Napalm’s Swans

I’m moved and delighted that, once more, my poem fit the NaPoWriMo prompt: “…for our daily prompt…I’d like to challenge you today to write a poem about an animal.”

Today’s prompt: daffodil, swan, napalm

Do daffodils bloom

Where hell’s horror napalm burned

Children, souls now swans

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.


Darkest of Days

O darkest of days…

Followers trembled with fear

Grief, uncertainty

Jesus told them what must come

Yet it was too horrible

They waited, wondered

Comforted one another

Hearts’ long darkest day

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.








FOWC with Fandango — Tenuous

FOWC with Fandango — Natural

V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #42: farewell

Along island’s natural coast, you bade

Farewells…though you were already gone

At rest, free, unfettered…leaving memories

For handful of intimates to hold, keepsakes…

The crowd of admirers, as always, shut out

From your life and death, ever restricted.

How tenuous this life, the frail egos of men

Most of whom grasp and cling, strive for

One more day, hour of reputation, legacy…

True, some beg for, seek early release, but

You were big name, penned in bold strokes

And you shamed critics, left wealth to charity.

I was nothing, no one…but I loved, will

Always love you fiercely.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Stone Image:


Grief’s Storm

What do you See? April 2, 2019

Grief startles, rips through

Soul as lightning rends midnight

Strikes match to tinder

Searing deep marrow

Loss is thunder echoing

Heart shudders, weeps ash…

Oblivious world turns, turns

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Dungeon of Mind

In mind’s dungeon no rest is found

Nothing satisfies dour assemblage…

Every facet of faces is sepia frown

Their words—constant clanging

Haranguing—are physical battery

…Reproof, rebukes.

There’s no such thing as quiet

Not for a moment, hour, day…

No peace exists; dimmest corner

Ripples reverberations…defeat

Shame, pound chronic migraine.

Specters of the dead, shadows of

People still living—somewhere—

Writhe, serpents in agony.

Tears don’t appease, nor repentant

Prayer, pleas for absolution.

Memory’s verbal rats gnaw feet…

Can’t sleep, on guard against

Something larger…toxic, toothier.

People who don’t believe Hell’s

A real place have yet to experience

Mental dungeon where everything

You ever feared, recall—each cruel

Betrayal, humiliation, shunning and

Mockery—whatever is horror, grief

Becomes bitter flame which burns

The flesh, sears tongue, blinds eye

Turns heart and soul to ash…

But leaves mind alert to suffer.

Those who escape discovered secret:

Dungeon keeper’s been around for

Eons, nothing new about him; he

Merely repeats what old voices speak

Copy/pastes stinging untruths…he’s

Lucifer, the Liar.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.