#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.

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#NaPoWriMo Day 2/Sunday Writing: Poem – Free Verse – “Healing Hearts.” #MLMM #poetry #amwriting


For NaPoWriMo Day 2, the prompt focuses on “addressing two “you”s in a poem. Such as taking an existing poem of yours or someone else’s, and rewriting it in a different voice. The point is to play with who is speaking to who and how.

I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing prompt from March 4, of unlikely partnerships/friendships/relationships etc.


Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


“Jar of Hearts” – Christina Perri


Who do you think you are?

Running around leaving scars,

Forget my jar of hearts,

Forget, how I hurt others to survive.

You’re the one who shattered my heart,

Was eternal brokenness your master plan?”

Who do you think you are —

I know who you are.

You’re the one who’s scarred,

Pumping blood to atrial veins.

A heart of stone it needs no blood,

It can’t memorize my tears that flood.

So who do you think you are,

Leaving the crevices of scars.”

Who do you think you are?

Thinking you can hide,

You’ve but, heartbreak to impart,

Once more,

My heart throbs, died part by part.

The ice inside your soul,

It’s the chill that winters holds.

Woman who judges,

Who froze out my love.”

Put down your bloody jar,

Peer beyond the freeze.

Absorb the fire of blood that frees,

Beyond to hearts that live,

That love, that ache, that feel;

That desire to take-on life despite.

Who do you think you are?

Quitting when love got hard.”

“I won’t stop my hands from pumping,

I’ll defibrillate my self.

I’m fighting to survive,

Collecting jars of hearts,

Because hurting them dulls,

The wound you gave me is relentless,

It’s leading me to death.

So, blood will meander in rivers,

Until my heart is healed;

I can survive on my own.”

I’ll make your stone heart ‘real,’

You’ll become a living human being.

Forget the ice inside your soul,

Forget the sharp knife in your gut twisting.

Leave behind your jar of hearts,

All those shattered souls you boasted.

My lubs, against your dubs,

They’re a power beyond your skills.

You’ll wake from slumber,

Amazed to finally feel,

Not to break others to love!

To heal our twin wounds.”

My beating heart it’s aching,

“Why did you cut it out twice?

Why does healing ache the most.

A throb that scars and burns,

Was I such monster that I couldn’t see,

Pain apart from hope’s generosity?”

Who did you think you were?

No more collecting jars of hearts,

My heart can heal yours.

Our scars are deep wells,

But together they’re better.

Better than two hearts alone,

Together we can let time lighten,

Deep cuts; time will bind our wounds,

And reveal a hope for the better.”


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The White Prince #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW,

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Credit: © 2013 Ioniangraphics

———

He walked through the frozen world elated. The trees were silent and still as ice coated their needles. He was satisfied with what he saw, with winter’s permanent hold on this world. He preferred the isolation and tranquility he found in blizzards that howled and the quietness of a world blanked in thickness of snow afterwards. 

Every day he walked through his Winter Wonderland satisfied that it’s inhabitants remained mostly indoors, only venturing outside when they had to. Life was a vicious battle for survival here and he was proud to have been the one who initiated this struggle. 

Then one morning he walked outside and heard the triumphant roar of a lion; he shivered in fear. He had not heard that roar for milannias. It was the roar that had silenced his mother, that belonged to the beast who ripped out her throat. He felt overly warm, used to frigid cold, feeling furious when he saw that overnight the pine needles of the trees had been freed from their ice cage. The lion roared again and the white prince ran. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Friday Fictioneer: The Mystery of the Chair in The Middle of The Lake #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting FF.

——

Credit: Ted Strutz

——–

“Hey Liz, what’s your kitchen chair doing out in the middle of the lake?” Barb asked.

Liz was perplexed, “My first thought was that my boys had done this, thinking it would be funny. But this is just the type of thing their Dad would think was hilarious too.”

“Maybe Mark did it?” 

“No he was out like a light at 10:00 pm. The boys were genuinely surprised about the chair and ran to the window to see it. I actually believe they didn’t do it,” Liz said. 

—–

The next day the snow was blizzarding, the temperatures so frigid the lake froze thickly. When warmer weather returned Liz saw her Dad outside fishing through a hole in the ice. 

She smiled walking out to the ice where her Dad sat:”Dad, did you move this chair outside for fishing?” 

Liz’s Dad laughed,” I did not. But it was just sitting here so I figured why not use it?” 

The mystery of the chair in the middle of the lake continues. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Tale Weaver: Poem – Synchronocity – “A Deadly Night” #amwriting #poetry #fiction #taleweavers


Here is last week’s  Tale Weaver prompt, held by MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. The prompt is a story about being caught in a deep freeze. 

——-

Credit: Winter Wolly

——-

Stuck fast in this ice, no relief, 

Car pushed off he highway it’s —

Dark, cold

——-

We’re lucky we’re uninjured that, 

We’ve signals on our smart phones; night

Descends. 

——-

There’s no gas left in the tank from, 

Starting, then turning off the heat

Stars bleed

——

Giant glimmering balls, twinkle, 

Outside our windows; but we’re still —

Stuck here. 

——-

We called the AMA, come find —

Us because we’re frozen; minus 

Forty

——-

Nighttime is bitter, freezing we’re, 

Huddled beneath silver blankets, 

Wondering. 

——-

Then he starts shaking, lips so blue

Then he’s still; hypothermia

Induced. 

*****

But the sun is rising now; we’ve —

Made it through the dark; my friend he —

Yet sleeps. 

——

Hearing voices outside our car, 

Come to save us now, opening —

Our doors. 

——

Light leaks in, such needed warmth; I —

feel my hands, shaking you awake, 

You blink

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

B&P’s Shadorma Challenge: “Winter is Here” #amwriting #poetry #shadorma


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Shadorma Challenge: 

——-

MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——

There are many poems, 

Written of Fall, it’s glory. 

Enough wrote, 

It’s winter. 

Snow has come twice and it’s —

Looking to remain. 

——

Ah yes, yellow,orange . . .

I’ve heard it before, even of —

Maple leaves, 

Beautiful red. 

But all these colours, snow has —

Covered; the roads ice slick. 

——

Our Autumn is short, 

Mostly warm this year until, 

The snow came;

Griefs us with —

Scraping car windows early, 

Less sleep, horrid frost. 

—–

Another Fall poem, it’s —

In the past now, we’re snowed in;

Many months 

To Come now. 

It’s past mid-October, and —

Winter will not budge. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weaver Fairytales: Shanna Transforming #taleweaver #fairytales #fiction #amwriting


Thanks to MindsLiveMisery’sMenageria for hosting Tale Weaver Fairytales prompt. This week we are retelling: The Ugly Duckling. 

——-


——–

“Fatty fat. You’re so fat you break the ice,” the popular boys and pretty girls taunted her. Shanna ignored them, or at least tried. 

Every year at school the snow would melt  in spring and the melting snow would pool, causing small lakes of water.As the temperature dropped over night, the pools of water would freeze on top. 

The children played a mean game. The kids who were not chubby, could walk on the ice without breaking it.But the chubby kids such as Shanna, would carefully, walk on the ice, only to have the ice top break like glass; the popular boys and girls teased her endlessly. 

In the spring, the children played  another game, called spin-the-bottle, on the grassy and now dry field. 

None of the boys wanted to kiss Shanna. They only kissed the pretty girls; the thin ones. The boys insisted they only give Shanna a kiss on the cheek, which was all she was allowed to give them. No boy wanted to kiss a fat girl or have her kiss them on the lips. 

——-

Years later, Shanna was all grown up and finishing her History degree. Her friends and her went to their favourite pub, The Blue Whale, whenever they were able. 

One day, two of her guy friends brought a a guy named Wren with them. Shanna had admired Wren from some of her History classes. He was hot; built but appeared studious with sexy glasses he wore at times. 

Wren and Shanna easily fell into conversation. He was fun, smart, and in touch with what was going on in the world. 

When Shanna’s girl friends dared her to kiss Wren, sparks sizzled and Shanna and Wren couldn’t stop kissing. Her friends tactfully wandered off when the kissing went on longer than they wanted to see. 

At university, Wren and Shanna kept running into each other. They talked and Wren often asked where Shanna and her friends were going to dance, so he could go there with his friends at the same time. 

A smile was always on Shanna’s lips as she began to date Wren; he made her day brighter and made her happy. She felt cared for with Wren.

The boys on the university hockey team stared at Shanna as she passed their table in the cafeteria. Many of them thought she was pretty. Her large eyes were stunning and her body curvacious but athletic; she was often in the gym when they were. 

Shanna didn’t talk at the gym and she maintained a serious expression, concentrating on her weight-lifting. 

Presently, Shanna’s  lips were full-on smiling. The hockey guys who liked her, had never seen her look smile like this before. Her eyes sparkled. Shanna was all the more attractive because she was genuinly happy. 

The girls who followed the hockey team around were sick with jealousy, wondering what certain hockey players saw in Shanna. 

But when Shanna’s stunning gaze turned the hockey team’s way, she looked past them to Wren. 

He smiled at Shann softly, her placed saved at a seat beside him. Wren bought her yogurt and and cut-up fruit for lunch. He knew Shanna’s eating habits well.

Shanna thought back to the days the boys and skinny pretty girls called her fat and how the boys would only let her kiss their cheek. 

Times had changed. Shanna knew of several guys who would like more than a kiss from her now; yet she cared only for Wren. 

Shanna had wisely, claimed the best guy for herself; the one who liked her especially, when she ate as much ice cream as she wanted to eat. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – “Swimming Free Will.”


http://www.pinterest.com

——–

With such wise words do you enquire,

Wandering through the tundra’s fire,

Land, so cold, all remains still ’til, 

Spring thaw arrives and water spills, 

You wisdom baffles me, the cadences confound, 

How you find such stability; the rest of us drown.

——

Wisdom, one of those qualities,

Significant to gain, falls —

From some men and women’s, 

Lips, drip, water there to within swim, 

Backstrokes in a pool of magnificence and legends lost, 

Swimming in the minds of the brightest, at what cost? 

——-

Intelligence it’s an ocean, 

Sea sickness, to much motion.

If you know where our treasure lay, 

Perhaps, that’s knowledge we need save.

There can be utter foolishness in intelligence, 

A smart man might actually notice, avoid his hell.

——

Empathy, a kind of wisdom,

Unrepresented, ignored.

Emotional intelligence,

Help souls broken, though lakes swells,

Health, mind, body, rescued from life’s frequent water spills.

With such wise words, emotive know — swimmer’s require free will.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

    

Literary Lion: NHL Hockey – Boys and Statistics. 


Yeah! Happy to be doing Literary Lion from Laura of I Smith Words. Turns out Laura’s blog switched from WordPress.com to .com for a while so I wasn’t getting the prompts in my email. The challenge will be once a month now to fit with Laura’s schedule better. This month’s 100 word story prompt is boys.

——–

http://www.ducks.nhl.com

——–

Marissa watched the Oiler’s hockey game on her brother Grant’s 60 ” TV. 

McDavid stole the puck and the Oiler players all began cycling the puck to shoot on Anaheim’s goalie.

“Did McDavid score?” Brad asked, returning to the couch after grabbing a beer.

“No, McDavid set up Hall. Hall hit the cross bar.” Grant muttered soarly.

Grant and Brad knew NHL hockey down to the tiniest statistical detail for every team and each of the team’s players.

“Just shoot,” Marissa exclaimed as Hall was tripped, having an open lane to Anaheim’s net.

Brad and Grant smiled at Marissa before exchanging statistics on Edmonton’s power play.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Nonets –  “Changing Direction.” 


Variety is amusing when you,

Search tirelessly for new,

Finding what you wanted,

Was with you the whole —

Time, you discovered,

The latest,

Was old —

You.

——-

Significant realization,

You existed in my pocket,

Conversing hours with you,

Randomly circle,

Do this each week,

Running far,

Direction,

Change.

——

Warmth and laughter, ice cold chiseled,

Eyes reflecting, a mirror you see,

Attracting what I give,

Start reflecting more light,

Growth, absorption.

Live something new.

Attracting,

Someone, 

Through.

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.