Tag: concrete

#NaPoWriMo Day 9: Poem – Concrete Poetry – “Simple Joy” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 9, the prompt is ” I’d like to challenge you to write a “concrete” poem – a poem in which the lines and words are organized to take a shape that reflects in some way the theme of the poem. This might seem like a very modernist idea, but poets have been writing concrete poems since the 1600s! “

Credit: Dave Goudreau via Unsplash.

– See in actual concrete form HERE: ‪Simple Joy https://www.poetrygames.org/poetry-machine/save-share-poem-10.php?poem=TWpnek5EWT0=‬

Simple Joy

*****

Poems of joy,

Some have form,

Some only lines.

Remember when we used to chatter?

When our mouths weren’t creased,

Forheads unwrinkled?

Lips not puckered, but glossed?

Joy de vivre, where have you gone?

Heaven how close your golden wings spread.

Choose right, remember you’re not alone, and —

Remember the good times, they carry souls through;

Recall when youth was youth;

Now forever I am here, and you aren’t.

Lines or shapes, colors,

Concrete or not, laughter oh, laughter;

Nostalgia, ‘Corinthian’ love.

Poems of joy,

Where have they gone?

Your hands lift me, in

Your hands I trust.

Wrapped in vibrant grace,

And no form concrete,

Joy, the word itself has clarity enough.

©️Amanda_ME. (2020) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Historian and Pyromaniac #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

——

“It will never burn. It’s stone and concrete. People don’t build monumental buildings to burn easily these days,” Trent commented.

“Well they used to and this building is pretty old. I’d say it’s eighteen-hundreds,” Chip guesstimated. 

“That old?”

“Yeah, I took some art history so I’d know. Burning this building won’t destroy the whole thing, but it will burn a lot of history within. Maybe it’s like the White House when the Canadian’s burnt it in the War of 1812,” Chip said. 

“Pffff . . . Canadians aren’t that aggressive,”Trent said.

“Oh yeah well why do you think it’s called the White House? Canadians and British soldiers burnt it and the states had to white wash it after rebuilding some parts; white washing covered up the smoke damage and scorch marks.” 

“But wasn’t Canada more a British colony at that point?  So, the fault lies with the British who were leading things,” Trent insisted.

“Many of the soldiers identified as Canadian, Trent,whether or not they were led by Britain; the States shouldn’t have tried to take the Canadas, as upper and lower Canada were known then.” 

“Um, that’s a great history lesson but why do you want to burn this building?” 

Chip’s eyes grew dark, “Some people just like to watch the world burn; but I’m okay with one building . . . to start.”

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – “In Eyes Perceive” #wordhighjuly #poetry #balintataw



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http://www.pixebay.com

———

I’ve lost clarity; it’s obvious, observe —

When I’m peering through dense walls, 

Where you disguise your life;

I’m blinded from your changing eyes.

Obsidian pupils, shining as glass;

Solidification of molten lava black.

Rings of green surround pupils.

In certain light, your eyes blackish-green fire;

In another light, they’re a grassy knoll.

I perceive your eyes, understanding you;

When you’re hostil, temperamental;

Your eyes alter colour, swirling into black.

A bitter ocean, a complex green.

Obsidian pupils merge; fight pleasant green.

The storm rages, your eyes stay grating.

As steel and concrete, 

You’re cold, unflinching.

——-

When you’re serene and absorbed in life;

Your eyes tint with light, 

Glow with presence;

Glimmering alert, understanding.

Conversing comfortably; 

Words match your eyes.

Face, sure and bright; 

Joy glows from your lips, 

The creases in your smile.

Wrinkles, fan your eyes;

You laugh and illuminate my sight.

Your fantastic mood drawing people to you, 

My beacon.

——-

But my favourite vantage,

Of your eyes;

Dark pupils focus, adore me slow.

Feeding an ethereal glow;

Throwing off embers of warmth.

Mysterious eyes, wide-open; 

Your true-self, no posing.

Brilliant fire of space simmering;

Us a compass twain, 

Star dust and nebulas.

You appear almost sleepy, 

Eyes perceiving my eyes;

Mood indicators; receptors of feeling.

The lights in all the stars, 

Of every universe, combined.

Heat from your heart (and other parts),

Obsidian meeting obsidian sheen;

Aurora Borealis in our eyes gleam.

Waves of heat and colour impress.

Of all the giant and tiny world’s,

Unparalleled; the world we combine.

Nebulas spark across the dark;

Your truth is when you memorize me, 
Satisfied smile, softly content.
We’ve conquered stars;

As light is the only source,

Differing our eyes; a genetic defect passed,

Transforming brown, to blue and green;

The Northern Lights, 

Enfolding us in time, our space.

——–

Credit: I thought about a lot of John Donne poetry writing this: A Valediction Forbidding Mourning and The Good Morrow mostly. Also, if you haven’t read about why some people have blue or green eyes, when originally, humans only had brown eyes, check-out: Wikipedia – Eye Colour. Turns out blue or green eyes is not a pigment, it has to do with structural colour and the scattering of light in certain conditions. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.