#NaPoWriMo Day 8: Poem – Free Verse – “Ambivalent Heart” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 8 , I wrote my own poem unrelated to the prompt.


“And I can’t be running back and fourth forever between grief and high delight.” – J.D. Salinger


Credit: Victor Freitas via Unsplash


Thoughts twist, wind, the fog is dense, and the staccato in my head throbs;

I wish I could explain it, but I can’t.

That moment where my eyes glaze and nothing in me knows how to fight;

When there’s nothing in me, I’m a sack of flour and I’ve folded.

As wheat in the grainery refined to dust,

Those moments I’ve nothing, and I slump, a leaf crumpled.

Fight or flight escape, collapse is imminent; the walls of Jericho tremble.

A smile, a sigh — what do I want? What do I do? What to say?

What roads we wander without knowing why, stumbling back and forth.

Then, my heart pumps energy bolts, lightening,

A fist squeezes my heart rigid, eyes of doe flutter.

Headlights incoming, is it enough?

You owe me nothing, we’ve two diverse paths,

Yet, ‘blue blue eyes’ catch me, and somewhere inside flutters;

Aching of past mistakes, selfish liars.

Scared I’ll never make it, waiting for clear words;

I don’t know what to say.

Ask me to let you know.

Ask, talk more, do something; I’m walled in place, and I can’t move.

I hate unsaid words, but some regrets strangle worse.

Never ever again, he broke me worst;

Never ever, because his eyes still haunt with that youthful glaze.

But, I go about my business and somewhere inside I glow;

A radiance lifts sedating fog, and sometimes I’m so alive,

It’s amazing, celestial enlightenment.

Sometimes, I’m so exhausted I can’t think beyond headaches;

My thoughts unravel and I’m nothing.

Am I never enough?

But sometimes that’s the problem, I can’t read brail or sign language, but I hum,

Lifted into the breeze as rice paper, far away —

Ask for help, leap!

Don’t resign to tears, not when you’ve the choice not to be crushed;

Go about the day, forget the fray.

‘Blue blue eyes –‘

Tonight I’ll sleep, twist the sheets, awake eyes puffed; then, sweetness infuses.

Tomorrow’s another day, and ‘blue blue eyes’ linger with an ethereal hue.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry


Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.


Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash


I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.