#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.

#NovemberNotes Day 12/Saturday Mix: Poem – Rondeau – “We Don’t Stand A Chance” #amwriting #poetry


November Notes Day 12 Prompt song is by Sam Smith and called “To Good At Goodbyes.” For this Prompt combo I will combine the song Prompt with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix Prompt on homophones. For this week the homophones include bolder – more courageous and boulderlarge rock; and two of, flew – past tense of fly, flu – short for influenza, and flue – chimney pipe.

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Credit: Cristian Newman via UnSplash

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Too Good At Goodbyes” by Sam Smith

——

I’m never gonna let you near my heart,

I’ll let you subsist in-between the bars;

Where we’re both near, yet feeling the flu, starved.

Not letting you close, though you mean the most,

I’m brokenness, you’ll never get closer.

Opening up is like chocking on barbs.

I’m not someone bolder, willing to fall hard,

Your here, but I see clear, we’re the departed.

Not letting you close, though you mean the most,

Chained to a boulder we don’t stand a chance.

A simple sincere truth, I’m good at parting,

Every time I hurt you, you hurt me too; dark —

Eyes forgetting, when we weren’t sickly ghosts,

Not seeing, together we flew the most.

Not letting you close, my tears fall imparting,

Chained to a boulder we don’t stand a chance.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.