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.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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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.

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#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.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#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).


Credit: DeviantArt

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.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#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!


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#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.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#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.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#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.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 19/ Photo Challenge: Poem – Haibun — “Forest Thoughts” #amwritingpoetry #amwritingfiction


For NaPoWriMo Day 19, my own poem. Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Photo Challenge.


Credit: Mindcore


The words were caught in Genevieve’s throat, and she couldn’t let go. It was as if a force shield quivered, blocking her. She couldn’t push through and recoiled when her attempts sputtered. She shoved and stumbled through the bubble walls. Finally, there was nothing stopping her speech, tears that wouldn’t stop as she trembled with nerves. Her and Gage had had another messy fight. She was left tearful and scatter brained.

Genevieve brushed poppy hair from her eyes. She twirled a strand and repeated the words. “I’m going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Someday soon, everything will be alright.”

She ached, exhausted, as her thoughts slipped and tossed. What was her opinion worth if Gage didn’t respect it? If her thoughts meant nothing as sand swirling into the wind, words lost. Then, past inklings of Gage’s kindness trickled into her mind. It wasn’t only his fault, it was hers too.

She blinked as water droplets splashed her face. The sky opened and nature healed her, soaked her clothes through. She knew her wounds would no longer bleed, not for a long time. She could handle Gage; she could handle ‘them.’

In retrospective she realized that the pain of silence after fighting was necessary. That mulled over words and nights of blank introspection had their purpose too. As Medusa’s locks turned to snakes, so Genevieve’s thoughts hissed and slithered. She might be a Medusa sometimes, but Gage didn’t care; they were each other’s monsters.

Near home, she curled on the old oak in the copse, thinking about how much time people wasted in anger and regret. Like she, most people said nothing at all, when the most significant words were so simple.

Genevieve thought about how grudges and long held hurts were nothing more than dust –ashes. But, they were meaningless in the scheme of life because, life wasn’t about who’s right. It’s not about words misread and mis-said. Life was about not wasting time upset over details.

She clenched her hands, then breathed deep as she drifted a moment, and shivered. The downpour hadn’t been cold but her teeth chattered now. She’d walked off from Gage sometime ago, needing time in the copse to think.

Then, a sting on her cheek made her jump; the mosquitos were out. Behind her the sky was grey tinged with coral. The night creatures’ scurried in the dark and Genevieve sighed. The cool air was medicine and she inhaled it, no matter that she had to wrap her arms around herself.

She hummed, and thought more about the words she hadn’t said, and the ones she had said to Gage. The words that hurt, and that said the wrong way caused pain. You could turn the maybes and what if’s around in your mind, and even though no one should say certain words — people made mistakes; her and Gage worst of all.

She shuddered again as the night air cooled more. Genevieve headed home from the copse, and the sky darkened to starlit-navy. Hours after their fight she recognized it wasn’t about what was said; it was about what a person’s actions proved.

That was a truth; perhaps, one beyond words. It was a realization that fear of the worst brings all humans to their knees, but that there was still hope. It was possible for all those tainted fights to fade, for partners to reunite. She peered around the dim as she trudged through the wet grass. Genevieve was un-afraid, she’d visited this copse many nights. She breathed in cedar, and the dampness of rain. She took her soggy hoodie and tried to squeeze out water. She pulled it tighter.

“We’re okay now.” She said it aloud because it was real. It wasn’t a faint hope as before. It was conceivable. She was no longer a medusa, but had discovered a self-confidence. Confidence that overcame her doubts, her pain of Gage’s words.

Genevieve had thought her walk private, until a rounded squirrel ran in front of her and stopped. He was wet too, but didn’t seem to care as droplets shook from his fur. He cocked his head towards her in the moonlight.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleep up high?” The squirrel chirped and scuttled closer. She reached into her purse, and the squirrelly froze waiting to see what she reached for. She tossed a small carrot, and the squirrel clenched it; he devoured it. After, finishing his first treat, the squirrel scuttled closer. She moved a second carrot around in the air like an old chalk-pen.

“You see, squirrel. The worst happens, and then in the thick of it, your mind opens, and everything’s okay — everything’s okay. Those past fights, bitter words mean nothing. All these fears you have burn away. Whatever the past, it’s no longer relevant. Trust me squirrel.” He chirped in demand, and she knelt babe held out the carrot. He nudged it from between her fingers and bundled it away as he scampered up the nearest tree.

She clutched her purse and stretched as grayish clouds slid over the moon As she neared the path to the cabin porch. Her fight with Gage was done. Genevieve thought about how sometimes, the world spun too fast, how time sped. But, she knew Gage would forgive her and she forgave him too. She shivered but jogged close as the cabin came into view. She emerged from the copse a new woman.

When she reached the top porch step, she halted. Gage lay half asleep on the porch swing. He had waited for her. Her hands shook as she sat beside him, and covered them both with a thick blankets from a storage bench. She’d pulled off her soaked shoes and sweater, the rest of her was half dry.

Genevieve snuggled into Gage’s shoulder. As sleep claimed her she thought about how life was a mosaic of possibility. It altered and spun into a world that never ceased to amaze. It didn’t matter that sometimes it ached. It mattered that for seconds, the aches ebbed to nothing but her and Gage asleep beneath the stars.

Asleep on the swing they rest,

Thoughts of hurt drift in peace found;

Heals the deepest wounds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

NaPoWriMo Day 17/ Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Raven’s Meeting” #amwritingpoetry


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ, from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie, Photo Challenge. For NaPoWriMo Day 17, the prompt is:


“Today, I’d like you to challenge you to write a poem that similarly presents a scene from an unusual point of view. Perhaps you could write a poem that presents Sir Isaac Newton’s discovery from the perspective of the apple. Or the shootout at the OK Corral from the viewpoint of a passing vulture. Or maybe it could be something as everyday as a rainstorm, as experienced by a raindrop.


Credit: Gabriel Isaak


Because you brought hope too,

I thought we were meant to meet.

Your foot prints deep diagonals in the sand,

Trails of hair caught in the winds thrall.

Eyes caramel touched by ebony,

Mirrored my eyes of coals marbled, my ravens plumage too.

Your locks dance, as my wings reach towards you.

You were my olive branch, but you stood there starring as if —

You were caught in the storm too,

Feet weighted to the ground, cement.

My claws didn’t indent your fine sweater — the wool could’ve snarled my talons.

Your lids flutter, strange, wide as if I’d surprised you.

And when I chirped, (squawked to some), you understood my peril,

The angst of having nothing left inside to fly.

Not to bleed and call forth the ocean’s tyrants.

For a while I stood, peered —

And on your arm, my ruffled feathers rested,

Your strange white-talons graze my head,

And my feathers are swept a moment by skin.

Maybe, you could understand a moment,

Survival without security.

Your eyes translated a kind of pain, our loss both,

Mine without a mate to soar, or the immortality of eggs;

Yours what? A loss I did not know except a need to rest,

For hours I stood shaking, your face nuzzled mine,

Any your limbs folded under, we slept soft on your coat.

Then, the slender sun lit,

You stretched one arm, head tilted,

Our eyes met, as you turned your other limb, and laughed ( ravens laugh too, you know),

I teetered awhile and the conversation clear, despite my peeps, your chatter in response.

Then, you turned, squelching footprints marked your trail from the sea.

So, I arose, and in dawns flight I left behind the blight before your presence;

I didn’t feel alone, I didn’t feel so lost,

I cawed once more.

Then, I drifted with gentle currents and thought,

We were both the better for our nights rest, our meeting.


Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.