#NaPoWriMo Day 2: Poem – Free Verse — “To Live” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 2, the prompt is:

“Today’s prompt (optional, as always) is based on this poem by Claire Wahmanholm, which transforms the natural world into an unsettled dream-place. One way it does this is by asking questions – literally. The poem not only contains questions, but ends on a question. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that similarly resists closure by ending on a question, inviting the reader to continue the process of reading (and, in some ways, writing) the poem even after the poem ends.”


Credit: Ben White via Unsplash.


Sometimes I’m the spirit child,

Forever pigeon- faced cooing.

Sometimes I’m one-hundred-and-one,

Lapis Luzia blue eyes and crinkled skin,

As seconds tick, shoes tap the floor.

But to whose office am I called, faded bloom or seedling?

Sometimes I am the unsinkable youth,

Glorying in winds, summer wind’s bustle at midnight.

2:00 a.m. suppers, 2:00 p.m. breakfast –swallowed with Advil;

But sometimes it’s Aspirin, to thin retirement blood.

At times 2:00 A.M. is cornpops and milk,

When chicken breasts on salads, and protein shakes are grim;

I can’t swallow cardboard, but I’m not — I’ve tastebuds functioning.

Shall I have my shake to slim my physique?

Or, drink it too keep my nutrition in-sink?

Who wants to age frail, but neither do we want to be fat,

I think we never win,

Time is outside our boundaries.

And, sometimes I’m a teenager rolling with puppies,

With floppy ears and downy fur,

Tummy bare, rounded.

Sometimes my chest flutters, absorbing nips and belly rubs,

Because in such a short time,

She wheezed and I couldn’t awake to be there.

I knew enough, in the stillness of her beauty, what no breath meant.

Age took not her thick coat,

Only transported her to Elysian Fields,

Where we could not be together.

Sometimes I’m her bouncing through fields, cornering chipmunks,

Snuggling in the pack and running for miles.

Then, I’m the patient who’s wistful at her energetic tail.

Too tired to think beyond, the glory of her life,

To stretch and tag along at first so slow,

As she springs off of trees and barks like a bandit;

But, then I’m strong enough to ferry her across death’s rivers.

Later, I’m the painter with jubilant dreams,

Charcoal smudged, thick acrylics, immersed in sunlight.

Or, am the father-tree thick, ever-growing,

Am I one-hundred-and-fifty, here first;

Branches upswept, trailing the clouds.

But, you rip me out, brutally, as a beating heart,

My roots torn, paper shredded.

You make room for your concrete, your steel,

Your building and students, who know not my ghost.

Am I anyone or anything because I was?

Am I anything, was I once?

Now, I’m the knowledge they learn flourishing,

Then, I’m deep, rich dirt.

Reminded that in all homelands,

That all our histories are layer-upon-layer,

Sediment shattered, walls reconstructed.

Fire, earth, wind, and water didn’t end us —

What does? Will they remember before?

But then, I’m the tiniest weed, and still I live,

What’s life?

Your perception of what it is to be alive?


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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#OctPoWriMo Day 17/Photo Challenge: Poem – “Lay Down Your Guns” #amwritingpoetry #PhotoChallenge


For OctPoWriMo Day 17 the Prompt is Madness Reigns. I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. Inspired by Joyrose’s piece It’s Not Rocket Science!


Credit: Art Universe @ Instagram

World builder, psycho destroyer

With your purple-pits for eyes,

You black-eyed raven with pitiless guise.

Hiding your intentions,

You cannot snatch them back — nevermore.

You are wicked madness in destruction,

Shedding humanity, no magic world-builder, but you could’ve been.

You could’ve been eloquence or passion,

Most of all you could’ve been sweet-grass alive.

There are a lot of should haves,

Could haves that might have been.

But it comes down to what is, what was —

A descent into wretched madness, no logic nor reason.

Reason so convoluted it reigns hellfire,

Bullets from a gun, shots ricochet, echo in the synagogue.

Flesh squelching, screams, oaths muttered, defiling God’s alter;

You reaped havoc, chaos unleashed.

You were meant to be loved, to persevere;

No to blame others — to forgive.

For we each share responsibility for what we’ve all done;

And we don’t always know the consequences,

How far reaching are actions ripple as stones tossed.

But there are times we’re cognizant,

And some of us, still, desire that the world burn.

Erupt into millions of Hanukkah flames,

The sacred hanukkiyah candles spilled — desolation.

Now we mourn your disaster intended,

Now we mourn children,

Now we mourn families.

You are chaos, pandemonium released.

You did not find absolution,

Only a cause you shouldn’t have killed for.

We all carry our burdens, rocks in our bellies.

We haul them around, as third-world children starving,

Infested with parasites, with death.

Now, the grieving are yoked in disbelief,

And you’re lost endless in the bleak.

No more guns and glory, no more madness;

Help those who need help find it —

Help them not into chaos descend.

Aid those on the edge,

Before off the canyon’s ledge they dive,

Boulders splintering life, bodies of tree husks;

Cut short with a whispered litany.

A Rabbi’s murmured blessings — some people’s last zenith;

Having only ‘just,’ enough time, before their candle flickers.

Rises with smoke, ashes, and incense;

This malice and hatred’s a repetitive cycle — ‘so,’ we beg:

Lay down your guns.

Lay down your guns.

Lay down your guns.


©️Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 2/Photo Challenge: Tankas – “ Safari Silence” #amwritingpoetry #PhotoChallenge


For OctPoWriMo Day 2, the Prompt is focused on sending ‘notes’ and the multiple POV’s that can be included in the word ‘You.’ It also focuses on brevity of form. Also, combining with NEKNEERAJ’s MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge! I change POV, that’s how I chose to respond to this Prompt, with the tanka form.


“A tanka is another Japanese form of poetry that follows a syllable format. This poem is composed of a syllable pattern of 5,7,5,7,7.”


Credit: Google Images


Beneath a Safari —

Sky, an orb of fire alights.

Roars, scatters, twigs snap;

The Serengeti music.

Another touch of awe at night.

*****

Our fire crackles, we’re —

Speechless as the moon gleams near.

Giant, orange planet-like,

Like it’s not smaller than earth;

As if it’s a world itself.

*****

My feet throb, my legs —

Tremble with need to sit; to rest.

But, our lunar friend,

Is rarely thus; he hardly —

Brushes close; glows white-fire bright.

*****

Yet, we can’t answer —

The calling of dreams replete.

We’re trapped in moments.

Singular, epic, rare as —

Safari silence that numbs.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge/Tale Weaver: Poem – Free Verse – “Stairway from Forever Winter” #amwriting #poetry #TaleWeavers #PhotoChallenge #MLMM


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting photo challenge #220. Also, thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Tale Weaver prompt on the them of a voyage of discovery.


Credit: Silvia Grav


Shivering as if I’m shedding,

As if I’ll never know heat;

Or a belly without ache.

Crisp bacon and sausage sizzles,

French toast with cream cheese;

Clouds of whipped cream,

Maple syrup flowing in valleys;

Sweet strawberry jam,

Tart on my tongue,

The crisp-softness of toast;

Homemade bread devoured.

Orange juice with champagne,

Sweetness and fizzing bubbles.

Chatter, hands passing,

Sniggers and giggles;

Raising the bar; the bets are laid —

Who can eat the most pancakes?

There is plenty in this dream,

Richness and generosity abounds —

Reality’s barren and frosted.

No warmth of hugs or arms over shoulders,

Until a burning stillness settles.

The sensation of hovering above,

Until your firefly soul lifts.

The memory of family, breakfast with ice-cream,

Strawberry sauce and flaked croissants;

Of food so boundless that all gnawing hunger’s abolished.

No daydream with clawing pains,

Only serenity, path into a place —

Where loved ones suffer not.

Where there’s no war to justify —

No battle to survive;

Nor land that will not thaw to grow.

Above, there’s glowing prosperity,

A joyfulness that never pales.

No ice-white skin preserved in chill,

No forever winter.

A flame that flickers and overwhelms,

Sparks and heat spread,

As butter melts on fresh bread.

Reflecting on golden streets,

A feast as none knew before.

Temporality extinguished,

The relief of a forever home

Not hunger nor strife.

It’s unimaginable,

But after all the misery —

This stairway’s an easy flight.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Tale Weavers/Saturday Mix: Poem – Free Verse – “Snuffed Out” #amwriting #poetry #TaleWeavers #SaturdayMix


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting TaleWeavers and a prompt/theme where light is the focus. Also, combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie May 12, 2018 Double Take Saturday Mix Prompt on the homophone words: cedar – an evergreen tree with seeder – one who broadcasts seeds, and days – more than one day with daze – to bewilder.


Credit: Samantha Lynch via Unsplash


I’ll never trace the curve of your lips,

Where it dips, and lick my thumb;

Your nip, a playful bite.

Your brows wiggle; eyes sapphire.

While we slide past maybes,

Sleek condos and greenery;

Cedar trees that sway,

A seed in my heart nourished.

Sharp grass intoxicating —

You claiming my mouth;

Sweeping of lips,

Slow and exquisite.

Sweat makes us stick.

I ache as I’ve never.

Your hand rests ‘neath my throat,

My pulse rapid and wild.

You’ve etched my heart,

I’ll never forget.

The wind rustling, and the flapping of wings,

Our breath in syncopation.

Fighting for air against —

Little deaths.

In a moment, a few minutes,

On a train—

Where we two met.

Potential flared; I turned —

Flustered.

The pain in my chest,

Will it lessen?

Dazed as the days drift,

I didn’t know your name.

Know the flame you kindled,

Would burn me.

My hearts lit with your light,

But the mischief in me,

Craves you both in deepest night,

And the blinding day;

Beneath the Mexican sun,

On tequila beaches.

Daylight to overwhelm,

The throb of pain,

Of possibility snuffed out.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: “Da Truth” #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.


Credit: @any1mark66


“Why do ya drive out here all da time, Jaron?”

“Ta clear me head. Especially after it rains, I love de scent of de damp earth and when dat rainbow appears I feel rapt. The storms out here are terrible. But der is truly a calm after da storm when a rainbow ‘appens.”

Dave scratched his beard. “I always wondered why such a lovely event occurred. Da scientific expla’tion of refracted light or someden’ like dat, never feels to me like I’m gettin’ da full deal.”

Jaron laughed. “You neva heard da story of Noah, mister well-read.”

“Yeah, a long time ago. Da rainbow was a promise ta never destroy da earth again by flood. But I always thought, there are worse ways ta go dan by drowning.” Dave shook his head and sighed.

“What were ya thinkin’? Fire, volcanoes, earth quakes or worse?”

Dave shrugged. “I prefer nat ta think about it. Besides we’re nat talking about a rainbow anymore jus’ da end of ta earth. Revelations, I think.”

Jaron pulled out a cool six pack from the trunk of his car. He tossed a can to Dave. “I think right now I jast prefer ta look at dat rainbow and focus on hope. Whatever comes will come but better dat I don’t know about it or dat I’m already dead.”

“Dat’s da truth there, Jaron.”


©Mandbelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 21/ Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Burn Brightly Sun Flower” #photochallenge #poetry 


OctPoWriMo Day 21’s theme is nothing remains the same. Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s Photo Challenge. 

——

Credit: Denise Kwong
———
Burn brighter burn free, 

Life has rich possibility. 

Burn brighter blaze paths. 

You can go wherever you must, 

Let your soul live, although your experience lacks. 

Be an inferno and burn skyward, 

With every broken breath; 

Endurance is key. 

As the most golden sunflowers, 

Shine sunny with ease. 

Life doesn’t mean your always strong, 

It means at times your delapitated,

Destroyed, fire burning out. 

But you can rise up, rebuild, 

Don’t hide in your space suit,

Embrace the sunflowers, eat their seeds,

Be free of your worries and breath. 

You form the mountains, 

The ones you must climb. 

You know the source of your eternal flame, 

You’ll find the emotion, your heart strength, and soul power, 

To carry on when you must. 

So that even when you’re shattered,  

There’s light in your embers; 

Fire stirring in yesterday’s cinders. 

And you’ll rise up and quiver, 

As the flames reach higher; 

Although your afraid of being scorched, 

Of never rising completely, 

Burning brightly is passion to keep pushing forward. 

Your life is more than tranquility, 

Its a bonfire of fortitude and one long day from now, 

Your soul will flutter into eternity; 

Your inner flame, your blessed soul, 

Lives on by faith, cascading passed a finite world. 

Past stumbling rocks, 

Toil that made you sweat. 

Past your fears and tears, 

Beyond to embers reigniting —

Without end. 

Burn fierce little girl, the world is yours, 

Burn fierce little boy, you’ve many choices. 

First, burn brightly in freedom to play and be young, 

Love with passion, 

With a smile as sunflowers young. 

Beam full of laughter, 

Fueling your inner fire. 

Burn fierce and discover —

Quiet fires run deep, 

But will never snuff out, 

Into nothingness. 

With the depth of soul fire, 

Flames extinguished rise, 

Are as lively wild fires, 

Magnificent sunflowers. 

———

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

#OctPoWriMo Day 11: Quadrille – “Sparks of Fire” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse 


For OctPoWriMo Day 11 the Prompt is dancing. I will also combine the prompt with WhimsyGizmos #dVerse Poet’s Pub Quadrille prompt. 

——-

Credit: Jacob Avanzato via Unsplash

——-

Sensuous con bravo.  

Twirling weapon, 

Revelling in sunlight. 

She turns, reels; 

Lifts feet, bends legs, 

She’s a blood red rose, 

Piercing thorns. 

Arms graceful, vivace. 

Precariously spinning, 

Molto Protissimo. 

Sparkling eyes, 

Con adorazione, 
Loving batons —
Sharp challenge;

Dancing becomes, 

Enduring speranza. 

Sensual rhythm, 

Crescendoing into —

Sparks. 

—-

Italian Translations:

Con Bravo – With Bravo (a strong presence) 

Vivace – Lively

Molto – Very 

Protissomo – Very very fast 

Con adorazione – With Adoration

Speranza – Hope 

—-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poems – Lunes – “Blinded” #3LineTales #poetry #amwriting 


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

——-

Credit: Matt Palmer via Unsplash

——–

I’ll say it, because every —

Woman’s thinking it. 

We all know sparklers burn. 

——

Fire burns, even with goggles. 

No sober woman, 

Or drunk, would place fire —

——

Right near to her eye, 

Expecting sometime she —

Won’t get burned or blinded. 

—–

©Mandibelke16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Sonnet (Nurado) – “Forever Burn” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Also thank you to Bjorn of Poet’s Pub #dVerse prompt for hosting a poetry prompt on Pabulo Nurado’s sonnets.

” Nurado’s sonnets have no rhyme scheme, are meter-free, and are 14 lines, with a volta when you go from the two quatrain into the the concluding tercets. This is consistent with an Italian (or Petrarchan sonnet). ” 

——

Credit: Yarnspinner
——–

Here he sells his wares, the sidewalk his shop, 

He’s weary of unlookers, keeping his clay jar’s burning incense. 

I stand nearby, asking myself, “For what reason, 

Do these fires burn? What wares has he purloined today?”

And stones gathered against the burnt sienna fence, 

Mark that, this is his place, where he works and lives. 

Hocks his wares, keeps the fire’s in the jars stoked, 

Tiny stoves remain lit from dawn until midnight. 

His goods move quick, I’m quite surprised, 

To me they’re nothing much, yet, I buy a wood carving. 

With a crumpled bill and pocket coins, freely given. 

My fingers slide over dips and ridges, measure his small carving, 

Such intricate, minute detail; but never have I found —

Why the clay fires forever burn, incense floating to the heavens. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved