November Notes Day 16 /Photochallenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Immeasurable” #photochallenge #poetry #amwriting


For November Notes the song is “Words as Weapons” by Birds. I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge Prompt.


Credit: Discrete


“Words as Weapons” by Birds


You can try to measure her angles,

Try to rationalize her curves.

Measure her so your comprehension of her is scientific;

But to math and science she’s absurd.

She has no rhyme or reason,

And you can’t make a person a logical equation.

Her body is not algebra,

Nor is she a kind of Cosine, Sine, or Tangent Angle.

You can use your words as methodical weapons,

To untangle her qualitative values,

But your words like swords will never cut to her core.

She’ll use her tears as numerous weapons,

And you can’t measure those.

Their quantitative value is beyond this world.

And she’s no statistical value,

She isn’t found in Trigonometry or in quadrilaterals.

And you’ll find no help about her in Epistemology;

Nor any philosophical math or logic.

Some things in life are beyond words and equations,

They aren’t logical or reasonable,

They are what they are.

And if you love all her curves and angles,

Can’t you let that be enough?

There’s no need to hypothesis,

To predict the future or the next hour,

So what if her face is symmetrical?

You can use your words as abject weapons,

To untangle her qualitative values,

But your words like swords will never cut to her core.

She’ll use her tears as numerous weapons,

And you can’t measure those,

Their quantitative value is beyond this world,

It’s called feeling and living in the moment,

Joyeux de Vivre or spontaneity,

No being afraid to let life happen,

To have Passion in the here and now.

Though you find it easier to measure and quantify your life,

Perhaps quality is a better goal?

And if such beauty you behold,

That you cannot find the exact right words,

There are other ways to show your love.

You can use your words as hurtful weapons,

To untangle her qualitative values,

But your words like swords will never cut to her core.

She’ll use her tears as more painful weapons,

And you can’t measure those,

Their quantitative value is beyond this world.

Before your mind starts to unravel,

In charts and graphs and parabolas,

Accept her for the flower she is,

Blooming without thought or reason,

In the midst of a freezing winter.

She is who she is and she isn’t a number,

Not even a poem,

She’s only and always a woman,

Her worth immeasurable,

Her love beyond equations and perfect values.

She is your summer in the bitter cold of life.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

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#OctPoWriMo Day 19/Sunday Writing: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Comfort Spread” #poetry #amwriting


For OctPoWriMo Day 19 the theme is fox or foxy. Also, I’m doing the Scribbler’s Dip MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie Sunday Writing Prompt from Oct 8, 2017 based on the Pablo Nurado poem below:

——-

Sonnet XVI by Pablo Neruda

I love the handful of the earth you are.

Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,

I have no other star. You are my replica

of the multiplying universe

*****

Your wide eyes, are the only light I know

from extinguished constellations;

your skin throbs like the streak

of a meteor through rain.

*****

Your hips were that much of the moon for me;

your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;

your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

*****

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.

So I pass across your burning form, kissing

you – compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.

*****

——-

Credit: Roberto Nixon

——

More than a handful of earth, but crystal, 

Light bouncing off of facets, your meadows, 

Vast greenery, teaming with life bestowed. 

Complicated universe, love enthralled. 

Your star, an ember of warmth never falls. 

Such sanguine eyes, constellations fed, 

Your skin downy white fox fur, comfort bred. 

Our touch pulses, meteors involve —

Your mouth delights, your kisses warm invite;

Your hips as the moon’s silver spreading light. 

Fiery hearts beat together in time,

Your honeyed lips the relief of shade.   

Kissing burning skin, your planetary fire, 

A hope for the night for tomorrows rhyme.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Prompt: Poetry – Ballad – “Jolly Sailor Bold” (Reworked) #amwriting #poetry #mermaids 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this prompt, focusing on having a Refrain in a song/poem/prose; some kind of repeating phrase. Also, I’m including and reworking lyrics to “My Jolly Sailor Bold,” from Pirates of The Carribean Four: On Stranger Tides, using Disney’s words as a Refrain or chorus and my own for the verses.

See HERE for original lyrics. 

——

Credit: http://www.devianart.com by Isismaathapy.

——

Once there was a lass and she, 

Didn’t fit at home, said Mum:

“Be gone girl,” so she went, roamed, 

Wandering the earth, she’d hum. 

—-

They say she was a fey girl with, 

Eyes gleaming like stormy seas, 

She cared little much for love, 

Little much did life, her please.  

—-

One evening in the moonlight, 

Her fair voice sang a song.

A mournful melody cried, 

For her jolly sailor longed.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold.”

—–

They say he swam away, 

In shipping built his good name. 

His ship sailed around the world, 

He recalled his love, her games.

—–

She watched for him each sun –

Set, she went about each day.

Crying sadly for her sweetheart, 

Sailor she feared lost and astray.

—-

He thought nothing of her tears,

No thoughts of her at all;

Coming home he brought a wife,

 A final jump made girl fall

—-

Mermaids saved the young girl, 

A woman-fish swam so free;

Sang out to foolish sailors, 

“Come join me in the sea.” 

—-

“My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold.” 

—-

“Jolly Sailor Bold” sung by Gemma Ward

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

November Notes: Poem -Day 13 – Etherees Cascading – “I Don’t Understand” #poetry #novembernotes #amwriting #writing #music


Today’s song prompt is called “Shell Suite” by Chad Valley.

——-

“Shell Suite” – Chad Valley

——-

http://www.pinterest.com

——

Signs written on the walls, handwriting no —

One reads such a language anymore.

But you saw the signs, the moment —

Words in my head untangled. 

I don’t understood us, 

Myself, in this mess. 

My feelings confused, 

Time was short. 

Now we’re —

Gone. 

—–

Signs, 

Are so, 

Clear to you, 

I don’t need some —

Gifted seers dream.

Echoes in my head rhyme, 

Tapping my foot along in —

Rapid time, and I wonder where —

My search will begin, if I find us? 

Quarter past, rustle up — we fit or we don’t. 

——

Somehow I’m the one in control, I choose, 

I decide; I want to just go with —

The flow, not worry, not decide;

But at least I have my say. 

Yet life works out your way. 

Grand design heart beats, 

Perplexed by these —

Sounds, friends, foes, 

Yourself, 

Dazed. 

—-

It, 

Mattered, 

Not, writing —

So vivid and —

So crystal clear I, 

Felt resilience in, 

My chest; down to the beach, 

Our getaway, but rhythms ting. 

They keep echoing, it’s exhausting, 

Figuring out your charms, while packing for the sun. 

—-

You’re packing; feel the heart attack we live, 

A life I want not, I’m looking for the shore. 

For a place to get of off the flooding —

Boat before it carries me down. 

Where are you, where’d you go? 

Writings on the wall, 

Said it all well, 

They’re erased. 

You’re gone, 

Fled. 
——

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: “Words”


Thanks to the Daily Post for yesterday’s and today’s word prompts Refresh and Voice.

—–

The right words to write, don’t happen each day,

When you only want to lie on the couch and let,

Each and every word in your head drift away.

It’s not as if what you write has to be set.

—-

That the lines all have to be one length.

That all lines have to be the correct amount of syllables.

Some days there is no power in your writing voice –no strength,

And your rhyme isn’t on, rhythm too is dribble.

—-

I write and half-way through I feel a need for a refresh.

Wipe the page clean, type something later when life makes sense.

It isn’t as if life is especially pressing,

It’s only that right now — I don’t make sense.

—–

Maybe life needs to feel refreshing again,

Maybe, your spirit needs to feel alive,

Before you can say exactly, what you mean to gain,

By writing these words down, and to let them thrive.

——

We need only find our writing voice in the everyday world,

Searching for a place we can be heard.

I don’t know why but my thoughts are awhirl,

I’m still searching for the right words.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

Three New Excellent Bloggers.


 

Prompt: Give some love to three blog posts you’ve read and loved in the past week, and tell us why they’re worth reading.

 

1.A Little Bit of Everything and A Whole Lot of Nothing is a dedicated and hardworking blogger in the beauty world. She writes about “subscription boxes, product reviews, makeup, beauty, freebies, fitness, and food.” I admire her because she puts out so many posts in a day about her areas of focus. I’m not sure how she does it but she finds coupon codes to all these makeup sites that other people don’t have. She had one on Tarte Makeup last week and I was able to buy the eyeshadow pallet I wanted at 30% off. Her freebies page is neat because it tells you about different places you can go on the internet to get free samples of lotion, shampoo, food products, etc. So a shout out to her in today’s prompt.

2.The Drabble: Shortness of Breadth is a blog I love to read because the Drabble writes the most interesting short stories everyday. They are not  long stories but they are always full of wonderful characters and imagination. The Drabble writes on many different themes and many different genres of stories. Today’s story was an interesting one called Kissing Boys, a play on a fairytale. So please enjoy the Drabble’s work; I do each day. I like reading the Drabble’s short stories because they always make me think and ponder.

3. Unbolt is a poetry blog by Tony Single. I discovered it recently and I love her poetry so much it is beautiful and flows, has assonance and alliteration, and rhyming. Tony is a so talented at her poetry. She takes me through a story and the poetry flows so easily I have scarce felt like I have begun reading and the poetry is at an end. The poem I have linked you to is called “Dandelion” and a wonderful quote from it is the repetitive stanza:

altho’ the frost it cake me
in weakness it not take me
nor quaking skies unmake me
because of you

So, please read Unbolt and Tony’s excellent poems.

Writing 201 – anaphora/epistrophe/concrete poems – Concretely Arranged


There is no shape for a poem; I cannot tolerate poems that are concretely arranged.

In such way that they take the form of a rhino, a sports car, or the Eiffel Tower; I abhor poems that are concretely arranged.

The thing about words, they have no form, except to work upon a line, not to be changed; they should just be able float and be words that are utilized, not concretely arranged.

Maybe, I would think it alright if it were for a children’s book, or on some souvenir I guess; but I confess, I hate writing poems that are concretely arranged.

—–

I like to play with words, to search for their place in a line of poetry; to reverse the word order, and add similes, metaphors, anthromorophism, assonance, alliteration, and personification. 

I like to play with meter, to count the emphasized and unemphasized words with ticks and dashes; I like to make an Italian or an English sonnet, a ballad, a haiku, heroic couplets, blank verse, and every form I do not remember from English in University. 

I like to just play with words as if they were chess pieces and I am deciding their every move, but I’ve developed this hate of concrete poetry. It just never works for me.

I do not like, will never like my poems in any form that is the shape of Canada or the United States; no trees or alligators; no martini glasses or bottles of wine; no note cards or pictures of women. I’m not a girl who forms shapes with her poetry; the poetry should speak for itself — and thus not be concretely arranged. 

Writing 201 – prose/internal rhyme – Oranges and Napes


You love the smell of oranges. That sweet tangy delicious citrus flavour; it’s something to savour. You peel off an oranges thick pebbled skin and reveal the oval shaped raw fruit within; oranges remind you of summer scrapped  from spring’s cold paw. Summer is a season with no reason if you can believe. Sometimes it just rains and it’s a pain but the farmer’s need it for harvest. There are a variety of skins that fruit and vegetables hide in. Squash is orange with blemishes; and egg plant purple and posh;peaches have a fuzzy skin. You love eating peaches it’s such a sin. Or maybe it’s baking them into a crisp; there’s also cherries — black, dark red — swallowing their pits is a risk; and baby carrots that are nubby, you need to wash them with a little scrubbing. 

There are all kinds of skin, but the most delicate skin is human. Think of baby thighs and tummies – the most precious skin of all. Or the skin at the nape of your neck; that spot is hot, with a thousand sensory spots which a man can follow playing connect the dot and make a shape. But then you are reminded, you are in the kitchen peeling off orange skin while his lips graze your neck ending with a feeling filled peck. You’re at a loss  as you eat your orange slices thinking of vices and lips at your nape when he leaned over you whispering words you never suspected.