#NaPoWriMo Day 22/Tale Weavers: Poem – Blitz – “The Thirteenth Hour (Dim of Chase)” #poetry #amwriting #TaleWeavers #MLMM


For NaPoWriMo Day 22 the Prompt is: ” to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens: ‘The clock can’t strike thirteen.‘”

I’m combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver Prompt #166 on the theme of “exploring the sensations of being lost, not knowing where you are and realizing you are wandering aimlessly. How and/or who do you ask for help?”


Credit: Mara Eastern. Used with Permission for MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.


The clock can’t strike thirteen

Thirteens the witching hour dim

Dim as the black soundless night

Dim as every street’s the same

Same as the last and same as the next

Same figures leering in an unfathomable maze

Maze where I don’t know where here is

Maze where each turn is the wrong way

Way down cobblestone paths

Way down roads with naught but silence

Silence without comfort

Silence that hastens quivering

Quivering and deciding to go back

Quivering as I wander in circles

Circles towards the same stuccoed shops

Circles to windows with signs reading, “Closed”

Closed as midnight has long passed chimed

Closed no matter my banging on houses

Houses red-bricked, idyllic in day

House white-fenced unhearing of strangers

Strangers as I, but I am no harm

Strangers as they who follow and whisper

Whisper that I’m lost and cannot escape

Whisper of this hours unholiness

Unholiness as the demons mock my steps

Unholiness as the graveyard headstones crack

Crack as stones splits with moaning

Crack as hands reach, bloodied and fragile

Fragile as my skin sweating and chilled

Fragile as heels broken — left in bare-feet

Bare-feet blackened from putrid streets

Bare-feet cut by pebbles with each step

Step here, step there, no where leads home

Step into the inescapable hour trapped

Trapped as the chants drew me far

Trapped as I bewitched scampered

Scampered away from the party’s delights

Scampered into the sudden mist further

Further into the labyrinth, a sweet dream in daylight

Further into the hour my grandmother warned

Warned of those of dark intent who wander

Warned of the hour so few remember

Remember the creatures who frighten

Remember the creatures who chase

Chase in the thirteenth hour’s delusions

Chase me, knowing I knew better

Better despite my heart’s rapid fluttering

Delusions fade, a light burns — the wicked-hour passes


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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#OctPoWriMo – Day 5 – Blitz Poem – “Sharp Is the Knife” #poetry #amwriting


Day 5 Prompt: Sharp

“When I first think of something sharp, pain comes to mind but then I think of an A sharp or a B sharp. Of course there are sharp turns, sharp angles and “He’s looking sharp.” and let’s not forget, sharp as a tack and look sharp.” 

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http://www.emptyseats.wordpress.com

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Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Not the brightest crayon in the box. 

Boxes need opening with sharp knives.

Boxes, trapped in our boxes, locked.

Lock it up tight. 

Lock it or else 

Else in the morning you’re to blame

Else, you’ll lose your job, what then

Then you don’t know

Then you can’t tell

Tell nothing because

Tell nothing they say

Say you’re not bright

Say you’re a bit dim

Dim as shadow

Dim as a dark room

Rooms, you’ve not one your own

Rooms are nothing, you’re vagrant 

Vagrant wandering needs people 

Vagrant wandering seeking close

Close enough, no one will steal

Close enough, no one will think

Think you’re more than homeless

Think you’re more than a mistake

Mistaken once, but you’re capable

Mistaken once, but you’re smart

Smart, can you appear that way

Smart, most people aren’t

Aren’t life smart

Aren’t more than book smart

Smart, who cares when you’ve no food

Smart, who cares when you’re so cold

Cold eyes of people staring

Cold hearts of people cracking

Cracking your bubble 

Cracking your safety zone

Zone of space around you

Zone of personal space

Space is all around you

Space, there is too much of it

It, means a place you can stay 

It is a place called home

Home, needs a job to pay for 

Home, lost because you weren’t sharp

Sharp is the knife that cuts in life.

Sharp is the knife that cuts in life.

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The Blitz Poem
“The Blitz Poem, a poetry form created by Robert Keim.
This form of poetry is a stream of short phrases and images with repetition and rapid flow. 
Begin with one short phrase, it can be a cliché. Begin the next line with another phrase that begins with the same first word as line 1. The first 48 lines should be short, but at least two words.

The third and fourth lines are phrases that begin with the last word of the 2nd phrase, the 5th and 6th lines begin with the last word of the 4th line, and so on, continuing, with each subsequent pair beginning with the last word of the line above them, which establishes a pattern of repetition. 

Continue for 48 total lines with this pattern, And then the last two lines repeat the last word of line 48, then the last word of line 47.
The title must be only three words, with some sort of preposition or conjunction joining the first word from the third line to the first word from the 47th line, in that order.
There should be no punctuation. When reading a BLITZ, it is read very quickly, pausing only to breathe.” 
Please see Shadow Poetry for further information. 

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Apologies, the whole bolded text above should be indented but my WordPress App is misbehaving. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Deserved.