Official DUP NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017
Anonymous
25/30
Exit Stage Left
I remain malformed, incomplete
destined to repeat
history
if I don't change my evil ways
Didn't get it right the first time
Try, try again
Story of my lives lived
in Penny Dreadful passion plays
There be no rest for the weary soul
wandering this Garden of Eden at night
hands blistered and bleeding
from all the weeding necessary to achieve
Karmic perfection and the right to
exit stage left
Exit Stage Left
I remain malformed, incomplete
destined to repeat
history
if I don't change my evil ways
Didn't get it right the first time
Try, try again
Story of my lives lived
in Penny Dreadful passion plays
There be no rest for the weary soul
wandering this Garden of Eden at night
hands blistered and bleeding
from all the weeding necessary to achieve
Karmic perfection and the right to
exit stage left
Phoenix
as the twilight of your sorrow
disappears into the vast horizon of dawn
a new age fills your marrow
the transformation has begun
I see your phoenix
rise up
beneath the
ashen cage
of pain
the ground
beneath you
trembles
as you break
the chains
that cause
the shame
I can hear you
cry out
this will
never
be again
I can see you rising
shattered fragments scatter
as they crumble to the ground
lift your wings to feather
as you leave without a sound
left here with nothing
but the
darkness in
your mind
the chill became
the comfort
now you
left that far behind
no more
living sleepless
on the floor
underneath boot heels
ground up to the core
revenge does
not inspire you
you just want to
be free to soar
bless your temple
non-judgmental
just let you live
how you were meant to
lift the weight
of all that hate
let it settle
at their gate
04262017
as the twilight of your sorrow
disappears into the vast horizon of dawn
a new age fills your marrow
the transformation has begun
I see your phoenix
rise up
beneath the
ashen cage
of pain
the ground
beneath you
trembles
as you break
the chains
that cause
the shame
I can hear you
cry out
this will
never
be again
I can see you rising
shattered fragments scatter
as they crumble to the ground
lift your wings to feather
as you leave without a sound
left here with nothing
but the
darkness in
your mind
the chill became
the comfort
now you
left that far behind
no more
living sleepless
on the floor
underneath boot heels
ground up to the core
revenge does
not inspire you
you just want to
be free to soar
bless your temple
non-judgmental
just let you live
how you were meant to
lift the weight
of all that hate
let it settle
at their gate
04262017
April 26—I Fell Like Rain
In furrowed fields where
horse-drawn ploughs, once
scored the Earth, I fell
like rain, into lavender and
wildflowers.
“Shower the days with grace, and
enliven my heart with blooms!”
I called out to no one, but
God
and the bees.
Summer scents, carried
on zephyrs, are delivered
to my senses, and
I become
part of black and white
photographs
from a time ago, when
expressions on faces
hinted
of secrets they knew.
I am now privy;
color lies on the inside
behind walls, barricades of clouds
in grays
and whites,
keeping safe, the places
untouched by
wars and rumors
of wars.
Ills around me come
undone
and fall away, like
ticker-tape parade ribbons
trickling
down stories of
New York brownstones,
to the ground.
Sweep them away, on
hot season breezes, while
I fall like rain, like
showers,
into meadows and fields
where I shall slumber
and finish growing
among the poppies.
The Great Dragon
He pulled a rabbit from his hat
But this rabbit could also tap dance
He pulled a live dove from his jacket
And it sang Nessun Dorma beautifully
From an empty cage he produced a singing dog
But this dog also played lead guitar
From an empty wicker basket he produced a cobra
That head banged to Heat Seeker by AC/DC
From an empty glass case he produced a tiger
That unzipped his tiger suit to show he was a penguin
He sawed a lady in half and then made her whole
Surprisingly he had sawn her length ways
He made cards appear from nowhere
They would sprout wings then fly off
He made flowers appear from nowhere
He made a yellow cab turn into a school bus
He made a man disappear in a puff of smoke
And instantaneously come back as a woman
All his tricks were seamlessly perfect
People gasped in utter amazement
But even though his illusions
Were better than anyone else’s
His crowd sizes were always smaller
He was never invited to do television
He never played a season in Vegas
His name was “The Great Dragon.”
He was a practicing transvestite
He mused that he put “great drag on.”
And he was a magical, great drag act
Spangley ball gowns, silk gloves
Heavy make up and big hair
But because of his insecurities
And mankind’s need for prejudice
He knew his tricks would have to be
So much better than the rest
In order to gain general acceptance
And even thought they were better
People and critics were bigoted and cruel
And would only remember their prejudice
He would end his days
Playing seedy night clubs
Just for being different
So much for the enlightenment
He pulled a rabbit from his hat
But this rabbit could also tap dance
He pulled a live dove from his jacket
And it sang Nessun Dorma beautifully
From an empty cage he produced a singing dog
But this dog also played lead guitar
From an empty wicker basket he produced a cobra
That head banged to Heat Seeker by AC/DC
From an empty glass case he produced a tiger
That unzipped his tiger suit to show he was a penguin
He sawed a lady in half and then made her whole
Surprisingly he had sawn her length ways
He made cards appear from nowhere
They would sprout wings then fly off
He made flowers appear from nowhere
He made a yellow cab turn into a school bus
He made a man disappear in a puff of smoke
And instantaneously come back as a woman
All his tricks were seamlessly perfect
People gasped in utter amazement
But even though his illusions
Were better than anyone else’s
His crowd sizes were always smaller
He was never invited to do television
He never played a season in Vegas
His name was “The Great Dragon.”
He was a practicing transvestite
He mused that he put “great drag on.”
And he was a magical, great drag act
Spangley ball gowns, silk gloves
Heavy make up and big hair
But because of his insecurities
And mankind’s need for prejudice
He knew his tricks would have to be
So much better than the rest
In order to gain general acceptance
And even thought they were better
People and critics were bigoted and cruel
And would only remember their prejudice
He would end his days
Playing seedy night clubs
Just for being different
So much for the enlightenment
Anonymous
26/30
Children Of The Corn Cobb
It's macabre, I know
but children of the corn cobb
really do grow in the great state of Nebraska
And when you are wandering in the maize
they pop out in very scary ways
too terrible to mention
I doubt you would tell me if I asked ya
Though I've heard from a crowing blackbird
that its similar to the Baby Jesus
emerging from that cave he lived in
doing the Ally McBeal baby dance
and seeing his shadow, predicting
poetry for Thirty More Days!
Children Of The Corn Cobb
It's macabre, I know
but children of the corn cobb
really do grow in the great state of Nebraska
And when you are wandering in the maize
they pop out in very scary ways
too terrible to mention
I doubt you would tell me if I asked ya
Though I've heard from a crowing blackbird
that its similar to the Baby Jesus
emerging from that cave he lived in
doing the Ally McBeal baby dance
and seeing his shadow, predicting
poetry for Thirty More Days!
Are My Scars Beautiful?
I have been made to feel,
Like I should cover up.
Like I should cover every inch of
My body in bandages.
Aren't my scars beautiful?
They have so much meaning to me.
They all have their own story.
And I've been told endlessly to cover them up.
I am not ashamed of the scars.
It just means that at one point,
I was weak.
But now,
When I look at them,
I am reminded that I'm okay.
Even if I don't feel like it.
Even when it seems like I'm losing my sanity,
I know I was at an all time low at one point in my life,
I know I can be strong enough to not let that happen again.
I am proud of my scars,
Why should I be ashamed?
Yeah, I know the reason I have them is bad.
But at least I'm still breathing.
Like I should cover up.
Like I should cover every inch of
My body in bandages.
Aren't my scars beautiful?
They have so much meaning to me.
They all have their own story.
And I've been told endlessly to cover them up.
I am not ashamed of the scars.
It just means that at one point,
I was weak.
But now,
When I look at them,
I am reminded that I'm okay.
Even if I don't feel like it.
Even when it seems like I'm losing my sanity,
I know I was at an all time low at one point in my life,
I know I can be strong enough to not let that happen again.
I am proud of my scars,
Why should I be ashamed?
Yeah, I know the reason I have them is bad.
But at least I'm still breathing.
Written by AliceMorgan
Go To Page
XXVI. Experience: Integration Phase 6
College
I was 19; my mother had just passed
a few months earlier from a five-year
bout with Cancer. She’s in the medical
books as the oldest person to die
From a childhood disease. The only thing
the university could ascertain was that a
gene had simply remained dormant,
and for whatever reason decided to wake.
She was 34, and I remember thinking
how old that seemed, when in reality
her life had just begun. I never knew
her beyond a mother into friendship.
But often wondered what kind we'd
have been had she lived a few years.
My father dove into vodka with two
stepmothers before he exited the planet.
He was violent yet he never abused me;
My stepmothers hated him for that.
When you come from a broken family
it doesn’t feel broken when it actually breaks.
You’re still out making your own way;
Creating your reality doing the next thing.
Some make life-time friends in college,
but I never did, anymore than highschool.
Not to say I don't have acquaintances
I enjoy spending time with occasionally.
Maybe I simply didn't recognize my tribe.
Perhaps I didn't have one to begin with.
Trust is a precarious thing, so is Poetry
when it houses a Poet's nonfiction History;
The Future will crack its seal and conclude
they were very lonely based on that Verse.
They've yet to learn the Secret of the Poem:
Solitude is the greatest gift a Poet could
bestow upon themself in Life, followed
by contentment and gratitude for such.
What they won't read between the lines
are the coordinates to guide them through
their own loneliness first; that's a wilderness
each Poet must opt for at the crossroad.
Like that college student over there under a
Mimosa tree alone, penning all that Poetry.
~
College
I was 19; my mother had just passed
a few months earlier from a five-year
bout with Cancer. She’s in the medical
books as the oldest person to die
From a childhood disease. The only thing
the university could ascertain was that a
gene had simply remained dormant,
and for whatever reason decided to wake.
She was 34, and I remember thinking
how old that seemed, when in reality
her life had just begun. I never knew
her beyond a mother into friendship.
But often wondered what kind we'd
have been had she lived a few years.
My father dove into vodka with two
stepmothers before he exited the planet.
He was violent yet he never abused me;
My stepmothers hated him for that.
When you come from a broken family
it doesn’t feel broken when it actually breaks.
You’re still out making your own way;
Creating your reality doing the next thing.
Some make life-time friends in college,
but I never did, anymore than highschool.
Not to say I don't have acquaintances
I enjoy spending time with occasionally.
Maybe I simply didn't recognize my tribe.
Perhaps I didn't have one to begin with.
Trust is a precarious thing, so is Poetry
when it houses a Poet's nonfiction History;
The Future will crack its seal and conclude
they were very lonely based on that Verse.
They've yet to learn the Secret of the Poem:
Solitude is the greatest gift a Poet could
bestow upon themself in Life, followed
by contentment and gratitude for such.
What they won't read between the lines
are the coordinates to guide them through
their own loneliness first; that's a wilderness
each Poet must opt for at the crossroad.
Like that college student over there under a
Mimosa tree alone, penning all that Poetry.
~
Drive That Car Home.
Still stuck in the toxic war zone
back then
Juggling between jobs
interests and love
The interests were using the most time
One of them was trying
to demand time
while I needed to feed
little mouths
Had to come a point
where the little mouths
would win
Strange now when I look
from the obtuse
view
I mentioned his name once
The eyes in the wordless
response
scared the living hell out of my
damn nuts
People knew him
knew what was coming
Saw the death of the larger than life bundle of happiness
saw the withdrawn supporters
saw the burning of the forest trees
way in advance
Strangely
now that I think back
You've mentioned her name
once
too
[¿]
Give it 27 years
you'll see 27 tears
ashes to ashes (27)
Two for a dollar he said
Nah bro, lemme get one for fifty instead
One cost you seventy five cents
He shot back
C'mon bro I laughed
Do I look like I smoke crack
Look my friend I don't make
the prices for the store
Yeah but you don't mind
charging me a quarter more
It's two for a dollar boss
Do you want them or not
You're trying to scam me for
A quarter, Damn bro that's a lot
In the end to took the fifty
Just to get me out the store
I winked and gave him the peace sign
heading out the door
Down at the rally we stood 1000 strong
Facing amped up cops with riot gear on
We pulled out our green cards
And set them ablaze
Deport me now! we yelled
through the smoky haze
The personal bonfires was all they needed
to start making arrests
Been there done that
So I burned my whole wallet in protest
Three days out I'm getting coffee
From my bro at that store
Vhas dat you dowtown on the news
Vit the cops got you face on the floor
I tell him yeah, that was me I smile
Trying to set the world on fire
Vhy you do dat, he ask
To shake up the system,
And hopefully, Inspire
I ask, How much for the coffee bro
He says, Today my friend the coffee is free
Because with that lighter I became you
And you became me
Two for a dollar he said
Nah bro, lemme get one for fifty instead
One cost you seventy five cents
He shot back
C'mon bro I laughed
Do I look like I smoke crack
Look my friend I don't make
the prices for the store
Yeah but you don't mind
charging me a quarter more
It's two for a dollar boss
Do you want them or not
You're trying to scam me for
A quarter, Damn bro that's a lot
In the end to took the fifty
Just to get me out the store
I winked and gave him the peace sign
heading out the door
Down at the rally we stood 1000 strong
Facing amped up cops with riot gear on
We pulled out our green cards
And set them ablaze
Deport me now! we yelled
through the smoky haze
The personal bonfires was all they needed
to start making arrests
Been there done that
So I burned my whole wallet in protest
Three days out I'm getting coffee
From my bro at that store
Vhas dat you dowtown on the news
Vit the cops got you face on the floor
I tell him yeah, that was me I smile
Trying to set the world on fire
Vhy you do dat, he ask
To shake up the system,
And hopefully, Inspire
I ask, How much for the coffee bro
He says, Today my friend the coffee is free
Because with that lighter I became you
And you became me
Jake
you're the poetic part of me
the pieces of I can't reach
stained glass pain
so beautiful to behold
each a panel of our life
tells a story
an addicted mamma
who set a path
for your gentle soul
to walk through the fire
there was no other way for you
I crossed into hell
carried you with me
only one way back
& it was through the flames
yet you don't hate me
your spirit too bright
for a world such as this
a poets soul
much wiser than I
you make me see things
that are hidden from me
with your resilience
we aren't talking now
I let you down again
built your dad up
just to have his disappointment
crash down upon your head
I miss you tonight
hope you will pick up the pen
before you ever follow
In the shadow of my self demise
Copyright © 2017 Crimsin. All Rights Reserved
you're the poetic part of me
the pieces of I can't reach
stained glass pain
so beautiful to behold
each a panel of our life
tells a story
an addicted mamma
who set a path
for your gentle soul
to walk through the fire
there was no other way for you
I crossed into hell
carried you with me
only one way back
& it was through the flames
yet you don't hate me
your spirit too bright
for a world such as this
a poets soul
much wiser than I
you make me see things
that are hidden from me
with your resilience
we aren't talking now
I let you down again
built your dad up
just to have his disappointment
crash down upon your head
I miss you tonight
hope you will pick up the pen
before you ever follow
In the shadow of my self demise
Copyright © 2017 Crimsin. All Rights Reserved
