Poetry competition CLOSED 30th April 2024 5:12pm
A public vote has been requested
2024 Official DUP NaPoWriMo Challenge
28/30
NEED A LIGHT
Thinking about your toe
Thinking about your son
Thinking about your friend
And her facing down a gun
Thinking about my daughter
Thinking about her bike
Thinking about feelings
That are and aren’t alike
I just want to hold you close
And promise it’ll be fine
I know we don’t get many chances
But there comes a time
We got so much stuff going on
And staying present’s it
I know we have a fuse somewhere
I hope we get it lit
(55 uw)
NEED A LIGHT
Thinking about your toe
Thinking about your son
Thinking about your friend
And her facing down a gun
Thinking about my daughter
Thinking about her bike
Thinking about feelings
That are and aren’t alike
I just want to hold you close
And promise it’ll be fine
I know we don’t get many chances
But there comes a time
We got so much stuff going on
And staying present’s it
I know we have a fuse somewhere
I hope we get it lit
(55 uw)
28/30
Cold Comfort-Second Scoop
The role of an icecream scooper
is not a gig that's easy.
Especially on hot Summer nights
when the store
is super busy.
Customers uttering
dog day's mumbles,
lined up out the door
just to pick a number.
Believe me
icecream is like
scooping granite
when straight
from the walk-in freezer
and we could have used
a stick of dynamite
if someone
ordered Daiquiri Ice.
To prepare milkshakes
we'd slide the steel collar
into a paper cup
and mount it on the blender.
Mixing milk and icream should be easy, but,
if one ordered
chocolate almond
or pralines and cream
the nuts would
would often
slice through the paper container
spraying forth the cold,
sticky contents
painting uniform,
floor, and counter.
So when you
frequent your
local icecream parlor
Consider the sore arms, of the servers
and the danger they face
so you can have
your nutty milkshake.
Unique word count: 110
Cold Comfort-Second Scoop
The role of an icecream scooper
is not a gig that's easy.
Especially on hot Summer nights
when the store
is super busy.
Customers uttering
dog day's mumbles,
lined up out the door
just to pick a number.
Believe me
icecream is like
scooping granite
when straight
from the walk-in freezer
and we could have used
a stick of dynamite
if someone
ordered Daiquiri Ice.
To prepare milkshakes
we'd slide the steel collar
into a paper cup
and mount it on the blender.
Mixing milk and icream should be easy, but,
if one ordered
chocolate almond
or pralines and cream
the nuts would
would often
slice through the paper container
spraying forth the cold,
sticky contents
painting uniform,
floor, and counter.
So when you
frequent your
local icecream parlor
Consider the sore arms, of the servers
and the danger they face
so you can have
your nutty milkshake.
Unique word count: 110
28/30
Three To Go
Twenty-eight thirty
Three more to go
Don't be late, be early
Let's start the show
The stage is set
Now pull the rope
The curtain opens
Let's play once more
With emotions
With words
Profound
Absurd
Free flow
Or forced
Challenging the course
Then a month in
Trophy in hand
Or rather on the page
This worm of the sand
We'll dig into our bags
Reaching deep down
Just to find a topic
Hidden deep underground
Three To Go
Twenty-eight thirty
Three more to go
Don't be late, be early
Let's start the show
The stage is set
Now pull the rope
The curtain opens
Let's play once more
With emotions
With words
Profound
Absurd
Free flow
Or forced
Challenging the course
Then a month in
Trophy in hand
Or rather on the page
This worm of the sand
We'll dig into our bags
Reaching deep down
Just to find a topic
Hidden deep underground
28/30
Snow Globe
Hold me between your tender palms,
as you carefully move me from that secluded shelf.
Shift your gaze towards mine,
I’m somewhere buried beneath the snowy floor, beside the cabin so cold
Tip me from side to side, look at every corner, and finely detailed edge. It’s all thoughtfully designed
Now, shake me, to see this little body in motion. Watch the world begin to change. You might get dizzy, and that’s okay.
Now, shatter me. No reason to throw, I simply need a hand at breaking.
I found security in the stillness. But the frost changed me.
Life is a parade, never slowing nor speeding. Those who march behind it have accepted the art of change,
for we are living in the shells of our past.
If only it were that easy then, to be liberated
How simple, yet impossible it is,
to destroy a snow globe.
One moment you’re ready,
the next you’re under its spell.
Snow Globe
Hold me between your tender palms,
as you carefully move me from that secluded shelf.
Shift your gaze towards mine,
I’m somewhere buried beneath the snowy floor, beside the cabin so cold
Tip me from side to side, look at every corner, and finely detailed edge. It’s all thoughtfully designed
Now, shake me, to see this little body in motion. Watch the world begin to change. You might get dizzy, and that’s okay.
Now, shatter me. No reason to throw, I simply need a hand at breaking.
I found security in the stillness. But the frost changed me.
Life is a parade, never slowing nor speeding. Those who march behind it have accepted the art of change,
for we are living in the shells of our past.
If only it were that easy then, to be liberated
How simple, yet impossible it is,
to destroy a snow globe.
One moment you’re ready,
the next you’re under its spell.
29/30
The Understudy
Identity versus image and the symbol of it all in literary scores
I am made of layers aiming to disclose
As I make myself vulnerable in the cipher of metaphors
I become someone everyone and yet no one really knows
Am I made of tragedies relative to the sentiments
As we parade our scars in the culture as if massacres are fingerprints
When in truth it goes much deeper in the character beyond what you see
Suffering is just one element in the making but affliction isn’t by definition, me
Healing informs perspectives in the ultimate end of what is left
When impenitence is brought to justice and I’m reimbursed for all the theft
My resolve is all I have to keep my character in tact
Building momentum as I follow the call to make an impact
Gifted as I am, I am driven to share
Yet not for my own sense of glory
Love is my legacy and my purpose to reveal how much I truly care
Yet I am just a character in the Author of my faith’s story…
The Understudy
Identity versus image and the symbol of it all in literary scores
I am made of layers aiming to disclose
As I make myself vulnerable in the cipher of metaphors
I become someone everyone and yet no one really knows
Am I made of tragedies relative to the sentiments
As we parade our scars in the culture as if massacres are fingerprints
When in truth it goes much deeper in the character beyond what you see
Suffering is just one element in the making but affliction isn’t by definition, me
Healing informs perspectives in the ultimate end of what is left
When impenitence is brought to justice and I’m reimbursed for all the theft
My resolve is all I have to keep my character in tact
Building momentum as I follow the call to make an impact
Gifted as I am, I am driven to share
Yet not for my own sense of glory
Love is my legacy and my purpose to reveal how much I truly care
Yet I am just a character in the Author of my faith’s story…
29/30
NOT WORTH A FLAT EARTH
Fervently believing the earth was flat
he donned his parachute base-jumping pack
and to cheers of supporters at the local park
headed in a straight line for the earth’s edge …
finding himself some years later back in the park
he sat down on a swing in disbelief, and thought
surely not…, surely those nice convincing
flat-earthers would not have lied to him —
disoriented with the realisation his deeply held beliefs
had been wrong, and coming to terms
that several years of his life had been lived
under a false assumption, he determined
never to let it happen again — and with a lump in his throat
still feeling rather stupid at having believed a lie
he voted for Trump who promised to Make America Great Again —
at least he could be part of that
part of a tribe, and wear a MAGA hat.
Belonging to an emotional group suppresses
the pain when you’re stuck in a trauma loop.
NOT WORTH A FLAT EARTH
Fervently believing the earth was flat
he donned his parachute base-jumping pack
and to cheers of supporters at the local park
headed in a straight line for the earth’s edge …
finding himself some years later back in the park
he sat down on a swing in disbelief, and thought
surely not…, surely those nice convincing
flat-earthers would not have lied to him —
disoriented with the realisation his deeply held beliefs
had been wrong, and coming to terms
that several years of his life had been lived
under a false assumption, he determined
never to let it happen again — and with a lump in his throat
still feeling rather stupid at having believed a lie
he voted for Trump who promised to Make America Great Again —
at least he could be part of that
part of a tribe, and wear a MAGA hat.
Belonging to an emotional group suppresses
the pain when you’re stuck in a trauma loop.
29 of 30
just this once...
I'm breaking my own rule
contemplating a particular what if
has me wondering...
who would I be...
if I loved me...
the way I care about others
how strong could I have been
if the understanding I've always given
had landed square on my weary shoulders
a cloak repelling the cold
as the world rained hard on my day
would it have borne less weight
been less agonizingly saturating
if I felt my own worth
how much less would it hurt
if the being on the receiving end
...was mine
love given is never a waste
I accept this as an absolute truth
so why do I withhold from myself
that which I freely give to everyone else
how would my failures have looked
viewed with the benefit of doubt
remembered the internal battle in which I've long been engaged
& not judged myself so harshly
might healing have been less
...exhausting
buried under less self-loathing
what would happen if I wrapped myself in compassion
encouraging & supporting my own endeavors
would I have more faith in personal choices
stand more confidently behind those decisions
if I used a self-loving voice
filling my own cup
from my eternally giving well
would it be as likely to so frequently run dry
if I regularly fed it
instead of perpetually draining it out
worth considering...I think
in this one instance...
perhaps...it's not too late...
just this once...
I'm breaking my own rule
contemplating a particular what if
has me wondering...
who would I be...
if I loved me...
the way I care about others
how strong could I have been
if the understanding I've always given
had landed square on my weary shoulders
a cloak repelling the cold
as the world rained hard on my day
would it have borne less weight
been less agonizingly saturating
if I felt my own worth
how much less would it hurt
if the being on the receiving end
...was mine
love given is never a waste
I accept this as an absolute truth
so why do I withhold from myself
that which I freely give to everyone else
how would my failures have looked
viewed with the benefit of doubt
remembered the internal battle in which I've long been engaged
& not judged myself so harshly
might healing have been less
...exhausting
buried under less self-loathing
what would happen if I wrapped myself in compassion
encouraging & supporting my own endeavors
would I have more faith in personal choices
stand more confidently behind those decisions
if I used a self-loving voice
filling my own cup
from my eternally giving well
would it be as likely to so frequently run dry
if I regularly fed it
instead of perpetually draining it out
worth considering...I think
in this one instance...
perhaps...it's not too late...
29/30
The Perfect Poem
letters strung beautifully
in stout and orderly fashion;
iridescent fairy lights
glowing from a backyard fence;
words form coherent
neighborhoods, then villages;
dominant themes go first,
waved on in polite mannerisms
at the four-way intersection
between creativity and cohesion,
the impact radiates outward;
concepts built carefully,
brick by brick, mortared in place
creating communities
of the like-minded individuals
bound by an overarching idea
The Perfect Poem
letters strung beautifully
in stout and orderly fashion;
iridescent fairy lights
glowing from a backyard fence;
words form coherent
neighborhoods, then villages;
dominant themes go first,
waved on in polite mannerisms
at the four-way intersection
between creativity and cohesion,
the impact radiates outward;
concepts built carefully,
brick by brick, mortared in place
creating communities
of the like-minded individuals
bound by an overarching idea
29/30
Hotel grounds
I have no where I need to be,
no thread unravelling as I walk,
nothing to say or listen to
except the evening Blackbirds
and distant territorial Crows.
I nibble the lush grass with the rabbits
sink to the bottom of the pond
under pale green lily pad light,
the last of the sun crowds the bull rushes
rippling on the scales of bright gold koi.
The skeletons of a marriage ceremony
stand bare boned with rust spots,
they rattle of solemn vows and old promises,
that fade and fray without the false veneer
of silk bows and silver swags.
I have my large glass of autumn
to set the mood on this summer’s eve,
my seat is facing the last warm smile,
I roll myself in paper smoke and tip my cap
to a hedgehog as she crosses the Japanese bridge
and disappears under the flame red of a burning Acer.
Hotel grounds
I have no where I need to be,
no thread unravelling as I walk,
nothing to say or listen to
except the evening Blackbirds
and distant territorial Crows.
I nibble the lush grass with the rabbits
sink to the bottom of the pond
under pale green lily pad light,
the last of the sun crowds the bull rushes
rippling on the scales of bright gold koi.
The skeletons of a marriage ceremony
stand bare boned with rust spots,
they rattle of solemn vows and old promises,
that fade and fray without the false veneer
of silk bows and silver swags.
I have my large glass of autumn
to set the mood on this summer’s eve,
my seat is facing the last warm smile,
I roll myself in paper smoke and tip my cap
to a hedgehog as she crosses the Japanese bridge
and disappears under the flame red of a burning Acer.
#29/30
One More Day
I can't believe that
I'm posting my 29th entry
April went by so fast
It was a roller coaster ride
This whole NaPo month
Just one more day to go
Before April fades away
It was a fulfilling month
I had the best NaPo experience
This year with no pressure
Now I know how it is
To be a writer without
An inspiration
You just let the ink flow
And let your mind drift
Into a state of calm
To focus on the goal
Which is to spill
And let the ink bleed
Fluidly
The act of writing
Is an inspiration in itself
Words flow as if by magic
What a marvelous creation
Is the human mind
It never run out of thoughts
And ideas
It can go on and on
But it is never exhausted
Like a spring thoughts
Keep flowing
One More Day
I can't believe that
I'm posting my 29th entry
April went by so fast
It was a roller coaster ride
This whole NaPo month
Just one more day to go
Before April fades away
It was a fulfilling month
I had the best NaPo experience
This year with no pressure
Now I know how it is
To be a writer without
An inspiration
You just let the ink flow
And let your mind drift
Into a state of calm
To focus on the goal
Which is to spill
And let the ink bleed
Fluidly
The act of writing
Is an inspiration in itself
Words flow as if by magic
What a marvelous creation
Is the human mind
It never run out of thoughts
And ideas
It can go on and on
But it is never exhausted
Like a spring thoughts
Keep flowing
29/30
in pink
There was no need for me
To be an excuse for Six
To celebrate tonight.
Tonight,
Six married her sniper --
In front of friends who are more
Like family,
In front of The King,
And whatever god survived the apocalypse.
Vegas has been known for its lights --
From way back when,
To the end
Of the world --
And tonight --
It's glowing pink.
I tried --
Not to get it in my eyes --
But the music also went into my ear,
Down to my stupid
Heart,
And not out of the other,
And he was
Right
There.
He looked backed, and
Tilted his head in question,
And I shook my head --
An answer,
A call to reality,
A ridding of the haze of
The song and the evening.
Tonight,
We'll fall back in bed together.
The pink lights could go,
And only me
And him
And whatever god
Would know what we do in the dark.
in pink
There was no need for me
To be an excuse for Six
To celebrate tonight.
Tonight,
Six married her sniper --
In front of friends who are more
Like family,
In front of The King,
And whatever god survived the apocalypse.
Vegas has been known for its lights --
From way back when,
To the end
Of the world --
And tonight --
It's glowing pink.
I tried --
Not to get it in my eyes --
But the music also went into my ear,
Down to my stupid
Heart,
And not out of the other,
And he was
Right
There.
He looked backed, and
Tilted his head in question,
And I shook my head --
An answer,
A call to reality,
A ridding of the haze of
The song and the evening.
Tonight,
We'll fall back in bed together.
The pink lights could go,
And only me
And him
And whatever god
Would know what we do in the dark.
xxix
Untitled
Poets seek authenticity
to breach pretension
creeping as shadows
eclipsing the atmosphere
To grow a glorious poem
without the agony
of its thorns
or fertilized manure
is not for the faint of heart
in their darkest of dark
of enigmatic insouciance
Those feigned attempts
at verse by a fragile ego
will always be shattered
by its own ignorance
Truth snuggles in the folds
of frequency, vibrations
reflecting as a mirage
of transcendent understanding
Poetry doesn’t thrash
through thickets of a jungle
as a ravaged lion
diving for our throat
desperate for blood
It emerges from us
fills our senses
with a haunting
until we lack nothing
Its specter then wanders
the earth, silently shining
its light through everything
Once we were blind
but now we see
from within
. . .
Untitled
Poets seek authenticity
to breach pretension
creeping as shadows
eclipsing the atmosphere
To grow a glorious poem
without the agony
of its thorns
or fertilized manure
is not for the faint of heart
in their darkest of dark
of enigmatic insouciance
Those feigned attempts
at verse by a fragile ego
will always be shattered
by its own ignorance
Truth snuggles in the folds
of frequency, vibrations
reflecting as a mirage
of transcendent understanding
Poetry doesn’t thrash
through thickets of a jungle
as a ravaged lion
diving for our throat
desperate for blood
It emerges from us
fills our senses
with a haunting
until we lack nothing
Its specter then wanders
the earth, silently shining
its light through everything
Once we were blind
but now we see
from within
. . .
#29
Existence
Are you dreaming a dream
Or spinning a web
Lost inside distractions
Losing your head
What is this dichotomy
We find ourselves in
How is this existence
And what is living
What is your wish
What adventure are you on
Where are you going and
Where do you come from
Please tell me the truth
Please tell me our plan
What on earth is happening
Is this all a sham
Are you a stranger
Or are you my friend
What is our future
When is our end
Are you a self
Or are you selfish
Who is this person
In this existence
Is it all predicted
Was it all planned
Is this the beginning
Or is this the end
Unique word count: 60
Existence
Are you dreaming a dream
Or spinning a web
Lost inside distractions
Losing your head
What is this dichotomy
We find ourselves in
How is this existence
And what is living
What is your wish
What adventure are you on
Where are you going and
Where do you come from
Please tell me the truth
Please tell me our plan
What on earth is happening
Is this all a sham
Are you a stranger
Or are you my friend
What is our future
When is our end
Are you a self
Or are you selfish
Who is this person
In this existence
Is it all predicted
Was it all planned
Is this the beginning
Or is this the end
Unique word count: 60
29/30
In the year, 2124
(a lot less than 6 Trillion miles)
Although I won’t be around
in corporeal terms
I might want to stick around
witness the universal source
employing its version of a
rifle sniper sending a
projectile to earth
(a large asteroid mass ejected
from a white hole, perhaps?)
enabling an
evolutionary reboot
this, providing we,
the so-called dominant
predators,
haven’t FRIED the planet
before the infinite
source considers taking us
out, one-hundred years
from now
59 unique words
In the year, 2124
(a lot less than 6 Trillion miles)
Although I won’t be around
in corporeal terms
I might want to stick around
witness the universal source
employing its version of a
rifle sniper sending a
projectile to earth
(a large asteroid mass ejected
from a white hole, perhaps?)
enabling an
evolutionary reboot
this, providing we,
the so-called dominant
predators,
haven’t FRIED the planet
before the infinite
source considers taking us
out, one-hundred years
from now
59 unique words
29/30
Sonnet 2 If Old Bill Shakes Had Actually Talked to an Older Woman
When forty winters crown my aging head
and crow’s feet line the smile around my eyes,
my youth will start its journey down the drain,
and I don’t care who knows that I am old.
And if you ask me where my beauty lies
and where the perk of youth has run off to,
I’ll pull my glasses down my nose and free
the pent-up truth I’ve kept behind my teeth:
we’re sold the lie that beauty should endure
without a single dimple on our skin,
but beauty lies in pure embodiment
of simple joy in every stage of life.
I do not covet spring, its blooming rose,
I’m well content in autumn’s golden clothes.
Sonnet 2 If Old Bill Shakes Had Actually Talked to an Older Woman
When forty winters crown my aging head
and crow’s feet line the smile around my eyes,
my youth will start its journey down the drain,
and I don’t care who knows that I am old.
And if you ask me where my beauty lies
and where the perk of youth has run off to,
I’ll pull my glasses down my nose and free
the pent-up truth I’ve kept behind my teeth:
we’re sold the lie that beauty should endure
without a single dimple on our skin,
but beauty lies in pure embodiment
of simple joy in every stage of life.
I do not covet spring, its blooming rose,
I’m well content in autumn’s golden clothes.
