” 

“You look anxious and I know you well. What did you think was going to happen?” Anne said enjoying teasing her daughter. 

“Stop it, mom. I can’t handle a guy like Wolff now. Too hungry, the kind of guy who wants too much. I’ve plenty of options in the city.”

“Yet, you don’t date much,” Anne murmered.

Red stomped her food again, “I’m fine. I’m going to bed. Don’t bother with breakfast for me tomorrow. I’m going for a run in the park when I wake up, a long one.”

Anne chuckled,”I’d be careful if I were you. Axel Wolff likes to run in the park in the mornings  too.”

“Well, I’ll go running tonight then. The sun’s up for a few more hours.”

“Red, don’t go. You’re all worked up for no reason and you haven’t had dinner, have you?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll eat after I’m back.”

Red left the family cottage slamming the back door. She changed into her running clothes in her car and made a beeline for the park a few blocks away. When she was half-way down one paved trail she stopped abruptly.

Wolff was sitting on a park bench in his own running clothes. He had taken his shirt off, and Red could see his fascinating tattoos. She wondered what they were images of and what they meant. 

Her eyes were glued to Wolff, wiping the sweat off his body with a towel. For some reason, her mouth was dry. She felt heat flowing through her veins again. It was an overpowering sensation. 

Shaking her head, Red noticed she had stopped running entranced by Wolff’s body and shamrock green eyes. He gazed up at her and stared. 

Wolff’s lips curled into a half-smile, “Surprised to see you here?”

“What are ‘you’ doing here?” Red asked instead. 

“Had to wear off supper. But I’m hungry again. Did you come to help me with that?”

“Not really. But . . . ”

Wolff cut her off, “You do have big eyes, Red. They’re beautiful and so are you. Sit, talk with me.”

Red was ready to run but then Wolff was in front of her as in Gran Addy’s room. He grasped her wrist gently. Red could tell he wasn’t afraid of confrontation. For some reason he made her feel okay with backing down. No other guy did that.

She pulled and tugged but Wolff wouldn’t let her wrist go. She was disgusted with herself for not smacking his amused face. 

“You, you just want to eat me up with your big teeth,” she said fumbling to find words.

Wolff laughed, “It’s not my teeth you should be worried about.”

Red tried pulled away from Wolff again. By then, Wolff had guided her to the park bench without her realizing it. Putting on his shirt back on he turned to her. He still grasped her same wrist and hand gently, “So, tell me something Red?”

Red’s eyes dilated, growing larger and bluer. Wolff stroked her cheek with his other hand. 

It was too late. Wolff had caught Red.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Beauty, Children/YA/Family, Fashion, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Rondeau - aaabba, aabR, aabbaR, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Poem – Rondeau – “Playing The Part” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction #fiction


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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Credit: http://www.unsplash.com

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You may not notice, I’m a work of art

My body my canvas, I define my part;

My vision for my world; Mad Max who darts,

From posers surrounding; their judgment.

Skull rings which frighten, mean I’m them nudging, 

To think outside what they perceive; cold remarks. 

They’ll swear vindictively, “That punk, upstart;

Who’s he think he is? His ink such a lark.”

I’ve tuned them all out, their words toxic sludge,

I’m reckless, I’m fine; I’m a work of art. 

I’m older now, I’ve forgotten their darts

Aimed to hit my stillrock hard diamond heart.

Dress shirts, ties, hide tattoos; I’ll not begrudge,  

Rough nights aided, their beauty never smudged. 

I know too well, what it’s like, to play a part.  

I’m reckless, I’m fine; I’m a work of art. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 
 

My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Quotes, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Three Line Tales, Writing

Three Line Tales: Quotes Inked #GooodReads #Quotes #3LineTales 


Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting 3LineTales.

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Alex Hockett

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1. “A tattoo is a true poetic creation, and is always more than meets the eye. As a tattoo is grounded on living skin, so its essence emotes a poignancy unique to the mortal human condition.” V. Vale, Modern Primitives: An Investigation of Contemporary Adornment and Ritual

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2. “Tattooing, when understood in its entirety, must be seen as a religious act. The human being brings forth images from the center of the self and communicates them to the world. Fantasy is embodied in reality and the person is made whole.” Spider Webb. 

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3. ” Our bodies were printed as blank pages to be filled with the ink of our hearts” ― Michael Biondi

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My apologies. A busy week again. But hopefully, you like the quotes I found on GooodReads.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: The Passing Of The Pocket-Watch #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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http://www.pixebay.com

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“I haven’t seen a watch like this in years. My great-grandfather had one . . . I was only a boy of seven and I remember sitting on his lap.” Edgar said.

“That’s nice Dad. You always tell me this story. It’s your watch now Dad, remember?” Tracy interrupted.

“No, it was Great-Grandpa Vern’s watch. I sat on his lap an he said I could have it when he died. He was eighty-four which was quite old for the time .  .  .” 

“Your Great-Grandpa did die Dad. A year later, he got the flu; you told me. You inherited his watch.” Tracy said.

“He died? I don’t remember him giving me the watch . . . But I suppose, since I have it — it’s my watch now. How old am I?” 

Tracy patted her Dad’s hand, “You’re ninty-seven Dad. You lived longer than your Dad or your Grandpa or your Great-Grandpa.” 

“Ninty-seven?” Edgar said surprised.

Tracy nodded.

“Time goes fast. When I die, best give the watch to your boy; the one with all the tattoos.” Edgar remarked, peering at Tracy. He didn’t know her, only knew she was his daughter because she visited. 

Edgar was shocked to realize he was ninty-seven. The watch would have to go to his only grandson.

There had to be productivity and hard work hidden in those tattoos somewhere.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Prose Poetry, Writing

Writing 101: Graffiti – “Art Without Subterfuge.”


I could paint you a brilliant picture in so many vibrant colours; I don’t know if you’ll like it, but it will still be art. And it might only be words. 

Art has such varied definitions. I’ll give you every kind. The tattoo  of a woman hair blowing, she flies across  your back and chest — one of my favourite species of art. 

Graffiti of the skin is truly sublime. Graffiti on the wall can be merely a mural. When I was in high school Art,  I painted murals across the school. I learned the texture of a  wall.

Michelangelo and Adam touching fingertips by the stairs. And a leafy haven enfolding items of art and drama. We viewed them both as art, glimmering and sublime. 

But the building changed functions and they painted over the murals. To them they were just tasteless high school meaningless graffiti. They weren’t works of art to liven up the solid, boring, white wall paint. Some people are boxed in by definitions of what art is and is not.

When I visited San Diego, under all the bridges was this fantastic and beautiful graffiti. It was art out loud and it was allowed to beautify a dirty place, under a bridge. It was enlightening, let them do graffiti. 

And I’m always wondering when an artist paints a mural to make an area prettier, why some kid has to ruin it spray painting orange profanities.

I guess to him his graffiti is a greater art. But to anyone who knows beauty, a terrible sin was created when he sprayed over a mural which told a story in paint already.

If you are going to do graffiti, you should do it at the right place or atleast do it well. 

I love it at the skateboard park when all those skinny skaters, bring their spray paint and go wild on the places they do flips and ollies. 

Graffiti can be outstanding a burst of skittle colors on blank pages of a building. Like the tattoo artists who create images of meaning on our body, there can be so much meaning behind Graffiti.

And it should be allowed because art is a personal freedom. If you have the skill to electrify and colourize any white surface professionally or learning, let the artist work. Let them rain beauty. 

As a girl who has done some art and knows something on the subject, I can tell you the kind of tools and subject matter is different with every person for any drawing or painting done in art. 

And you can see the varied methods of art when we explore collages, or twisted metal sculptures. Rooms of installations with the sounds of birds chirping and flying.

You can see art in the artists who stand still for many hours, when we light up a bridge or tower, when the sky springs with pride on our country’s birthday with fireworks.

You can’t fit art in one place. It is everywhere and everything. Art is people kissing and the way the sunlight hits their faces. Art is old men walking, and the heart and effort it takes to walk with a healing hip.

Art is graffiti. It is any kind of inspiration that can be found or can be given. It is crazy thoughts we think will never work. But one day they do. In a starburst of evolution art is created.

So give me more graffiti, as long as it’s quality. As long as for me, it’s beauty. Art is central to the individual as the butterfly tattoo on your hip. Or the poppy tattoo you can’t quite convince yourself to get.

Put Graffiti on white spaces. Like the little guys who put crayon and felt tips on their mother’s walls. 

Spray paint a glorious vision of passion and reality; the metaphysical delusions that only make sense to you.

Spin for me a radiant vision of a catastrophe honoured or a special day realized. Make your art poetry, make poetry graffiti.

You can spray the truth and I’ll write it without subterfuge. I’ll give you a blast of colour, shape, line, form, and design with my words. 

My words are the spray paint and I’m painting your soul. A spectacular illusion of light and space that alludes to deeper meanings and all the colours celebrate. 

The beauty that is Graffiti. 

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©Mandibelle16.All Rights Reserved.