#NaPoWriMo Day 12/Poet’s Pub: Poem – Haibun – “The Battle” #dVerse #poetry #amwriting


For NaPoWriMo Day 12, the Prompt is: to “write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. I have to my surprise, never written in this form, so here’s a definition from Haibun– Poets.org:


“Haibun is a poetic form that allows one to answer some of these questions while providing a fresh perspective through a lens that focuses on nature and landscape. Haibun combines a prose poem with a haiku. The haiku usually ends the poem as a sort of whispery and insightful postscript to the prose of the beginning of the poem. Another way of looking at the form is thinking of haibun as . . . a prose poem ending with a meaningful murmur of sorts: a haiku.”


Also, I’m combining with Paul Scribble’s #dVerse Poet’s Pub, poetic prompt on a quote about poetic arts. The two prompts fit together well.


To write about poetry is to believe that there are answers to some of the questions poets ask of their art, or at least that there are reasons for writing it, writes Michael Weigers, editor of the anthology This Art: Poems about Poetry (Copper Canyon Press, 2003).


Credit: FreeStocks.org via Unsplash


Past the ravine, the North Saskatchewan flows; ice on her surface where Spring’s murmuring waters compose. The snow floats, sheets of ice crack, confused, the rivers pull bursts through. Amidst howling winds and bitter nights of chill, Spring waltzes in with lilacs. But old-man winter berates with frost, slippery roads, broken sidewalks. Spring blossoms and explodes, to weave the buds that summon bees. Springs drugged words ignored, no lush greenery bursts. Leaves rot, the ice, the snow, the muck, the refuse mushed, derelict without Spring’s blossoms. She hums her tune, an heals Winter’s hacking cough; she pleads her assurance of poppy fields. The old-man shakes his fist with cantankerous growl — another ‘last’ snowstorm grits. The poet composes in metaphorical bliss, avoiding morn’s beams. The question of, “Why?” No matter. The question of, “How can I not?” Words that enthral.

*****

Sleep in poppy’s opium kiss,

Revel in sunlight’s verdant bliss;

Spring’s song; poet’s light.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Saved by A Song” #100WordWednesdays #poetry #amwriting


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.


Credit: Matthew Henry via Unsplash


On the path you get lost ’cause you can’t find —

Your way; no doors through the puddles find sway.

To open, reveal the road; thus, engraved —

With the direction, you’re hunting; rain blinds,

No better journeys exist than chill times —

Where your wet, but exhausted you find ways.

Though angry winds, with freezing sleet berate,

Wandering lost, you’ll burn in your mind —

Slippery trails, bricks steeped in sludge, than trills —

Of harsh winds chiming against grim sign posts;

Metallic melodies haunt, notes crescendo, thrill —

Calling to you, as you pray soulfully;

That your mind won’t panic, but think calmly.

Enlightened, finding Home through the rain’s song.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

 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!)

———

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. 

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


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

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Credit: Zara Walker via UpSplash

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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. 

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.

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The Otherside of Paradise,” – Glass Animals

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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. 

——-


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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.