#NaPoWriMo Day 2: Poem – Free Verse — “To Live” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 2, the prompt is:

“Today’s prompt (optional, as always) is based on this poem by Claire Wahmanholm, which transforms the natural world into an unsettled dream-place. One way it does this is by asking questions – literally. The poem not only contains questions, but ends on a question. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that similarly resists closure by ending on a question, inviting the reader to continue the process of reading (and, in some ways, writing) the poem even after the poem ends.”


Credit: Ben White via Unsplash.


Sometimes I’m the spirit child,

Forever pigeon- faced cooing.

Sometimes I’m one-hundred-and-one,

Lapis Luzia blue eyes and crinkled skin,

As seconds tick, shoes tap the floor.

But to whose office am I called, faded bloom or seedling?

Sometimes I am the unsinkable youth,

Glorying in winds, summer wind’s bustle at midnight.

2:00 a.m. suppers, 2:00 p.m. breakfast –swallowed with Advil;

But sometimes it’s Aspirin, to thin retirement blood.

At times 2:00 A.M. is cornpops and milk,

When chicken breasts on salads, and protein shakes are grim;

I can’t swallow cardboard, but I’m not — I’ve tastebuds functioning.

Shall I have my shake to slim my physique?

Or, drink it too keep my nutrition in-sink?

Who wants to age frail, but neither do we want to be fat,

I think we never win,

Time is outside our boundaries.

And, sometimes I’m a teenager rolling with puppies,

With floppy ears and downy fur,

Tummy bare, rounded.

Sometimes my chest flutters, absorbing nips and belly rubs,

Because in such a short time,

She wheezed and I couldn’t awake to be there.

I knew enough, in the stillness of her beauty, what no breath meant.

Age took not her thick coat,

Only transported her to Elysian Fields,

Where we could not be together.

Sometimes I’m her bouncing through fields, cornering chipmunks,

Snuggling in the pack and running for miles.

Then, I’m the patient who’s wistful at her energetic tail.

Too tired to think beyond, the glory of her life,

To stretch and tag along at first so slow,

As she springs off of trees and barks like a bandit;

But, then I’m strong enough to ferry her across death’s rivers.

Later, I’m the painter with jubilant dreams,

Charcoal smudged, thick acrylics, immersed in sunlight.

Or, am the father-tree thick, ever-growing,

Am I one-hundred-and-fifty, here first;

Branches upswept, trailing the clouds.

But, you rip me out, brutally, as a beating heart,

My roots torn, paper shredded.

You make room for your concrete, your steel,

Your building and students, who know not my ghost.

Am I anyone or anything because I was?

Am I anything, was I once?

Now, I’m the knowledge they learn flourishing,

Then, I’m deep, rich dirt.

Reminded that in all homelands,

That all our histories are layer-upon-layer,

Sediment shattered, walls reconstructed.

Fire, earth, wind, and water didn’t end us —

What does? Will they remember before?

But then, I’m the tiniest weed, and still I live,

What’s life?

Your perception of what it is to be alive?


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Sonnet (Nurado) – “Forever Burn” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Also thank you to Bjorn of Poet’s Pub #dVerse prompt for hosting a poetry prompt on Pabulo Nurado’s sonnets.

” Nurado’s sonnets have no rhyme scheme, are meter-free, and are 14 lines, with a volta when you go from the two quatrain into the the concluding tercets. This is consistent with an Italian (or Petrarchan sonnet). ” 

——

Credit: Yarnspinner
——–

Here he sells his wares, the sidewalk his shop, 

He’s weary of unlookers, keeping his clay jar’s burning incense. 

I stand nearby, asking myself, “For what reason, 

Do these fires burn? What wares has he purloined today?”

And stones gathered against the burnt sienna fence, 

Mark that, this is his place, where he works and lives. 

Hocks his wares, keeps the fire’s in the jars stoked, 

Tiny stoves remain lit from dawn until midnight. 

His goods move quick, I’m quite surprised, 

To me they’re nothing much, yet, I buy a wood carving. 

With a crumpled bill and pocket coins, freely given. 

My fingers slide over dips and ridges, measure his small carving, 

Such intricate, minute detail; but never have I found —

Why the clay fires forever burn, incense floating to the heavens. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Photo Challenge: Poem – Bop – “How To Save A Life” #dVerse #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo challenge. I’m combining it with a #dVerse prompt. Thanks to Kim from Poet’s pub for hosting a poetry prompt on the theme of saving someone’s life. 

——–

Credit: Cetrobo

———

How to save a life? Say the right words, 

Offer hope, say there’s more to live for, words —

Of compassion, tomorrow’s one more —

Day and within a day, world rewards. 

Those who could barely escape their despair, 

Providing hope, strength — live another day. 

If I’d known then, how to save a life. 

If you stepped back and gazed beyond, 

You would know, wonderful times are yonder. 

Take a moment breathe, be optimistic, 

Don’t let despair rule you, you’re not ‘with it,’ 

The clouds will lift, you’ll see and start to think. 

Your mind’s patterned to survive, not sink. 

You’ll see today, that your thoughts deluded, 

Don’t see that you’re needed, included. 

If I’d known then, how to save a life. 

I miss her, can’t ignore it, can’t undo, 

It’s why I sit here talking with you. 

There are times I wanted to help — couldn’t, 

I don’t know if the right words stop your doubt? 

But you should know I’m here until —

You decide to ask for help, fight to live. 

If I’d known then, how to save a life. 

——-

“How to Save A Life” – The Fray

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 


Tale Weaver: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “What If You” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s Tale Weaver prompt. The prompt is to come up with a ‘what if scenario and write about it.’

——

Credit: Francis E. McDonald


What if you were on the streets and had no family,

To take you in? What if you were awfully ill?

Had no health care insurance or will —

To live? ‘Cause no one cared, not really.

Disappearance might seem easier,

You think your absence won’t ever be missed.

Better for others, if your life’s dismissed?

Not in the way; without friends, eyes keeping,

Watch on you: We must help those who live ‘What If;’ too —

Many people fall through the cracks,

Cannot afford medication to live,

Or wander streets, hungry, with poor hygiene.

We all must care because the neglected need much,

Are valuable humans, who require our hands.


© Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.