100 Word Wednesdays, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Free Verse, History, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Quotes, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

 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. 

———

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

———

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!)

———

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? 

———



——–

©Mandibelle16. 2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Children/YA/Family, Fiction, Lune - 5,3,5 or 5 words, 3 words, 5 words, My Thoughts, Poetry, Three Line Tales, Writing, Writing Challenges

Three Line Tales: Poem – Lunes – “Dazzling Warmth” #3Linetales #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. 

—–

Credit: Zara Walker via UpSplash

——

Wool of coat, not enough, 

A chill fills, 

Air crisp, bitter, it nips. 

—-

Icey cold cheeks, Mom’s hand, 

Feels my skin, 

Sparkler stick held, heat dazzling

—-

Such sparks fly, ignited shimmering, 

Burning radiant stick, 

Warmth fills the chilled night.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, November Notes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing

November Notes: Poem – Day 3 – Italian Sonnet – “Bleeding Rose” #amwriting #novembernotes #poetry 


Today’s prompt is the song: “The Otherside of Paradise” by Glass Animals.

——

The Otherside of Paradise,” – Glass Animals

——-

Credit: Fine Art America -Christian Chapmen – “Bleeding Rose”

——

You don’t see what you’re doing, caught dreaming. 

Babe stole my life away, rockstar crazy. 

Didn’t know I needed him, smoker hazing. 

Fitting in his life, guitar notes streaming.

Babe you forgot me, her fur coat gleaming.

Versace, one of everything, likes daisies.

Never thought you were more than just lazy. 

Alone in this room, a woman cries fleeing. 

——

Chill of winter of in her bones that girls gone, 

She left with you, her spirit trailing smoke. 

Didn’t you hear the fire alarm? She lost hope.

Winters cold to marrow of bones, bitter song, 

Bullets hit, and then she’s gone; did you love her? 

Your phone calls rang; all here smelt blood’s tang. 

——-


——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.