#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.

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Published Poem – Spillwords.com – Free Verse “Don’t Burn Out All the Lights” #amwriting #poetry #spillwords


I am pleased to have another poem published on http://www.spillwords.com. Check them out, they are amazing to collaborate with. Here’s the poem: “Don’t Burn Out All the Lights.”


Credit: Spillwords.com


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved

Published Poetry – Spillwords: Free Verse – ” You Can’t Take The Pain Away” #amwriting #poetry #spillwords


Good Morning! I’m sharing a new piece of poetry. It hasn’t been published on my blog until now. Spillwords Press graciously published another one of my poems. Check them out at http://www.spillwords.com to publish some your best poetry and other writing. Here’s today’s poem: You Can’t Take the Pain Away

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Credit: http://www.spillwords.com

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© Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Deserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Still Grins On #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF


Skull
A Mixed Bag

Whose skull was this?

Painted with black,

Pagan man with Celtic designs.

Artwork of black paint done with care.

Celtic chains round the chin,

Eyes the deepest black holes,

Examining his head thinking,

Under every living human head,

Lies bones, a skull.

More chains around his forehead,

Celtic chains connecting what?

Fans of decorations highlighting cheeks,

And lines underneath hollow eyes.

Teeth broken, some full and functional.

But some teeth chipped,

Decayed from no tooth brush or paste?

What artist drew on a human skull?

Had he or she no respect for the dead?

But I think this skull we’ve found,

Designed with detail,

In the middle of the Ireland,

Tells a story of a time long ago,

No saying how gentleman skull died.

If he was sacrificed,

Or passed away from illness,

These decorations seem to tell me,

He died a man of a great respect.

I do know he was not so old,

And someone saw value in his bones,

To delicately, with care, design his skull rare.

Perhaps, frightening away the other dead.

Or with an artists eye,

Giving glory and tribute to this man’s remains.

His skull the most valued,

For there sat his brain, where he thought,

Ruled kindly and wisely, a leader,

Before death took his life.

And the painted skull through time,

Still grins on.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.