November Notes: Poem – Day 16 – Free Verse “Think Thoroughly” #poetry #anwriting #writing #music 


Before I start, I wanted to share this blog post, a list of the 27 best books on writing!  Hope it helps some of you. Have you read any of the books or do you own any of them? 

27 Of The Best Books On Writing! 

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Today’s prompt is “Sweet Serendipty” by Lee DeWyze. 
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“Sweet Serendipty” – Lee DeWyze

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I’m not of those women who will assure you, 

You can get by, by the skin of your teeth. 

That life is simply chance, fortuitous

I think you’re inexperienced,  

You don’t see the entire picture, 

Each of us is a piece in the mosaic, the grand design. 

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Perhaps since your famous, you’ll buy two pairs of jeans? 

But not caring about the seams of your pants, 

Them being too loose — it’s a guy thing. 

Sorry to ruin your charade, life is more than —

Your own version of serendipity

Events that occur to us can be wickedly sad. 

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Whether we learn and/or hurt — there’s  a reason, 

An intelligent designer has time arranged, 

 I don’t worry, for different reasons — His plans give security,

If you land on your feet, you’re one lucky guy.

I guess the fates are angry, their scissors keep snapping. 

To me its obtuse to believe blindly in chance. 

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There are times I believe in spontaneity, 

But there’s a time and a place with —

A kind of reasoning called: calculated risks. 

I’m unsure why you don’t think ahead (don’t play chess).

I’m not old but I think I’ve experiences you won’t, 

Be carefree at heart, but realize —adult responsibility. 

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You’re blessed with your health, go where you want, 

I think, there’s been few troubles to scar you. 

You sing empty songs, I find little depth, 

Serendipity isn’t chance, it’s a miracle unfurled. 

Behind the scenes action, you haven’t foreseen. 

Glad you’re fine, but you’re missing a few screws. 

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It’s not that I’m bitter; it’s not that I don’t see, 

What your trying to say in your round about way. 

I’m saying that life, I’ve learned, is never a fluke, 

We have minds to think and consider — to use. 

Despite ineptness, your kind heart shows true, 
Next hit song —think your lyrics thoroughly through. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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Poem: I’m Not 


I’m not a crystal ball, I cannot tell the future. It’s a crime to know what time brings.

I’m not a shiny diamond, in that tear drop shape I wanted. Maybe, I’m a future bride but maybe I’ll buy my own ring.  

I’m not a simple book, when you look through a library full of literature. I’m classic, contemporary, romance, adventure, biography, mystery, fiction, non-fiction — “a little brown mouse in somebodies house.”

I’m not defined or confined by a word, I have amassed the wealth of many words. And I might be a run-on-sentence but that’s just because there are no pauses in life.

And I might be blue – eyed and blond but I am not a matter of my looks but a matter of seeing deeper. I’m not the body infront of you I’m the one that was me at twenty-three. 

And I’m not going to try to hold you back because I’m the one who stumbles, you can go on with your life . . . I’ll be fine.

And you are not a matter of your religion, I love you anyway, though I wish you saw the light in the darkness. 

And just because I cannot do all the things you can, does not make me challenged, does not mean I can’t do anything — just call and ask.

I am not someone whose fallen and wants to sit life out, now you hear my voice calling — I have the voice of a lion, screaming let me out! 

And I’m not a room you visit just because it’s peaceful, I’m all the nuisances that came together to form the feeling in this room, as you sit and drink your tea — I’m the warmth that you’re feeling. 

I’m not alone, although sometimes I believe it, I am not isolating myself, I’m just trying to find a middle.

I’m not the amount of time I stay awake at night, I am the woman always thinking, until sleep finds me sooner.

I’m not my favorite dog, but I carry her with me, I need those memories to sustain me until I can get another.

I’m not a single picture, I’m a collage, a mosaic, a seer of the big picture. I am paint, charcoal, pencil, 20 LB paper, erasers, stubs, and paint brushes.

I’m not a tumble in the sheets, I have a name, and If you’re here with me, you’re here with me. 

And I’m not defined by things, all that can be bought. I love to look gorgeose but I’d just as soon sweat and feel the high of endorphins with makeup running down my cheek.

I am not the way you look at me, like you know all about me, what makes me tick, what makes me sad, what makes me happy.

I am not a moment in the sun, I am the hummingbird flitting so fast she can’t breathe. And everything that ever was is eating through me thrumming.

I’m not defined, I’m not confined. 

But why in the world would you look at yourself, really look and see, — everything you’re not?