#OctPoWriMo Day 17/Photo Challenge: Poem – “Lay Down Your Guns” #amwritingpoetry #PhotoChallenge


For OctPoWriMo Day 17 the Prompt is Madness Reigns. I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. Inspired by Joyrose’s piece It’s Not Rocket Science!


Credit: Art Universe @ Instagram

World builder, psycho destroyer

With your purple-pits for eyes,

You black-eyed raven with pitiless guise.

Hiding your intentions,

You cannot snatch them back — nevermore.

You are wicked madness in destruction,

Shedding humanity, no magic world-builder, but you could’ve been.

You could’ve been eloquence or passion,

Most of all you could’ve been sweet-grass alive.

There are a lot of should haves,

Could haves that might have been.

But it comes down to what is, what was —

A descent into wretched madness, no logic nor reason.

Reason so convoluted it reigns hellfire,

Bullets from a gun, shots ricochet, echo in the synagogue.

Flesh squelching, screams, oaths muttered, defiling God’s alter;

You reaped havoc, chaos unleashed.

You were meant to be loved, to persevere;

No to blame others — to forgive.

For we each share responsibility for what we’ve all done;

And we don’t always know the consequences,

How far reaching are actions ripple as stones tossed.

But there are times we’re cognizant,

And some of us, still, desire that the world burn.

Erupt into millions of Hanukkah flames,

The sacred hanukkiyah candles spilled — desolation.

Now we mourn your disaster intended,

Now we mourn children,

Now we mourn families.

You are chaos, pandemonium released.

You did not find absolution,

Only a cause you shouldn’t have killed for.

We all carry our burdens, rocks in our bellies.

We haul them around, as third-world children starving,

Infested with parasites, with death.

Now, the grieving are yoked in disbelief,

And you’re lost endless in the bleak.

No more guns and glory, no more madness;

Help those who need help find it —

Help them not into chaos descend.

Aid those on the edge,

Before off the canyon’s ledge they dive,

Boulders splintering life, bodies of tree husks;

Cut short with a whispered litany.

A Rabbi’s murmured blessings — some people’s last zenith;

Having only ‘just,’ enough time, before their candle flickers.

Rises with smoke, ashes, and incense;

This malice and hatred’s a repetitive cycle — ‘so,’ we beg:

Lay down your guns.

Lay down your guns.

Lay down your guns.


©️Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

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#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.