#NaPoWriMo Day 20: Free Verse – “Get Away, Get Away” #amwritingpoetry

For NaPoWriMo Day 20, the prompt is:

“Try to write a poem grounded in language as it is spoken – not necessarily the grand, dramatic speech of a monologue or play, but the messy, fractured, slangy way people speak in real life. You might incorporate overheard speech or a turn of phrase you heard once that stood out to you – the idea here is to get away from formally “poetic” speech and into the way language tends to work out loud.”

Based somewhat off William Blake’s, “The Chimney Sweeper: My Mother Died When I Was Very Young . . .

Credit: Google Images

Get away, get away, no scraps to eat,

Get away, get away, vile chimney sweeper.

Squirrel down the fireplace with hacking cough,

Get away, get away, tiny three-year old son.

Get away, get away, clean the soot well,

Treated as vermin, you know not nor why.

Get away, get away — two-hundred years passed.

And many hollows, still haunt chimney sweepers;

The dogs are fed, cats cradled, but somewhere —

The little chimney sweeper’s weep,

Broken spirited, choking on ashes, soot.

And modern toddlers cough, hurt someway else.

Get away, get away, we’ve a thousand things to do,

Get away, get away, nuisances only God sees as deserving.

Perhaps, some grandparent’s of a toddler, yet . . .

We’ve still forgotten. William Blake’s Chimney Sweepers.

Pretence and poison, do we value things, experiences over young life?

‘Get away, Get away,’ words unheeded not remembered,

Think they better, know they not;

None of us are better via religion, ethnicity, nor sense of reason,

If we don’t love the little children.

Get away, get away, let the chimney sweepers breath,

Let fresh air carry giggles, chimes in the wind,

No more work, not ever,

Only golden pathways to freedom.

©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.


Day 24 – NaPoWriPo –  Satire – “Tyger, Lamb, and Dead Sylphs”

– I wrote this earlier but it fits the prompt to do a Satire or Parody of a Poem:

The tyger in the room prowls and flicks his tail.He stretches his long feral body and gives a lazy stretch.

He knows he has me cornered, cowering like a lamb.
My inner nature of experience, he is the tyger “burning bright.”
But he fights with my soul, one of innocence, a lamb lead to the slaughter.
So, either I’m a monster prowling around or a carcass many enjoy with Greek food.
Yes, I am stuck!
Between a rock and a hard place, to be exact.
And swirling streams of consciousness, suck and scar my soul.
I am the honest one, the good girl.
No I am the liar the cheater, the tyger “with immortal eye” whose “fearful symmetry” I deplore.

Oh, Blake, you knew human nature all to well.
We too easily destroy ourselves by making bad choices.
These choices lead us to dark paths, though some experience is good, the rest is aghast.
Though some innocence is good, we need experience to make it through life.
All I wanted was some new experiences, to have a wandering nature as I go in life.
But curiosity he is a cat, one with orange stripes and deep fathomless eyes.
And the fluff of lamb hair I hold so dear, she went up in a poof of cloud to live with sylphs and other innocent beings that are no more.
I am a creature of experience now and I don’t know what to do?
Give a chance to someone new or hold with my old faithful who always returns to me.

He is not perfect, but he learns, and knows me like no other.
My new danger lurks and knows me as I tell my story, knows I am difficult.
But knowing and living with are two different ways.
And I am scared to know him, lest I be branded with a scarlet A and called a traitor.
What actions do I take tyger flicking eyes towards his pray, a blue-eyed blond steak ?
Or, what do I do little Ariel, and your Sylphs?
Are her locks still unshorn my lamb?
To be within these places screams danger and sensuality.
Tyger let me rest awhile, I cannot always be on guard.
My hair is gold and Bishop once told a story where a lock was snipped – he shorn the lamb and I must protect her or I am lost.
All for The Rape of a Lock, a tyger, a lamb, a and a Scarlet letter emblazoned upon my chest.
Oh, where’s my sylph, she is no more.