Threeline Tales/ Music Challenge: Poem – Tankas – “The Oddity Stilled”#amwriting #poetry #musicchallenge #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. Combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Music Challenge song, “Space Oddity” by David Bowie.


Credit: NASA via Unsplash


Ground Control isn’t —

Earth a brilliant blue?

Aloft in tin can,

I lived, but for what?

Stars flare, blind in space.

*****

Ground Control, it’s Tom,

Capsules shut, I guess I’m stuck.

Yes, the circuits dead,

The Moon’s nearer too;

Our atmosphere fades; I’m scared.

*****

Ground Control, my wife?

You convinced us astronauts could,

Defy space’s void.

But, there’s nothing to —

Do — weightless, adrift; I’m still.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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 Day 24 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Art of a Story and Death” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #100WordWednesday #poetry


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting last week’s #100WordWednesday flashfiction prompt. Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is “to write a poem of ekphrasis — that is, a poem inspired by a work of art.” The A to Z Challenge GoodRead’s Prompt begins with the letter U. 

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Credit: Bikurgurl – Her Photograph and work of art for the prompt 🙂

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To write is to forget. Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life. Music soothes, the visual arts exhilarates, the performing arts (such as acting and dance) entertain. Literature, however, retreats from life by turning in into slumber. The other arts make no such retreat— some because they use visible and hence vital formulas, others because they live from human life itself. 

― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet”

(Sorry finding a Q name for this piece impossible but there is Q in Disquiet!)

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The photograph is lovely at first, 

A brilliant blue sky, soft winds of cool breezes, 

The Atlantic still icy, but forgiving. 

Trees rise and guard the home, the lighthouse, 

Ancient ones in slumber as spring yet approaches. 

Rock walls prevent a fall below, to the unforgiving chill. 

Hypothermia comes quickly here, 

But the scenery makes up for the inherent danger. 

Bright pink of the house stands out and the tower above matches, 

Glows in the night when the boats pass by, 

Protecting and guiding ships. 

The long grass still waiting to be verdent, 

Not dry crumpled straw. 

And the owners of the house are silent, keeping to themselves, 

Their only sense of existing, is the light that glares, when outside the tower is dark. 

Spring is slowly birthing, but the ocean’s still freezing, 

And the danger is too real for ships too close.  

And a stranger walking watches from the dim, 

Holding back a dog barking in madness. 

The bulb has burnt out, now disaster is unhinged, 

The ship clips the cliff, the house crumbles and the ship sinks, 

Screams in the night, in the Atlantic’ waters cold numbness. 

And when all is said and done, only the lighthouse stands, 

With a burnt out bulb of fault. 

How can this photograph be a work of art? 

Is there art in dying? 

Or is art and death as a perception, to ambigious to be real? 

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©Mandibelle16. 2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Day 4 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge: Poem – “A Secret Within A Secret” #amwriting #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge


Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo is to write a ” poem with a secret – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressing directly. The poem should function as a sort of riddle, but not necessarily a riddle . . .” As well, my GoodRead’s author quote will start with an author’s name beginning with the letter D, for the A to Z Challenge.

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Credit: Abigail Keenan via UnSplash

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“A picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know.” ― Diane Arbus

———-

On precious plush lips, she rests her hand, 

She’ll never tell you what thoughts she’s had. 

Preferring mostly, to let you wonder, 

To pillage her plunder, 

Yet to never understand who she is. 

The secret so hidden and complex; this —

Illusion she portrays, by and by, everyday. 

You can search through her closets array, 

Of clothes and shoes, or her jewelry gleaming, 

With her nothing is as it seems.

You’ll never find it hidden in kitchen drawers, 

Packed away in the cupboard’s coffee tin or —

When you find out her password to her page, 

Or look in private documents, bills or her wages.

It’s not in some box in the garage, 

And begging her won’t assuage —

What you can never seem to pin point, 

What you can never find in her poise —

The grace of her movements, her brilliant blue —

Eyes, searching yours, praying that you’ve a clue.

She’ll let you touch her how you like, 

She knows your confusion without spite. 

She’s hoping you’ll find it, but will you ever know? 

The truth it lies within her soul, 

And when you know — you’ll know. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.