Photo Challenge: Poem – La’ Tuine – “Paint The Sky With Love”


Thanks to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie  for hosting this week’s Photo Challenge.


Paint the Sky
Source: Unknown

Paint the sky, it needs retouching soon.

For many ages, night tries killing moon.

Its her way, so you never feel safe; when —

Walking home, paint the sky with love.


Paint the moon herself; light needs less gloom,

Rid the clouds, which shape and form ruin.

Erase them; moon glows softly, romance blends,

Walking home, paint the sky with love.


Shape the moon, may she wax and wane soon,

Carve out her circle; flee now doom.

Dark clouds fading, artist’s rendering,

Walking home, paint the sky with love.


There is a whisper of dawn, orange looms,

But still the night enfolds us in gloom.

Night is long hours, be not so scared; when —

Walking home, paint the sky with love.


Such noises I heard, frightening booms,

Lightening crashed, and didn’t end soon,

I waited it out, dreamt of morn’s blooms,

Walking home, paint the sky with love.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

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Poem: Free Verse – “Silver and Gold” #poetry #amwriting


http://www.thecollegeinvestor.com

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Please Listen Below: 

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​Forged in Silver and Gold,
My legs in Bronze wrapped.

Precious metals, the artist molds.

Silver and Gold; precious and cold.

You never let me attach;

Though you feel my skin,

Your most beloved metal.

The artist in me approves,

As you etch my form, and carve,

The length of my body in Silver and Gold.

The Gold of my hair, burnished with Bronze.

The Silver of my pale skin,

Gemstones for my eyes;

The bluest of Sapphires.

More shadow in the glitter,

Masks the deception we share.

Hides my introspection, pain on the inside,

How you could hurt me?

Sketching my soul?

With your golden hands;

So tanned from your heritage,

Creating art with our beauty.

As the Ancient Greek and Romans,

Perfection in Silver and Gold bodies.

You sketch and you etch,

You carve, curves and sensations,

With Silver and Gold,

Caressing my body,

Destroying my core.

My heart and my soul,

The edge of reason fading,

Quicksilver in my veins draining.

Etching you back,

Silver and Gold, for my chosen;

Highlighting your scars,

Diamond gems bright.

Silver and Gold; until I am old,

My body you fashion in Silver and Gold,

Taking and talking, performance art.

My artfulness; your artfulness,

Mutual thirst, for precious metals slaked.

Ag and Au the atomic symbols,

In movements like music,

Golden pixie dust brightens the air,

Silver dust on my eyelids, your cheeks.

Fly me to the Neverland;

Let’s escape the rabbit holes.

Paint our trail flying in Silver and Gold.

I’ve nothing but my heart,

For you my most precious metal.

Silver, Gold, and gems, your body imparts,

Hoping there is more at your core;

In your heart, and in your soul.

Something warm and soft,

The dust from precious metals as pillows pulled of feathers.

Hurt me not; forget me not,

Love me with your Golden skin.

Your Bronze eyes alight and brilliant;

Silver and Gold, we’ve no control,

When the talk turns to whispers;

We blossom and glisten, sweat beading,

Golden and Silver;

My scars so deep glimmer,

Created to highlight the Silver in my skin.

Of Gold so entranced,

Your enthralling hands;

Touch me and multiply the treasure.

You cannot melt me down;

I’m quicksilver on your tongue,

Solid Silver in your grip;

Trapped by your Bronze eyes.

Silver and Gold, in the rise of sun,

King Midas, his work done.

Silver lips give you a kiss,

Beg for your shimmering touch.

As the sun beats down,

The most Golden light,

Of all the light known,

Creator has granted in Silver and Gold.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Poem: Laturnes – “Passion Bared”


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Listen to ‘Passion Bared’ below:

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Of,

All I,

Describe it’s,

Not —


So,

Easy,

To tell you,

How —


My,

My Mind,

Works creating,

Art.


Art,

Of All,

Types; the kind

You —


Read,

And the,

Kind you paint;

Draw.


To

Describe,

Imagine,

Your —


Hands,

And Mind,

Working with —

Each —


The,

Other,

Seamlessly;

Right.


What,

flows from,

Your heart makes,

A —


Piece,

Written,

Drawn, Painted.

Not —


For,

You to,

Explain it;

Just,


Is,

What it,

Is and that’s

Art.


In,

Its true,

Purest Form.

It —


Seeks,

Explores,

Makes connection,

Deep —


In,

The soul,

Of Viewer.

And —


The,

Reader,

Alike it,

Is —


Felt,

In heart;

Our passion,

Bare.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

Poem: Senryu (5,7,5) – “Separately  Together” #introtopoetry #amwriting #senryu


Thanks to The Daily Post for the words Layers and Autonomy. Also for Poetry 101 the prompt is imperfect and Limrick. I’ve chosen not to do limericks. 

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http://www.pixebay.com

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Obvious is it? 

No one has clarity,

Only shadows.

—–

Glancing upon you,

I search through layers,

Facates hid inside.

——

Peeling back your words,

Paint shows original coat.

What’s left; I adore.

—–

Thought you could mask truth,

Thought you could delve deeper in,

The light reveals all.

——

Fear for yourself and —

Your autonomy might lose,

Love is freedom too.

——

Keep autonomy,

But also be us both; one. 

Separate, stay close. 

——

Give autonomy,

To me too; so I can breathe,

Inhale, no traps laid.

—–

 I’ll lose my layers,

If you lose all of yours; let fall —

Let skin talk tonight. 

—–

Dozing in the light,

Truth a battle call given,

Peace where we inhale.

——

Imperfect are we,

Flawed and marked; but love sees all,

Sees only beauty.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

 

Poem: Triolet – ” Lughai: the many shades of Blue ” #wordhighjuly #amwriting #poetry



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http://www.fullhdpictures.com

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Blues, shades, tones, tints, expressions had.

Lughai the colour, or feeling, 

How it is when you’re depressed, sad.

Blues, shades, tones, tints, expressions had.

But Lughai is also peace glad.

Tranquility, hope which truth sees.

Blues, shades, tones, tints, expressions had.

Lughai the colour, or feeling.

——

Room of serenity, heart peace.

Feeling safe, forever at rest.

Lughai I feel, time it ceases.

Room of serenity, heart peace.

Place in mind, trouble releases.

Nothing bothersome, no life pests.

Room of serenity, heart peace.

Feeling safe, forever at rest.

—–

Painting canvasses all blue, 

Choose your shade, change the Lughai.

Dreams through acrylic, all see-through.

Painting canvasses all blue.

Each tint of white lightens you.

Lost in the paint, a world so fey.

Painting canvasses all blue,

Choose your shade, change the Lughai.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Quotes for May


Just a small note: There maybe a slight Grey’s Anatomy Bias!

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1. 

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2. 

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3. 

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4. 

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5. 

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6. 

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7.

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8. 

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9. 

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10. 

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11. 

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12. 

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13. 

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14. 

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15. 

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Poem: Terzanelle  – “Her Painted Face” 


The Terzanelle is a poetry type which is a combination of the villanelle and the terza rima forms. It is a 19-line poem consisting of five interlocking triplets/tercets plus a concluding quatrain in which the first and third lines of the first triplet appear as refrains. The middle line of each triplet is repeated, reappearing as the last line of the succeeding triplet with the exception of the center line of the next-to-the-last stanza which appears in the quatrain. The rhyme and refrain scheme for the triplets is as follows: 

1. A

2. B

3. A

——

4. b

5. C

6. B

——

7. c

8. D

9. C

—–

10. d

11. E

12. D

——

13. e

14. F

15. E

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Ending Type 1:

16. f

17. A 

18. F

19. A

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Ending Type 2:

16. f

17. F

18. A

19. A

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Each line of the poem should be the same metrical length.

For more information please visit Shadow Poetry. Many thanks to Kat from Like Mercury Colliding for demonstrating the Terzanelle form. Read her Terzanelle in the link above.

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http://www.soultravelmultimedia.com

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Smear the canvas, rich thick acrylic paint,

Paint given texture, mixing with thick gel,

Build her face artistically amazing.

—–

Choose brushes used under her glam creative spell.

Build her face, artistically amazing.

Paint given texture, mixing with thick gel.

—–

Blending on a pallate — tint, shade, or glaze.

Layer upon layer, image unfolds, blends.

Build her face artistically amazing.

—–
Rainbow of paint, my medium well lends.

The method of attaining a correct shade shown.

Layer upon layer, image unfolds, blends.

——

Skin colour working, finding ideal tones.

Liveliness, painter’s skill, to wet canvass.

The method of attaining a shade shown.

——

Talent, raw paint, forming woman with sass.

Smear the canvass, rich thick acrylic paint,

Liveliness, painter’s skill, to wet canvass.

Smear the canvass, rich thick acrylic paint.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

3Line Tales: Quiet, Imagination, and the Spaces Inbetween Silence.


  Thanks to Sonya from 100 Words or Less for hosting Three Line Tales.

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Moritz Schmidt
 

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 1. Some people abhor quiet and others they adore it, I would say I’m often in the latter group but not all the time; we all have this need to be sociable creatures to some extent, whether it’s to meet new clients and network; gab with our girlfriends or see the boys for a game; or simply sit in a coffee shop and absorb the hum of conversation occurring around us.

2. I have this love for quiet (or silence you might call it) because they’re special ideas and transfigurations of your imagination hiding within it; some people can feed their creativity in the loud and garish noises of a crowd of people yelling and hollering to a person near to them; but the best place for some of us to elaborate on ideas and call fourth the muses of our imagination is in the silence where we write brilliant stories, paint paintings, and daydream of our future creations.

3. Sometimes it’s not the quiet or silence which is meaningful, but the spaces inbetween the quiet, because in those hidden molecules lives a powerful and significant understanding between two people; it is love in it’s magnificence which exists within the silences of husbands and wives, partners, girlfriends and boyfriends, children and their parents, grandparents and grandchildren, friends, and people and their pets; this space within silence is a secret place two people who love each other exceptionally, coexist together without uttering a single word, while both comprehending each other deeply even within each other’s souls.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Writing 101: Graffiti – “Art Without Subterfuge.”


I could paint you a brilliant picture in so many vibrant colours; I don’t know if you’ll like it, but it will still be art. And it might only be words. 

Art has such varied definitions. I’ll give you every kind. The tattoo  of a woman hair blowing, she flies across  your back and chest — one of my favourite species of art. 

Graffiti of the skin is truly sublime. Graffiti on the wall can be merely a mural. When I was in high school Art,  I painted murals across the school. I learned the texture of a  wall.

Michelangelo and Adam touching fingertips by the stairs. And a leafy haven enfolding items of art and drama. We viewed them both as art, glimmering and sublime. 

But the building changed functions and they painted over the murals. To them they were just tasteless high school meaningless graffiti. They weren’t works of art to liven up the solid, boring, white wall paint. Some people are boxed in by definitions of what art is and is not.

When I visited San Diego, under all the bridges was this fantastic and beautiful graffiti. It was art out loud and it was allowed to beautify a dirty place, under a bridge. It was enlightening, let them do graffiti. 

And I’m always wondering when an artist paints a mural to make an area prettier, why some kid has to ruin it spray painting orange profanities.

I guess to him his graffiti is a greater art. But to anyone who knows beauty, a terrible sin was created when he sprayed over a mural which told a story in paint already.

If you are going to do graffiti, you should do it at the right place or atleast do it well. 

I love it at the skateboard park when all those skinny skaters, bring their spray paint and go wild on the places they do flips and ollies. 

Graffiti can be outstanding a burst of skittle colors on blank pages of a building. Like the tattoo artists who create images of meaning on our body, there can be so much meaning behind Graffiti.

And it should be allowed because art is a personal freedom. If you have the skill to electrify and colourize any white surface professionally or learning, let the artist work. Let them rain beauty. 

As a girl who has done some art and knows something on the subject, I can tell you the kind of tools and subject matter is different with every person for any drawing or painting done in art. 

And you can see the varied methods of art when we explore collages, or twisted metal sculptures. Rooms of installations with the sounds of birds chirping and flying.

You can see art in the artists who stand still for many hours, when we light up a bridge or tower, when the sky springs with pride on our country’s birthday with fireworks.

You can’t fit art in one place. It is everywhere and everything. Art is people kissing and the way the sunlight hits their faces. Art is old men walking, and the heart and effort it takes to walk with a healing hip.

Art is graffiti. It is any kind of inspiration that can be found or can be given. It is crazy thoughts we think will never work. But one day they do. In a starburst of evolution art is created.

So give me more graffiti, as long as it’s quality. As long as for me, it’s beauty. Art is central to the individual as the butterfly tattoo on your hip. Or the poppy tattoo you can’t quite convince yourself to get.

Put Graffiti on white spaces. Like the little guys who put crayon and felt tips on their mother’s walls. 

Spray paint a glorious vision of passion and reality; the metaphysical delusions that only make sense to you.

Spin for me a radiant vision of a catastrophe honoured or a special day realized. Make your art poetry, make poetry graffiti.

You can spray the truth and I’ll write it without subterfuge. I’ll give you a blast of colour, shape, line, form, and design with my words. 

My words are the spray paint and I’m painting your soul. A spectacular illusion of light and space that alludes to deeper meanings and all the colours celebrate. 

The beauty that is Graffiti. 

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©Mandibelle16.All Rights Reserved.

Writing 101: Day 7 – A Writing Space


Let me paint a picture for you: I am in the living room at home. The walls are seashell beige on the wall opposite of me where there is a grand picture window with wispy white see-through curtains. Behind me the wall is a darker beige, with a slight green tinge to it. To the right is a corner cabinet in oak, furniture  my Uncle built, displaying a few trinkets. Beside the corner cabinet to the left is a side-table stained in a darker wood with a butter yellow corrugated place mat on it. Beside it is a deep dark red-orange sofa with a sheet covering the seat and back. The sheet is off white with brown and copper leaves. In front of the coach is a french provincial coffee table with a cream runner on top. The left corner of this coach is usually where I sit and write. It is quite comfortable, a place to sink into words.

The side table is where I pile various textbooks I’m using for school: Furniture in History 3000 BC – 2000 AD, and papers about applying for a Masters in Fine Arts. There is a little leaf green binder for portion sizes of food you eat; I try to follow the guide. It’s from when I was doing Herbal Magic. There are tabs of varied colours you can write on to make a divider for your binder or mark a chapter in the textbook. There is lip chap, pens of blue and black, paper clips, and a  binder for my Furnishing’s Course –thick with printed out slides and notes. In front of me is the IKEA catalogue. And to the left of me a framed vertical drawing of a bench and buildings in Ottawa, it’s matting is forest green. There is a lamp that’s tall with a cream lamp shade, providing light to me as I write on my lap top. I am resting my right arm on a multicolored brown, orange and red pillow, a muted knitted purple blanket covers my legs. Usually it’s nice and quiet during the day, everyone is at work. But lately, there is a loud truck across the street and it runs and makes the most horrible rumbling sounds. I’m trying to ignore it and I can’t do anything about it. But I wish the people would hurry up and leave already or get their truck fixed.

I’m burning a candle on the coffee table it smells like heavenly vanilla, I love that smell. And I just keep on writing. I wish I had a quiet room with a  desk and a comfortable leather chair to sit in, where I was looking out the window at the river valley full of orange and red in Autumn. A place I couldn’t hear this rumbling noise, it’s like a tractor. But you write where you write and create your “room of your own” wherever you can find the space. This will do for now.

creative_writing1
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