#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 1/ Sunday Writing Prompt/ #PhotoChallenge: Poem – “Death’s Twilight” #amwritingpoetry


For OctPoWriMo Day 1 the theme is surrender. I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt on the poem, “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath. Also, using a photo prompt from NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.


Credit: Natalia Ruka

She rises, you think she’d shrink,

Lose her footing with knobby bones, bloody footprints;

But, she’s a miracle and survives despite —

The annihilation of her heart.

No surrender, no train cars full of the sick and dying;

No camps of death will kill her.

She won’t surrender, she’ll paint you a dream,

A masterpiece of despair and scribbled features.

A portrait or less, no seashell rocking shut;

She rasps, vapours of her lost innocence.

Herr who?

With battered purple sockets.

Herr who?

A dream or nightmare trawling.

I have no dreams of innocence, only a suffering spitefulness for your hate.

Words that shattered the cracked mirror,

Seventy times seven bad luck.

Herr who?

Miss Plath, your words are riddled traps.

Herr who?

She fakes death, blood and bone snapped;

Flesh from hands shredded.

Your terror camps and eyes of sunken sin,

Can’t make her alive, though she’s not yet, dead.

Be on guard for those caught in-between;

Those who aren’t afraid as the breath in their lungs rattles.

Beware of those who see death and leave life;

The exact meeting of one leaving the elevator, while the other travels home.

Beware of hair as hellfire, she the angel of death;

No surrender, for none was given her.

Beware her yawning grin,

And hollow eyes as she devours men like air;

Destiny with her twisted wings,

Her opalescent fluttering, a sheen that hides the bitter.

Her charcoal hands twitching as they sketch the twilight of death.


“Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath

*****

I have done it again.

One year in every ten

I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin

Bright as a Nazi lampshade,

My right foot

A paperweight,

My face a featureless, fine

Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin

O my enemy.

Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?

The sour breath

Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh

The grave cave ate will be

At home on me

And I a smiling woman.

I am only thirty.

And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.

What a trash

To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.

The peanut-crunching crowd

Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——

The big strip tease.

Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands

My knees.

I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.

The first time it happened I was ten.

It was an accident.

The second time I meant

To last it out and not come back at all.

I rocked shut

As a seashell.

They had to call and call

And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.

I do it so it feels real.

I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.

It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.

It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day

To the same place, the same face, the same brute

Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’

That knocks me out.

There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge

For the hearing of my heart——

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge

For a word or a touch

Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

So, so, Herr Doktor.

So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,

I am your valuable,

The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.

I turn and burn.

Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,

A wedding ring,

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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#NaPoWriMo Day 29/Saturday Mix: Poem- Quadrille – “Apprehensions: Night Tears Through” #amwriting #poetry #SaturdayMix


For NaPoWriMo Day 29 the prompt is: “to write a poem based on the Plath Poetry Project’s calendar. Simply pick a poem from the calendar, and then write a poem that responds or engages with your chosen Plath poem in some way.” I’m combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie‘s Saturday Mix Prompt of Opposing Forces and two sets of words suburb and city centre and repair and damage.


Credit: Maximo Valcarce via Unsplash


Plath Poetry Calendar: APPREHENSIONS

“There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself—

Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.

Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.

They are my medium.

The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.”


No walls to repair, or damage,

Creation’s infinite, sublime.

You tug at my heart —

Buds bursting,

Craving unknowns.

Amidst starlit skys.

Angels swimming,

Chiding indifference —

Knowing white walls,

Can’t entrap.

Not suburbsof children,

Or urbanspeakeasies,

Sparking, neglecting —

The sun’s dissolved,

Bleeding into pitch —

Light tears through.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: March Part Two 2018 #quotes #pinterest #notablequotes #mandibellesthoughts


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©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo – Day 8/Sunday Prompt: Poem – Free Verse – “Through Hope” #poetry #amwriting 


Thanks to Scribblersdip of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting her collage Prompt with a Sylvia Plath quote, from October 1, 2017. Also today’s OctPoWriMo Day 8 poem is on the prompt of how do you know. 

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Credit: ScribblersDip – MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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Self discovery questions, 

How do we know, 

What we know? 

How do we find out? 

How do you describe the feeling, 

Of something intangible? 

If someone can’t, 

See the invisible, 

Having faith, or hope of —

All things we know,

That aren’t tactile, visual, 

Or auditory, 

If we’re but certain of the sparks —
In our brains, 

Is attraction or love real? 

Is faith and belief for sure? 

We must sail beyond scientific evidence, 

Beyond the research, the data. 

Believe fairytales and find our —

Joie-de-vivre.

Abstract shocks —

Of beauty and faith, 

Filling in holes with — 

Puzzle pieces. 

We’ll never prove all, 

It’s a choice to decide —

What we are not sure about. 

To be certain of, 

What we don’t see; 

That’s how we know, 

What we know, 

Through hope. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Day 29 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Photo Challenge: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Arbitrary Blackness” #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #SylviaPlath


Thanks to NEKEEREJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge. For NaPoWriMo the prompt is ” to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. . . After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem. The last letter of the A to Z Challenge is of course the letter Z for a GoodRead’s quote. 

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Credit: Andi Abdul Halil

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All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” — Sun Tzu, The Art of War

———

Noun – “arbitrary blackness” 

– “drops dead, “head,” imagined you”, come home, never did, lost love, war, hoping, never returned so he was lost in the war, she becomes this blackness, because he is gone, “Satan’s men” – the Nazi’s in Germany, exit, dreamed was with him in bed, dreams always, but she is mad, he exists no longer, never returned so never was? 

——-

They say this is no war for girls to fight in,

The men go off to fight their battles, estranged.

For everyone, life’s callous rearranged.

If he’s out there, he’s changed, sick as sin. 

Everyone, everywhere drops dead, there’s no win.

In cities, in ghettos, wars collide. 

Drop dead, silly head, mad but I’m alive. 

Gone for all time, years ago in air thin

Arbitrary blackness fills my soul. 

Satan’s men on trial, live in soul’s holes. 

With those from the camps, fuel for fire.

Haunted dreams, PTSD now respired. 

Mad to love you, but I wait and desire.

Arbitrary blackness still encloses.

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Credit: Sylvia Plath – http://www.pinterest.com

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.