fruit – Mandibelle16

Poem: Free Verse — “ Of Faith & Light” #amwritingpoetry

Only a whisper remains, frantic words melted away, ice-cream dripping down the cone, mint-chip wasted.

Somehow explain light to those who do not comprehend reality nor care to find the words to say, all that needs to be said,

To those who will never understand the tranquility comes deep with price; it’s a gift.

An undeserved gift on a wooden cross justified, He saves, no matter if we’ve giant faith or small,

So, let us live with a quiet faith that grows or a loud one that inspires all, for — the light is how I made it, survived broken walls that trapped and protected.

I was told to keep pushing forward, so that within the spirit’s guiding I continued,

And though lack of belief sometimes weakened and cold icicles started forming, I let my heart melt.

It can harden as diamonds unshatterable, facets that mirror pain or suffering; let us end this hardness in the light’s glory.

Strange dark places please never exist for me again, faith and grace became our guiding stars; we can’t manage without them.

And having a wonderful evanescence of hope, we keep pulling ribbon through fingers, nervous gestures that we’ve conquered.

And imagining sand between your toes playing beach games, no longer exist in darkness frozen but in the beauty of this new reality, this world.

Awake from slumber, dream wonderful dreams, don’t banish or judge, try to cherish others,

Move forward in delight because the sun’s warm again, the sky’s a perfect azure blue.

The summer markets crowded, fresh carrots crunch and peaches trickle juice,

Cherries sit to spit out pits, homemade apple pie, even someone’s homemade wine.

Small glories, but oh, how meaningful they are: to be free is to struggle and grow each day despite threats,

With the humour, love, and freedom we adore, take huge, medium, and minute chances.

Discover ways to raise ourselves up and provide faith as giant rolling stones, thunder, and mountains rising mid-sea.

The large moments of terror and earthly movement creating perseverance, strength to trust and go on each day.

And, in tiny ways, perhaps it’s more difficult to move on, but we do; we conquer our fears in God’s light.

In the great and small things of life, so Jesus sets us free, to be and live, and in Him we share with others,

So, those in darkness find us glowing, full of hope and startling light.

Poem: Blank Verse — « My Dad & Summer Memmories » #amwritingpoetry

Credit: Merrit Thomas via Unsplash.

At 6:30 am. I’d plod waiting,

Eager for breakfast, for my dad to join,

To munch cereal or toast prior to work.

I don’t know all that we chatted about,

But, I was pleased just to sit there with him.

All day long mom entertained us,

Dad arrived late with papers to mark,

He had high school subjects to grade.

At Chapel once, my dad introduced us,

To his school when we were small, cute —

He worked hard, a chemistry teacher;

A vice-principal before finishing —

His M.A.; granted job as Principal.

His high school was a family one,

‘Eifert’ grads for generations.

That was along time ago; teaching —

With luck, came with long summer vacations;

Dad, took us swimming at Eastglen,

Later, camping, splashing at beaches;

Always, stopping for ice cream, and —

Then, jumping into the lake to float.

Sunscreen forty; icy pop in cooler,

We travelled to Washington,

Up the Oregon Coast, home through heated

Kansas; some years in the Okanogan,

Penticton, other locals of note.

Honeyed syrup in Summerland, fruit stands,

With veggies, apricots sweet, cherries, soft plums;

Salty Kettle Korn, with. succulent,

Nectarines, lettuce, cucumber, peas.

A vineyard viewed in-between, but —

Wine didn’t matter much; all summers flow,

as rivers — falling off a zip line;

Tubing down slippery water slides.

Sylvan Lake grass picnic lunches,

Grapefruit soda, corn-pop’s for Breakfast.

Sandwiches of mozerella cheese, ham;

Created in the back of the van, inhaled.

My dad and mom provided memories,

Dragging along three-kids, serving meals,

Despite kids screeching, crying, some injured.

Life’s a circus, my mind can’t fathom where,

Days flew, why we can’t remain in childhood’s

Perceived bliss, ethereal moments.

Flawed as we all were, my dad sacrificed;

I’m so grateful — to have such happy,

Childhood days while many lack experiences, dear.

Held close, as time ticks past; September,

Fall winds shout inside a woman lost.

100 Word Wednesday: The Beginning of Us #flashfiction #100WordWednesday #amwriting

Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.

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Hungry! Need food. Opening the fridge door I notice the shelves are empty. I sigh agitated, but leave my apartment, renting one of the bicycles nearby. I’ve half of a grocery list on my phone at least.

Walking inside the store I wrench on a cart out and begin shopping for fruit. I mutter to myself checking off the items on my grocery list and adding others.

“Ouch,” I hear, “Nice aim.”

I gaze up from my phone. Crinkled azure eyes, mussed brown hair, and a killer smile greet me. I blush when I notice he’s checking me out, rubbing his injured shin.

He holds out his hand while standing up. “I’m Ryan. Nice to meet you.”

I shake his hand. “Sherise. Sorry, about your leg.”

“Oh, I’ll live,” he grins. “Do you want some company? I’ve just got to pay for the milk. Wait here.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

A grin with crinkled eyes. “I want to.”

Five minutes later Ryan is back, pushing the cart. He makes jokes as I fill it with my grocery items. He insists on driving me home, placing my rented bike in the back of his SUV.

I smile now thinking back. That day had been the beginning of us.
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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Lies to Tempt Lies” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftW.

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“So saying, her rash hand in evil hour [ 780 ]

Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluck’d, she eat:

Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat

Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe,

That all was lost. Back to the Thicket slunk

The guiltie Serpent, and well might, for Eve [ 785 ]

Intent now wholly on her taste, naught else

Regarded, such delight till then, as seemd,

In Fruit she never tasted, whether true

Or fansied so, through expectation high

Of knowledg, nor was God-head from her thought. [ 790 ]

Greedily she ingorg’d without restraint,

And knew not eating Death: Satiate at length,

And hight’nd as with Wine, jocond and boon,

Thus to her self she pleasingly began.” – Paradise Lost (XIV. 780 – 794).

———-

“Such fruit is sweet scrumpciously divine,

No better you’ll ever taste, dripping,

From your most beautiful lips lick,

Every last taste, let not on your face lie.

Taste, devour, Lotus flower’s guided,

To the mouths of pagan gods, and rip —

All flesh from this heavenly fruit sip.

For such knowledge it gives, opening eyes,

Now you’ll see;” the serpent slithered past,

Back to the thicket slunk, lies and tricks —

Enough to make dear, Eve, believe lies,

A talking snake had ate the fruit, so she —

Ate, since the snake conversed; not seeing the facts,

Black Serpent granted humanity dark death.

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Music Prompt #6: Poem – Free Verse – “Not My Defeat” #amwriting #musiccprompt #poetry

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Friday Music Prompt. This week’s song is “The Cave” by Mumford & Sons.

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“The Cave” – Mumford & Sons

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Your broken walk, your deceptive talk,

You meat-eater, man-eater,

Frigid walls of your heart echo without beat.

Cowardly harlot of bitter teeth,

Take all your bites,

Leave the bones picked clean.

Starving the peasants,

In your shallow retreat.

Malice, miscalculations,

Your sins they visit your neighbours.

The harvest is barren,

No fruit bursts eaten.

Devouring the land,

You think no one knows,

But I know your shame is complete.

And for some odd reason,

I pity the weak.

I pity your barren soul attacking,

Then, retreating.

I’ll not be the swimmer,

Drowned by your weighted pulls,

Clawing acrylic fingers.

——-

So I will hold on to hope,

No noose will scrap your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways.

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat.

——-

My faults, my fears,

Pummeling my face.

But I am numb,

I weather the war.

The suffering you’ve caused,

Tears droplets from heaven.

You are not forgiven,

You cannot make me deaf,

I see all your faults and all your fears,

You cannot mask wretchedness,

Not change until it’s admitted.

——-

So I will hold on hope,

No noose will scrape your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways.

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat.

——

I’ll invade the darkest cave,

Find your hiding place.

There’s no safety in your chambers,

Come out walking on your hands.

Do you comprehend,

The nature of dependence?

When you see the Creator’s plans?

The makers hands?

So much mightier than your,

Waifish fingers wringing.

Crawl and then arise,

I’ll ignore your Siren’s call,

Your voice a hollow sound,

Wounds my ears.

Aches my heart,

Heart of diamond rock.

Freedom’s a melody that calls to me,

A treble cliff in the sky,

Floating music notes that speak of remorse.

Your siren’s lure,

Has been escaped.

The magician knows,

Reality’s illusions.

——

So I will hold on hope,

No noose will scrape your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways.

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat.

——-

Tale Weavers: Fiction – Your Flamhsures are Showing #fiction #amwritimg #taleweavers

To begin with I want share with you an amazing blog post from the writer Kristen Lamb. I would have rebogged, it was not able to so here is the link to one of her latest posts called Shame, Shame, We Know Your Name — Or Do We? Shame in Fiction. If you are fiction writer it’s a great piece on how shame motivates most characters in many stories and novels. Also follow her blog: Kristen Lamb Author, Blogger, Social Media Jedi for practical and honest advice on writing.

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Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weavers writing prompt. Today’s prompt is to write making sense of ‘Nonsense’ and use the word flamhsures in a poem or story as a verb or a noun.

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie – Michael

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“You can’t go to school with your flamhsures showing,” Mina told her young son Todd.

He looked at her and rolled his eyes. For an eight-year old he had become too cool for his parents. It seemed to Mina that kids were growing up so fast these days and that it was a shame they were.

Mina watched Todd from the front door as he walked to bus to attend third grade. She sighed knowimg how embarrassed Todd would be as his flamhsures were still visible.

She knew the other kids would make fun of Todd at school for this so Mina quickly walked to the end of her driveway yelling: “Todd come back here a moment. I need to ask you something.”

Todd turned his head a moment and rolled his eyes at Mina. She dreaded the day that lay before him. She knew Todd arrive home upset and tearful. Mina wondered if he would still let her comfort him or if he would run to his room and yell at her after his bad day.

In some ways he was no different than his father Thomas when he was in a bad mood. Mina loved her husband but when he was upset he could be cold and distant. She was afraid that their eight-year old had inherited these traits as opposed to Thomas’s better traits. He was a good Dad and a good husband but just as Mina, Thomas had his faults too.

When he dropped by home to have lunch with her Thomas excitedly told her about his newest project as an architect and she told him about the latest painting she had been commissioned to do. She also mentioned Todd and his flamhsures showing.

Thomas smiled, “Todd’s a big boy. He’s almost nine and he has to learn somethings for himself. He may have a terrible day because he didn’t listen to his mother but tomorrow he’ll know better because he’ll have learned.”

Mina sighed covering her face with her hands, “It’s difficult to think of him as more than the little guy he was such a short while ago. He is still so young and it bothers me that that kids can be so mean to others kids.”

Thomas comforted Mina holding her close and kissing her softly before heading out the door and back to work. Mina watched Thomas leave, perturbed when she saw his flamhsures were visible too. He didn’t hear her call out as he was already on his phone and back in work mode.

When Todd came home from school he ran in the door smiling. Mina approached talking to him with care, “It looks like you had a good day Todd? What did you do at school today?”

Todd rolled his eyes, “Oh the usual. Some math, some writing, gym, and recess. We played soccer at recess I like playing soccer.”

“That’s good maybe you want to play in the spring and summer again?”

“Maybe,” Todd says shrugging. “Can I have a snack? Some cookies?”

“Only if you have some fruit with your cookies. Did anything bad happen today, Todd?”

“Not really, Mom.”

“Well, I was just wondering because when I called you back from the bus it was because your flamhsures were still showing and I didn’t want you to be embarrassed at school.”

Todd giggled, “Well I didn’t really notice but then some girl pointed it out and I thought I would get made fun of but then two other boys said their flamhsures were showing too and everyone laughed. Then all the boys made their flamhsures show and we all decided to play soccer.”

Mina giggled, “Well I’m happy to hear that. Let’s hope your father has a similar good story. He came home for lunch and his flamhsures were visible too as he went back to work. Let’s hope he isn’t embarrassed either.”

Todd laughed eating his cookie, “Things like that don’t bother men, Mom. Look at me I’m a man and I survived. Dad will be good too.”

Mina tried to hold back her laughter, “So you’re a man now? Not my little guy, even at home?”

Todd grinned, “Yep, I’m a man.”

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Notable Quotes April 2017 Part One #pinterest #quotes #books

Happy April! Here are some more quotes. I think you’ll like them, they’re book quotes again for the most part 🙂

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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.

Three Line Tales: A Million Times Better #3LineTales #nonfiction #amwriting

Thanks to Sony of Only 100 Words, our gracious host of #3LineTales:

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Everyone either loves or hates fruit bread and more often than not, this stiff and solid rock like cake which sits in your stomach as if you’ve ingested a stone, is detested by many people. No matter the tradition or reason we bake/eat fruit bread at Christmas, it is a custom many of us wonder about; I can honestly say, however, there is only one fruit bread in the world I love because it tastes wonderful and is nothing like any fruit bread I’ve ever tasted before, or will ever taste again.

Grandma’s fruit bread wasn’t like traditional loaves of fruit bread because it was soft and tempting as I believe, any kind of bread should be; inside her bread was sugared and candied fruits much like traditional fruit bread, except my Grandma’s fruit bread was melt in your mouth and we used to toast a small slice or two for breakfast during the holidays and have it with becel; the buttery, sweet, soft bread was delicious and makes me hungry thinking about it; Grandma’s fruit bread was not traditional fruit bread — it was a million times better.

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Tale Weaver Fairytales: Shanna Transforming #taleweaver #fairytales #fiction #amwriting

Thanks to MindsLiveMisery’sMenageria for hosting Tale Weaver Fairytales prompt. This week we are retelling: The Ugly Duckling.

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“Fatty fat. You’re so fat you break the ice,” the popular boys and pretty girls taunted her. Shanna ignored them, or at least tried.

Every year at school the snow would melt in spring and the melting snow would pool, causing small lakes of water.As the temperature dropped over night, the pools of water would freeze on top.

The children played a mean game. The kids who were not chubby, could walk on the ice without breaking it.But the chubby kids such as Shanna, would carefully, walk on the ice, only to have the ice top break like glass; the popular boys and girls teased her endlessly.

In the spring, the children played another game, called spin-the-bottle, on the grassy and now dry field.

None of the boys wanted to kiss Shanna. They only kissed the pretty girls; the thin ones. The boys insisted they only give Shanna a kiss on the cheek, which was all she was allowed to give them. No boy wanted to kiss a fat girl or have her kiss them on the lips.

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Years later, Shanna was all grown up and finishing her History degree. Her friends and her went to their favourite pub, The Blue Whale, whenever they were able.

One day, two of her guy friends brought a a guy named Wren with them. Shanna had admired Wren from some of her History classes. He was hot; built but appeared studious with sexy glasses he wore at times.

Wren and Shanna easily fell into conversation. He was fun, smart, and in touch with what was going on in the world.

When Shanna’s girl friends dared her to kiss Wren, sparks sizzled and Shanna and Wren couldn’t stop kissing. Her friends tactfully wandered off when the kissing went on longer than they wanted to see.

At university, Wren and Shanna kept running into each other. They talked and Wren often asked where Shanna and her friends were going to dance, so he could go there with his friends at the same time.

A smile was always on Shanna’s lips as she began to date Wren; he made her day brighter and made her happy. She felt cared for with Wren.

The boys on the university hockey team stared at Shanna as she passed their table in the cafeteria. Many of them thought she was pretty. Her large eyes were stunning and her body curvacious but athletic; she was often in the gym when they were.

Shanna didn’t talk at the gym and she maintained a serious expression, concentrating on her weight-lifting.

Presently, Shanna’s lips were full-on smiling. The hockey guys who liked her, had never seen her look smile like this before. Her eyes sparkled. Shanna was all the more attractive because she was genuinly happy.

The girls who followed the hockey team around were sick with jealousy, wondering what certain hockey players saw in Shanna.

But when Shanna’s stunning gaze turned the hockey team’s way, she looked past them to Wren.

He smiled at Shann softly, her placed saved at a seat beside him. Wren bought her yogurt and and cut-up fruit for lunch. He knew Shanna’s eating habits well.

Shanna thought back to the days the boys and skinny pretty girls called her fat and how the boys would only let her kiss their cheek.

Times had changed. Shanna knew of several guys who would like more than a kiss from her now; yet she cared only for Wren.

Shanna had wisely, claimed the best guy for herself; the one who liked her especially, when she ate as much ice cream as she wanted to eat.

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