Mandibelle16

#NaPoWriMo Day 14: Poem – Free Verse – “Whatever it Will Be” #amwritingpoetry

“Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that incorporates homophones, homographs, and homonyms, or otherwise makes productive use of English’s ridiculously complex spelling rules and opportunities for mis-hearings and mis-readings.”

Credit: Hasan Almasi via Unsplash.

Confusion, push through a weighted-wall,

Punch through brick each day.

Scattered concentrate, bleeding buckled, blood slick.

Sometimes it’s okay, a veil so thin it’s passing through sheer silk-organza;

Some days this uplifting breeze, and energy pulses, as if anything were possible.

As if nights could be replaced, vodka-slime and rye-and-gin, no waiting.

Not night’s you’d ever feel ill; all endless Luna-lit trails.

Smiles and dancing, no worries, the possibility of everything;

Today was good, and it wasn’t lonely, not exhausting.

Not a day-past, but a new one made, no-weightedness, no tiredness, no foggy dreams.

No friends downed by c#%^*r, MS, anxiety, addiction, and the wait for good news.

No, loved ones nearer to that other door, where we’re all lost.

Stories created, old ones read with smiles.

No fun times done, no ones personality alters with time or pain.

A world. alight in history, the here-and-know, in all its possibilities,

Light lingers in each window pane.

I like those days — hope the future can have such moments as dear,

As the thrill of lost nights, and the wisps of memories.

Clear and vibrant, not tinged with the weight of whatever we all face,

But, twilight’s marmalade sky shifts —

Mango, vermilion, that tanginess of night.

Wilting sunflowers, dried,

For some reason, some tomorrow’s are Mind-numbing,

No shoes to walk-in and understand, if others don’t want.

But I love those bright days, those times I‘m strong,

Even if I’ve endorphins a moment, a few seconds,

Where I’m tac-sharp before the haze settles.

Sleep for a moment, only to wake hiking a trail, along a wild pathway — meteorite-dust trails.

Someday, whatever it will be.

NaPoWriMo Day 28/ Photo Challenge: “Blazed Flowers” #amwritingpoetry

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Photo Challenge. For NaPoWriMo as like the last few, it’s my own poems.

Drama, flashy scarlet blazed flowers;

Smeared paint exposed,

But, their witherings coming soon.

*****

Imagination is everywhere, flourishing in —

Whatever time lives;

In the humid horizon’s pull.

*****

In secrets, great mischief before,

Moves past brilliance —

Glittering, sky drops ambient stars.

*****

And white-noise dulls senses;

Wasp-words, tales,

Tones, of misunderstanding– play.

*****

Wilting begins, scarlet blooms remember,

Not the hurting,

Just words unsaid; say it.

*****

Inane games, rolling eyes; chatter —

Time fades so,

Say what you mean — say.

*****

Let the petals of yesterday,

Blow listless away;

Today’s a new dawn lit.

*****

Forget the yesterday’s —

No one knows,

The truth of each other.

*****

Next Spring we all re-blossom,

Poets words, views,

Are never what you’d think.

*****

People aren’t poetry, symbols are —

Obvious or not;

Red of blazed flower’s laugh.

NaPoWriMo Day 27/ Three Line Tales: Lune – “Stalled” #amwritingpoetry

Thanks to Sonya of Three Line Tales.

Credit: Les Anderson via Unsplash.

She’s stalled, shapely yellow dress;

Lips scarlet, cheeks —

White heels; dazed diamond eyes.

*****

Hands clenched, lashes flicker midnight;

He’s there again,

Lies snicker, smoke daylight — fake.

*****

As if his fist slipped,

Bruised purple without —

Admitting truth; he maimed her.

*****

#NaPoWriMo Day 24/ Poem — Free Verse — “Bird Dreams” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 24: my own prompt again.

Credit: Coral Birds Pinterest

There was a bird coral flushed, torn in the Red Sea waves,

And she floated in the healing, until her wings were drenched in mineral salts.

She preened on a rock, wings coated in salt-dust;

But, one day a storm raged and she was drenched in the mud.

The healing earth, and brokenness beneath meant nothing.

Rain washed, and she spread her plush coral feathers — lunged for the sky;

The salt and mud weighed, not much had fallen-smooth away.

But, she flew anyways — some birds fly despite;

They rise, even if you hold them down;

If you clip their wings, their feathers still grow rapid.

If you hear not a squawk, don’t be surprised if you do — she talks, no moment is right, but there’s reasons beneath silence.

It takes time to soar weighted by sludge, to balance weights on your wings;

But she’s flying and she’s okay, she might send a squawk your way —

Depends if you’re a bird person, or weighted to cement delusions.

She might squawk, or she might fly onto the tangerine sunset,

Where the saltless waters are clean, and her wingspan for a moment’s graceful.

#NaPoWriMo Day 26: “Growing Aches” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 26, my own poem from a few weeks back.

Credit: Bruce Mars via Unsplash.

I am weakest (so you say),

That is when your strength defines me.

When I’m meekest and I ache and hurt,

When everyday problems snowball, regular sickness amplifies.

When I was used to doing whatever,

More than I’ve been in a long time ever.

Now, I fall into the pit,

Can’t reach out, the water swallows.

Double-hurt, such a good day then —

Did I overdo it?

I tried, to make a goal; to do just that.

It’s hot, hazy, beautiful outside,

But, the sunshine’s too bright,

Cars revving, pumping music; my ears pulse, some pain.

Am I an older person, in a 30-some body?

I try to be positive, today I cannot.

But I suppose, I must take time to heal,

That little flares, must be sealed to avoid a violent storm.

The process slow and agonizing, but I wait for tomorrow’s fun.

I wait, and I know not for what —

To be at that place where I can be independent,

Help more people and forget the ache — rocky roads tripping, ankle snapping,

Yesterday was as lost as today.

Now, I’m upset that I couldn’t do what I set out to do.

Oh, the plans of mice and men they say.

They’re rather meaningless in the scheme of things;

When health is mostly everything, because it connects to so much more;

And what was once given, is now, lost.

But, I will smile anyways;

I will push beyond these cracks and snarls in the dark.

I’ll find the suns jewels even if it’s an eternity spent aching to smile,

To return to a world of vivacious delight, despite.

#NaPoWriMo Day 24: Poem – Sevenling – “Choosing Right” #amwritingpoetry

For #NaPoWriMo Day 24 using the Sevenling form again.

The elements of the Sevenling are:
1. a heptastich, a poem in 7 lines made up of 2 tercets followed by a single line. metered at the discretion of the poet.
2. unrhymed.
3. composed with 3 complimentary images in the first tercet and 3 parallel images in the second tercet. The end line is a juxtaposed summary of the 2 parallels, a sort of “punchline”.
4. the poem should be titled “Sevenling: (first few words of poem).

Cold tentacles, the octopus‘, beady eyes blink;

Forgiveness, understanding maimed, vermilion sky’s bruised.

Deep purple chills, I — sea witch, clamber in grim slime.

Wind screeches, gusts as glass spikes; no harm do I wish.

Confession –I stole her voice, her sweet tune’s mute.

At moments, we’re all witches, change calms the violent storms.

There’s power overcoming spite, choosing right.

#NaPoWriMo Day 23: Poem — Free Verse — “Duck-Billed Platypus Thief” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 23 the prompt is:

“Taking a cue from Bishop, I’d like to challenge you today to write a poem about an animal. If you’d like to take a look at some other poems for inspiration, you might like James Dickey’s “The Dusk of Horses,” or Tennyson’s “The Eagle.””

Credit: http://www.wearessecondunion.com

Curious duckbilled thief, I caught you stealing time,

You peeped, squealed, rolled into corners where no one could peep.

Your black-eyes are wide, fluffy innocence peers back.

And your tiny lashes flick, as you hide within fur,

The jingle of coins jolts you, they roll ’round your tummy.

A Crown falls to the floor, you’re off running — to save what’s left of your treasure.

You’re sure no one will catch you– this time you’ve got us beat.

The royal jewels are in your fur-folds somewhere,

You’re a petty pad-foot, harmless, too snuggly for words;

You’re an armful of trickster; you hate being caught.

When I demand my wallet, my cash, and watch,

You cock your coal-dark head,

Perhaps, you didn’t know they were there at all? (You imply).

Tucked under belly rolls, in corners, and squishy edges,

I sigh, take back my treasure, hold out my hand, you chirp —

Duck billed platypus, creature of mole (some other beasts I imagine too).

Your thieveries a whimsy, but no ones fooled,

All you love is gold, silver if you must . . .

You’ll catch it in a sec, a poof of magic dust.

Your duckbilled lips smile, as you scamper down the stairs,

Yet, the things you hold dear, are the most worthless wares.

You need a lady friend,

For her thievery includes not just gold,

But, your platypus heart too!

#NaPoWriMo Day 22: Poem — Sevenling — “Seek To Know” #amwritingpoetry

This is going on forever, but eight days left right? So, today (NaPoWriMo Day 22,) I’m doing my own prompt based on Kat from Like Mercury Colliding’s introduction of a Sevenling:

The elements of the Sevenling are:
1. a heptastich, a poem in 7 lines made up of 2 tercets followed by a single line. metered at the discretion of the poet.
2. unrhymed.
3. composed with 3 complimentary images in the first tercet and 3 parallel images in the second tercet. The end line is a juxtaposed summary of the 2 parallels, a sort of “punchline”.
4. the poem should be titled “Sevenling: (first few words of poem).

Credit: Dan Sandvik via Unsplash

Dawn’s clear, shadowed by each day not knowing,

Nothing veiled, I pale sheep mute, come un-dazed;

The alpha wolf’s howl‘s near, teeth crush, tear flesh;

How do you know, when you’ve not been able?

One can’t remain a lamb sobbing, bleating;

The tiger cub’s instincts no fable;

Fresh hope, dim evaded but at what price?

*****

Now, I peer past the burning lights distorted,

Where the sheep and the lambs, are at quiet peace.

The fierce wolves snap, but the tiger cub reaches,

And each lesson teaches —night’s brilliance too.

No more am I lamb, sheep following mute.

I’ve grown stripes, pincer fangs –it’s early days,

Imperfection, growth, it hurts; seek ye first –find.

#NaPoWriMo Day 21: Free Verse — “The Writer” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 21, the prompt is:

“Try to play around with writing that doesn’t make formal sense, but which engages all the senses and involves dream-logic.”

Credit: The Chronicle .

It’s not up to you, to point out black holes,

Name the constellations, and mark each glimmering star alive or perished.

Some stars can’t be named the North Star or apart of mythical stories, there constellations too;

For Never-neverland maybe imagination, but it soared, became more than a bubblegum dream.

If you’ve not struggled, you can’t realize,

How verbs, syntax, nouns, adjectives, punctuation, character, setting, and ambience —

Connect, form a string each a crystalline sentence that aligns and meander as champagne bubbling.

Writing’s not only selling New York Times novels, nor a stilted profession of the tearful unaccomplished.

Not everyone can do it, become JK Rowling or Carrol Lewis — but many succeed in unaccomplished glory.

Wonderland’s not where we live because we write, the everyday is clear and time counts;

The ruby-red snarls of many ‘Queen of Hearts” are far too real to avoid.

Bur, not having lived it, you can’t define an accountant, a banker, an assistant, a poet alone or how words of struggling flow.

Still, wise experience nods a teacher, it creates flushed fools for judging.

Hopes and dreams aren’t for the gavel;

Wasp words, those who stomp out candle light, don’t define reality or illusion as they intertwine.

Hours, sweat, tears, mental blockage, palms ink-stained, and effort –to finish but a sentence, they’re lived;

Writers aren’t mere dreamers, simple poets or wordsmiths;

Artists decide their titles, their boundaries.

People aren’t opinions, so let judgement float into words unsaid; instead, — hasten positivity.

Life’s understood by all uniquely, both in practicality and summer days’ swarming.

It’s not formed by popular opinion, social media, a hostile or forgiving world.

It’s a story that blooms and it’s not for anyone to say what is or isn’t,

For you’re not you’re opinions, and I don’t define you, thus;

People are multifaceted, sharing life’s uneasy ride;

So, keep your conclusions, define your passion and ambitions — not mine.

Unless you’ve walked in my shoes, are the hand covering mine as I jot –the nomenclature isn’t yours.

It’s mine, and I’ve been a writer since I was young,

Yet, the world remains both contentious and compassionate for any career,

I only wish the latter won, somewhere the ethereal and everyday combined in creative culture.

#NaPoWriMo Day 18: Poem – Elegy/Octava Rima — “Moon’s Ruins” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 18, the prompt is:

“Today, I’d like to challenge you to write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail. This may not be a “fun” prompt, but loss is one of the most universal and human experiences, and some of the world’s most moving art is an effort to understand and deal with it.”

Credit: Andres Kovacks via Unsplash.

Here lies she in nightgown silken violet,

Here lies she crevices in skin, so deep.

A century near, her beauty’s reached twilight.

Cream lace contrasts, ivory in age spots breached.

Here lies she, once ochre hair silver-white,

Eyelids closed, rings azure-sky in sleep each.

I miss her laugh-lines, fingers playing tunes;

She’s better beyond the sun, the moon’s ruins.

#NaPoWriMo Day 20: Free Verse – “Get Away, Get Away” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 20, the prompt is:

“Try to write a poem grounded in language as it is spoken – not necessarily the grand, dramatic speech of a monologue or play, but the messy, fractured, slangy way people speak in real life. You might incorporate overheard speech or a turn of phrase you heard once that stood out to you – the idea here is to get away from formally “poetic” speech and into the way language tends to work out loud.”

Based somewhat off William Blake’s, “The Chimney Sweeper: My Mother Died When I Was Very Young . . .

Credit: Google Images

Get away, get away, no scraps to eat,

Get away, get away, vile chimney sweeper.

Squirrel down the fireplace with hacking cough,

Get away, get away, tiny three-year old son.

Get away, get away, clean the soot well,

Treated as vermin, you know not nor why.

Get away, get away — two-hundred years passed.

And many hollows, still haunt chimney sweepers;

The dogs are fed, cats cradled, but somewhere —

The little chimney sweeper’s weep,

Broken spirited, choking on ashes, soot.

And modern toddlers cough, hurt someway else.

Get away, get away, we’ve a thousand things to do,

Get away, get away, nuisances only God sees as deserving.

Perhaps, some grandparent’s of a toddler, yet . . .

We’ve still forgotten. William Blake’s Chimney Sweepers.

Pretence and poison, do we value things, experiences over young life?

‘Get away, Get away,’ words unheeded not remembered,

Think they better, know they not;

None of us are better via religion, ethnicity, nor sense of reason,

If we don’t love the little children.

Get away, get away, let the chimney sweepers breath,

Let fresh air carry giggles, chimes in the wind,

No more work, not ever,

Only golden pathways to freedom.

June 2019
M	T	W	T	F	S	S
« May
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this: