#NaPoWriMo Day 4/Tale Weavers: Poem – Free – Verse – “Infinite Fallibility”#amwriting #poetry #TaleWeavers


For Day 4 of NaPoWriMo the prompt is: “to write a poem that is about something abstract – perhaps an ideal like “beauty” or “justice,” but which discusses or describes that abstraction in the form of relentlessly concrete nouns. Adjectives are fine too!

I’m combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver #162 about an item of magic. To me, something that is ‘ideal,’ has a kind of magic.


Credit: Yuiizaa September via Unsplash


Helen of Troy,

Fairest woman.

The ideal as —

The poet Homer,

The Philosopher Plato’s ‘just’ society;

Yet, the word means,

Not enough;

Not,

Mr. Hawkins’ anomalies,

Nor Virgil’s Aeneid,

Leading Dante on the path —

Purgatory, Hades, and Paradiso.

Yet both were ideal teachers,

For Milton’s Paradise Lost.

Or, consider Coco Channel,

Sewing pockets,

In women’s suits,

Not for decoration,

A utility, women of old —

Weren’t given.

Or Cleopatra the seductress,

Survives Caesar and Marc Anthony;

Her beauty, their destruction; her death.

Or, Shakespeare’s plays,

Ideal comedies, with —

Brilliant histories and tragedies;

Satisfying Queen Elizabeth I’s whims.

And Beowulf’s writer,

Binding the need,

For heroic deeds, boasting —

Revenge and deeds as immortality.

Clashing with,

Holy Scriptures;

And the lone ideal, one man,

From Bethlehem.

Who many still claim,

“He’s a fraud — for freeing me.”

Forgiveness, with heroism,

We have the modern Ulysses;

James Bond, Jason Bourne.

Disney Princesses,

Merida, Elsa and Moana;

Yet, there is no ideal,

On earth we can prefect.

It’s inherit in our existence,

Ideals are lost.

Twisting Milton’s truth,

To Pandemonium.

While Helen’s stare,

Perceives angel- skeletons,

Blaspheming prisoners;

Jews worked, starved to death;

Their figure’s the epitome,

Of models,

Even, ‘Twiggy’s’ bones rattle, and rage.

Yet, Helen smiles,

With visions of new ideals,

Yet, no ideal,

Is ever ideal;

For, to be ideal is to be in paradise.

Not, alive as we are now —

Imperfect as we are.

Our flaws bind us,

In fallibility.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Writing 101: Day 14 – Pampered Thursday


Prompt: Write about a single day. 

I am lying in bed having the same dream over and over again; the dream repeats but I can’t wake up. Finally, hunger breaks through the carnage in my brain and I my eyelids lift like a castle gate, heavily, awkwardly, with painful slowness.

I am warm, snug in my Queen bed, spread out on my stomach and I manage to drag my lethargic body to the kitchen to sit in a chair and eat a bowl of fruit. I hope that their is no bananas in it.

 I pour the raisin bran in a bowl and the milk flows over top the cereal the way I like;  I eat. Then I drag myself back to my cosy nest and sleep again. But I wake twenty minutes later and it’s time to get up, the cab is arriving in an hour and a half.

I am off to Icon, my beauty salon, to get my eyebrows waxed and to get a mani/pedi. I hope to do some Christmas shopping after my appointments but I will see how I’m feeling. My makeup is perfect, foundation, contouring, blush, hilights, and my eyelashes coated in the deepest black mascara.The taxi arrives and the driver wants me to sit up front with him. I don’t know him and I doubt his intentions so I smile and open the sliding door and climb in the back.

At the salon, I drink green tea with whisps of steam floating off it. I burn my tongue before I manage to take a few sips. I wait about twenty minutes. A gifted nail artist starts to file my nails and make them rough so the gel nail polish will stick. I admire her perfect makeup. She works at Sephora too, but she loves MAC makeup. I pepper her with makeup questions as she puts three coats of different clear nail polishes on then three more coats of the pink shade I have chosen. One finger nail is rose gold. She finishes with a final cost of clear polish and some cuticle oil shines my nails. I have never had gel nails before, they conveniently dry fast under special lights with fans. 

Then my favorite aesthetician Amelia takes me to a room and evens out my eyebrows. Tiny blond hairs which only I can see, get waxed away. But I love how great the shape of my brows is now. 

Amelia props up the chair bed and gets me to bend my legs and she soaks my feet in a bowl in rose oil, chamomile, epsom salts, and some other herbal things. We catch up on life and chat. The conversation is as important as the pedicure. She has more to talk about then me but I don’t mind. It’s just wonderful having a conversation with a girl my age who has interesting things to say. Amelia files my nails and scrubs at my heels, which I am happy to say were in good shape thanks to Lush cuticle butter. 

There is a mettle scrapping tool for callouses, but I never let any aesthetician use it on me. My friend got badly cut with one and another lady my Mom works with had to go around work with an IV because she got an infection due to a cut with the mettle tool. The infection went into her bones. I trust Amelia, she is gifted. She is an artist with paints and drawing as much as she is a gifted aesthetician.  But I just won’t risk it. 

The festive gold glimmer of my gel pedicure is lovely though. I tip Amelia and the other girl well because they are fantastic and it’s Christmas soon. 

I arrive home out of breath and tired. I got no Christmas shopping done, but I had to stop at the drugstore and pick up a few personal items. And the milk, can’t forget that. 

I rest on the sofa; I ache and am tired from all that conversation and walking around. But it was nice to talk to someone my age and stage in life. 

I watch TV with my Mom because Thursday night TV is awesome. The Vampire Diaries, Grey’s Anatomy, and How to get Away with Murder play on TV successively.Then I am in bed. I am so fatigued but at least I went out today and did something. At least I wasn’t home in my bubble. And I had a Kale Smoothie from Jugo Juice so, at least I had my vegetables.