#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.

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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Merida’s Heiress


Genevieve lost her tour group. She was relieved to spy a man looking over the castle wall ahead of her. He looked at Genevieve, and a smile washed over his gorgeous face. 

He put his hand up to her cheek, “You have the softest skin I have ever felt,” he said with awe.” You must be a Lady to have the privilege of beauty,” the man remarked.

“I’m no Lady, only a woman on vacation,” Genevieve said.”Do you live around here?” 

“I live here until Merida’s heiress arrives. I’m Keith.” The man said.

” Merida’s heiress doesn’t seem to be coming.” Genevieve said smiling, “Why Merida’s heiress, why not Merida?” Genevieve asked.

Keith remarked:”You’re the only woman to have seen me standing here in hundreds of years, you must be Merida’s heiress. Merida and I were running from the English. We were supposed to escape through the tunnels. But Merida was kidnapped and married to an English Lord.” Keith said sadly.

“Merida was a gifted witch and cast a spell. She promised me her first female offspring of twenty-five-years, after the millennium, because she couldn’t be with me.” Keith told Genevieve. She backed away from Keith and he grasped Genevieve’s hand. 

In an instant, Genevieve found herself in another world. She was standing next to Keith at the head of a two long tables in a brightly decorated castle hall. Her dress was flowing white silk.

Keith smiled at Genevieve kissing her softly.”Genevieve, I’ve been awaiting Merida’s promise of you for ages. Together, we will build our lives, as Merida and I never had the chance to do.” Genevieve fainted.

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The Storyteller’s Abode (Louise).
 
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Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

Sorry, it’s long but sometimes you can’t cut as much as you’d like.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.