Your soulmate wasn’t supposed to be perfect. You were meant to see the cracks in her soul and fill them with what you have and she was meant to see yours. Together you would be complete.” ― Shannon L. Alder
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.
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.
© Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Deserved.
Thanks to Bastet from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. This week’s prompt is a soliloquy at a train station. I’ll be using blank verse or unrhymed iambic pentameter as the Bard did.
“Imagine a scene, a train is pulling out of the station and a person standing on the platform looking dejected. What can have happened. Perhaps this person is someone in the station wishing to leave but for some reason hasn’t. “
So leaves the train, so leaves my heart,
Why him I once loved, now I know not?
Must have been his eyes so brilliant a green,
Gems such as emeralds, a sea-green storm brewed.
Was it his cavalier smile, his laugh?
With him I felt wanted, weak in the knees.
I was his Queen, he my adoring King.
He cared for me gently, said I shouldn’t stay —
On my own, for he loved me; fooled me,
Underestimated a woman cruelly scorned.
I saw cracks in the vase, facade crumbled,
An artist’s dream of beauty such a fake,
He left, emptied my pockets of money.
This con thinks he’s safe going to Bahamas,
Since he betrayed me, I say differently.
He’ll be doing some flying, and me thinks he’s done.
Thrown off the tallest bridge, out of the train.
Expensive was his end, but I’m appeased.
I watched his train moving away, still —
Missing his voice, his touch, time spent loving.
But I know he never loved me, I was ‘means’ —
To an end; yet, the ‘real end’ was his own.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.
Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting 100 Word Wednesdays.
Answer my tears all the fears my eyes show clear,
They’re crystals melting glass, no thought shown.
Ice drops of dew, hands cupped close to mold —
Truth of the matter — hearts must mend own fears.
Cracks, rips, tears all sewn shut; your favorite dear —
Toy held close, repaired; fine cracks don’t hold,
They grow deeper; fractured, you’re unfolded,
Not yourself, too many holes to conceal.
Something from nothing; super glue won’t seal,
Remains of a woman, broken, chipped, fools gold.
Dusty forgotten, hands wrinkle, behold —
Beauty untold; someone precious revealed .
Leave me not alone in this life, let me —
Care, be cared for, let love in me be seen.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved
They call it the unknown,
The future lying before you.
No matter if you’re psychic,
No one knows what happens.
There are varied scenarios,
Ways it could play out,
But truly we don’t know the future.
It’s a mystery creeping forward,
And it pulls us along on our knees.
Whether we go willingly,
Or go kicking and screaming;
Time marches in to the beat,
Of father time’s own drum.
I don’t know what’s coming,
I know worrying won’t help.
I think sometimes I try to give advice,
Reassuring myself in kind.
There are bright possibilities,
Hoping people become,
More kind than they are mean to each other.
Pray people look-out for each other,
But sometimes I think society is self-centred.
I admit to such fault and others too,
But I’m still fearful;
When I think of a year or two ahead,
I’m afraid what if it’s not the right plan?
Experience deftly taught me,
Plans are dim outlines of reality.
Mostly, life goes where it goes,
And God only knows where or why.
Leading us through dark valleys,
Into trenches with piercing bullets flying.
Into classrooms with screaming kids,
A gunmen on the loose.
He leads us through to people,
Whose power makes one nervous.
How even democracy isn’t safe —
A tyrant could rule all.
Maybe the world will surprise me,
But I fear for the little person.
My own personal fears weigh heavy,
Though others bear pains greater.
Of lawyers and cases,
Of corruption and crime.
Those crimes we deem terrible;
Those crimes brushed under the rug.
Greed and all those other sins,
Abhorred but freely ignored.
Though I can never say what’s worse —
My own flaws or imperfections,
Or those I’m faced with.
Stress shows through cracks,
Egg yokes running.
No one likes raw eggs except in cookie dough.
The future is overwhelming.
But at least they’ll still be cookie dough,
And I don’t know why —
I’m particular and observant.
Why I know it’s better to be alone,
Than be truly alone with another.
Why I wait for that spark,
Why I wait for the morning dawn.
A smile in his eyes which is genuine,
Wherever he is.
But maybe happiness is a puppy,
Paws following me on the hardwood,
Barks at random sounds.
The glory of a puppy skidding down —
The off leash trail and wheeling;
Turning around to jump on me,
To pick her up when she’s tired.
My bones are stiff and ridged,
My dreams fall to despair.
So many books and writers,
And not anyone can compare.
How to rise above the masses,
Or fill your own niche contented.
But perhaps one could be something —
Success in small moments.
Afraid and weighted,
Need to cry, tears unshed,
Because disease is cruel.
Even if Heaven is the end of the tunnel,
So many words are left unsaid.
The timing of it all, does it work?
I feel alienated,
Though I try hard to keep the connection,
It’s all in your planning Lord;
So must I say, your will be done.
©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.
Today’s prompt song “Criminal” by Fiona Apple.
“Criminal” – Fiona Apple
Bad girls get things done, get what they want.
Girls with stone hearts, don’t hear mean taunts,
They’re invincible, wild; know how to flaunt.
You won’t get past their walls, their dauntless.
A little crack formed, stone heart releasing,
Her emotions unceasing —
Guilt claws inside of her, has no peace.
Demons of her past, screaming though deceased.
Raw heart brought forth, your her only love;
Needs to be redeemed –a sinner smudged.
Thoughtless before; she needs her beloved.
Your criminal, she needs kid gloves.
Tell her what to do and how to act now,
Not to be a defiant girl, too proud.
Forgive her drunken haze –parties loud,
Redeem your Criminal right now.
Redeem your Criminal right now.
©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.
Swords, steel reflecting light, might against might;
Who has the stronger arm; who’se trained to perfection?
End ridiculous contestants, challenging each other,
Coming to blows over Ladies, with medieval weaponry.
Put your duelling pistols away, live through dawn;
You combat with each other as you choose,
It means little to me; chivalry the grim has scythed.
Twenty-first-century woman, with poise taking on life.
Chivalry, extinct and never truthfully was ‘in,’
It was a gest, a game the court played for King and Queen,
Beneath the game, feigned affection reigned.
No thought for the personal freedoms of a Lady,
No thought for the woman; she was owned.
At the hub of a wheel of chilviry, the Princess on her throne.
Married off on a white horse, to a dashing young Prince.
He a tyrant, spinning the cogs and wheels of his kingdom.
She primps, preens, performing a show;
Accepting her Prince’s knight’s fealty; his dying love,
On battle field, the enemy soldiers ran the knight through.
Courtly manners, hide whispered secrets;
Lethal games, converging in mortality; bloody corpses.
Hold your swords away, do not thrust or perry for attention.
The world has out-grown “pissing contests.”
Win the woman of your dreams, with humour,
Demonstrate, actual life, not fairy tales, can be fun together.
Your wife can be your lover; your lover your wife,
No having a woman pure enough for wifely duties,
And a mistress a man loved and made actual love to.
Forget Authorian Legend and courtly love; it’s rules are lore.
Buy your own Lady gloriously coloured flowers,
Take her for a night dancing; giving a memory to smile about.
Together is being with all of your close friends,
Together is melding your families;
Being united by oath; an agreement between you both.
A Lady is no longer the Princess on the courtly pedastool;
A man is no longer the white knight; we’ve put to rest fairy tales.
Netflix and chill on the couch; a stately royal date,
Closing the leather bound, dusty history’s books,
On weird courtship rituals, forced marriages, and chivalry.
More than anything, chivalry was a literary tradition.
Yet, the modern era cries; find your soulmate if you can.
Most parents finished arranging marriages,
A new way to win the bride, to win the Lady.
Love her for more than her sexuality, her ability to have children;
Love her though she is flawed and not entirely ideal.
Love her forever, your heart beating for her;
Chilviry in true form; hides in the modern world.
Equality of woman and men; yet woman adore being catered to,
How lovely to be spoiled; treated as if you were special despite feminism.
Only, keep your swords and your pistols in the vaults of history,
A game of fists won’t usually solve the problem.
Slipping in through the cracks of ice in her shield,
Growing warmth and heat, so her hard heart beats,
Thawing out the cold; letting spring light up her voice,
Allowing the light in her eyes to flourish and glow,
Hiding winters barren drought filled radiation.
Rays of light, they ignite and bring fire to her tears,
Bring a Princess, ignored and used —
Into the modern-era; she’s your Lady, so you treat her well,
And all her love acquire in return.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.