Free Verse – Mandibelle16

#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 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 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 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.

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.

#NaPoWriMo Day 16: Poem: “Whirlwind” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriPo Day 16: Just my own poem for this day, written awhile ago.

Credit: Twinsfish via Unsplash.

There’s this whirlwind, a dervish,

Often, I cant escape it.

This sucking of air from lungs, a lack of patience;

I used to have every moment in the world:

It took forever for it to run out,

And I’m relearning this skill.

Some think they can be impatient,

Rudely shove past people, those who deserve it;

But, you can try to listen,

Even if they’re not listening or repeating —

Something you’ve heard one thousand times.

Sometimes you bite your tongue

Stop the meandering mental pathways —

Your questions; remember everyone has had a long day too.

Slide out of the tornados eye;

Through the winds blinding, and binding, confiding your sense of balance.

Dance out of the dust, mud, rain, waves, the anger;

Sometimes you breathe deep,

Turn your lips into a smile, pretend you agree,

Say nothing, let your temper settle.

Remember that simple explanations are best,

That the multiple pathways and methods ‘sense-making’ in your mind;

Is not the way logic works for all others.

So, you shut up, say nothing, until you can explain well,

Without the background, the twists, and stormy turns.

Without repeated words and salesmen tricks;

So, in the end you say thank you,

And in your head, “Go away.”

Because some people are having a horrible day,

And you’ve been there too.

Because it’s hard to serve others and be sunshine 24-7;

Because it’s not worth the damage —

To argue; state the simple truth.

Let others be horrid, be sympathetic;

And charm each angered stranger,

Because maybe after the theatrics are over,

Two can meet for a moment’s truth.

Two can comprehend without rabbit holes,

Without side-questions or insults underhanded.

You can roar sometimes,

But choose your fights wisely.

Deep breathe and stall a second first.

Some strangers aren’t worth the effort,

Some friends aren’t worth the tears;

There are a vast amount of reasons to not lash-out,

Mostly, because the aftermath tells us,

Tiny things aren’t so significant in the giant picture.

One awful experience, does not define a person;

And is likely a second you’ll forget.

Be calm in the whirlwind,

Be kind, and let patience flow.

#NaPoWriMo Day 13: Poem – Free Verse – “It is Said – Hope” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 13, the prompt is:

“Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something mysterious and spooky! Your poem could be about something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way. . .”

Credit: Ron Smith via Unsplash.

No ghosts or goblins,

No rattled breath wheezing.

No spirits haunting from crimson murder houses,

No cursed black cats yowling; only memories arising.

People forgotten, ones I shouldn’t forget,

Faces and moments, but life’s not the kindest,

Then, sometimes it’s roses, inhaled intoxication.

Sometimes it’s gentle waves and childhood carousels; finely carved horses, lively tunes.

Vivid and perceptive, ice-crystal memories,

Riding in a car down the road, breeze blowing hair back, sunglasses and red Polk-a-dot scarf.

Then, the day ends and mist enshrouds these golden-hours,

Seeming ghosts, as ever present’s failure you can’t escape.

Good-times as mint-chip ice cream from a farm, rich and intoxicating,

You could live forever on these fumes –but the seconds keep ticking.

And once you had a goal, talent, imagination, and purpose,

Now the blurry fog of all-hallows-eve sneaks in, and you’re exhausted.

Your form in the mirror, not transparent, but a wisp of your true self,

What you strive for, as you cringe at more closed doors, more ‘no’s.’

And, perhaps, the scariest truth isn’t the monsters who creep or scream,

But the visage of yourself on a rough road you never pictured.

In a life you’re still trying to master, and will only leave twisted,

But, perhaps that’s everyone’s truth, and maybe it’s your outlook?

Maybe carousel music, and butter-salt popcorn is still a possibility?

If only for a nano-second, to have peace and security; utter joy.

To flourish and be better than those memories and faces, gone with the sunrise,

To rest in bed, not holding your breath by a graveyard.

For, no matter the circumstance, there’s always, it is said –hope.

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

For NaPoWriMo Day 14, the prompt is:

“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 10: Poem – Free Verse “Despite” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 10 I’m writing a poem not based on that days prompt.

Wake me in vermilion and peach,

The sunset explodes, but I’ll sleep through, gaze as it blends with cerulean sky.

The beauty of a light –I’m awake and have the energy of a thousand years in hours.

Wake me up, when my bones aren’t stiff and my mind not muddled.

For healing, offer carmine apples, lush lemons sour;

Hot pink tulips leaning towards sunshine, the omniscient glimmer.

A liberty in nature’s art, space to breath and become;

God, don’t let me drown,

Or tumble; don’t let my mind muddle, my body betray.

Never return to those darkest hours, the hurt of anger, such rage;

The storm that swallowed me; yet, created me as ‘me’ today — whoever I’m becoming,

As I tread, swim through cement waves and air seethes into my lungs when I surface.

Aid me as I discover, my rhythm in life, melodic movement to overcome the dim.

Let me meander verdant forests, trails of enlightenment, peace to wander and laugh,

Picnics, wine, and beaches in the sun, with my friends and loved ones.

Leave me in tranquility to amble amongst wild fuchsia flowers,

Let life not be rigid, placed in rows upon rows of suffering.

As the wild flowers bloom in every direction, soothe my soul every way it leans.

For I fear that it will never grow upright, gain the suppleness of a giant oak;

Perhaps, I’m flimsy, but you renew my strength.

And whichever way I’m swept, let the daylight warm my petals; my flexible stem let it bend.

Though white skins burns, let your healing burn brighter, as sleep soothes all wounds;

Let not little strokes, those choking quakes, break me from my journey.

So, I’ll keep pushing, the blue bird unafraid to try to dive;

My stomach aches and falls to the ground, the shadows swim closer, yank me under the waves.

Yet, in your hands I’m safe, there’s no harm, my wingspan lengthens,

I may limp, but that’s never meant I cannot fly, achieve possibilities despite misery’s woes.

Despite — I’ll always take flight despite.

June 2019
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