#NaPoWriMo Day 5/ Three Line Tales: Poem – Haikus – “Garden Faeries Direct”#amwriting #poetry #3LineTales


For Day 5 NaPoWriMo, the Prompt is: “to write a poem beginning with a photo, and find a poem in a language you don’t know (here’s a good place to look!) Ignore any accompanying English and translate the poem into English, with the idea that the poem is “about” your photograph. Also, thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Vek Labs via Unsplash


“The Hand Writes on the Mind: An Arrow ” By Manuel Gusmão

*****

a mão escreve na mente: a flecha

que viaja no papel a rosa dos ventos:

a clave do sol; la clef des jardins;

a chave como um comboio de criança

passando num pátio com palmeira, entre

o crepúsculo branco e a manhã vermelha;

a cidade crescera como os arcos das ondas

ao encontro das aéreas construções das nuvens;

a meio caminho triângulos acesos ondeavam

e a terra recordava-se murmurante

das raízes das árvores eléctricas

em cujos ramos brilhavam os peixes

profundos.

Nem com setas habitarias tal pátria

e por isso as pões na pintura que delira

e desenhas uma fairy queen: um canto

árabe uma princesa árabe escrita em sarapilheira

e aureolada pelo napalm; a floresta em construção

multiplica a lua cheia pelas paliçadas lacustres;

os barcos navegam uma noite branca

que se ergue como um monte iluminado

por monstruosas flores irregulares

em cruz e em espiral à tua espera


Arrow tattooed, handwritten —

Indelible; fay unseen, these —

Wide-eyed pixies.

*****

Sun crests, arises while we —

Recline in the garden,

Crystal fleurs flourish. *****

Vermilion twilight’s spell cast,

Faeries amidst foliage dance,

Directions unknown.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Quadrille – “Winged Hope” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW August 29, 2017. Also, thanks to Paul Scribbles of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for hosting a poetry prompt on magic

——–

Credit: Jade M. Wong – FFftAW

——–

Art bleeds, 

Nobody’s seen before —

Winged ring,

Mortally wounded.  

Some kids arrows —

Embedded. 

Forever trickling,  

Whenever someone’s — 

Dying. 

Knives, gunshots wounds. 

Whether they’re sick —

On pain medication. 

Or dead in sleep.

Winged circle bleeds, 

For generations. 

Weeping blood,

For death is —

Constant. 

Yet in darkness, 

Gleams old magic, 

Hope’s recourse, 

Heals. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Writing Prompt: Poem – Bop – “Breaks Your Bones With Mirth” #poetry #amwriting


Thanks to Pat of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last Sunday’s writing prompt. 

—–

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie (Pat)

——–

There’s something about love decidedly,

Painful, heart twisting, leaving jagged lines.

While once you functioned on your straight path, 

You struggle to be separated, unclasped, 

From your lover caught such sweet endorphins,

Feel good moments together, love morphed. 

Love breaks your bones with laughter and rich mirth. 

There are times you beg to be left alone, 

Marking out your space, a millisecond —

Of time to yourself wished, without cleaning, 

Tidying up the mess, dealing with mean, 

Gestures of agonized perfection you’ll, 

Never live up to, with nagging so cruel.

If only it was easier to both be, 

More easy going, he and you pleased. 

Love breaks your bones with laughter and rich mirth. 

Back under the covers hide you both, 

Yourselves, to frantic lovers never clothed. 

When you can forget your petty squabbles, 

When skin and touch are both arrows, 

To passion and renewal, to time spent, 

Lounging and loving close, you both relent. 

Love breaks your bones with laughter and rich mirth. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 


Photo Challenge: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Cowboys and Indians” #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge.

——

Credit: Elizabeth Anna

——-

Face so black, eyes green-blue, a warrior stood, 

In forest, playing games, children not meek.

On the faces of cliffs roam, hide and seek,

Cowboys with guns, face arrows of wood. 

Her hair is in braids, she’s taller and could, 

 Take out any boy; her face paint it streaks;

Black oil paints stain her pink dress as she seeks, 

Unafraid, with bow ready, arrow’s wood —

Will strike at any movement and set fly, 

Weapon which could hurt, but that’s life she sighs.  

Hopes her arrow might hit a deer — dinner, 

For a family she can’t feed, as a child. 

Only a girl, no parents but she plays, 

In this strange cowboys and Indian brave’s game. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.