Official DUP NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017
A Vision
the moon fell
from the heavens
& was swallowed by the sea
the water turned to blood
beasts emerged
from a tumultuous ocean
crawled onto dry land
seeking to devour
all in its path
& the people fell down
worshiped the beasts
that had the power
to call the stars
from their seats in space
they performed wonders
in the sight of all mankind
their minds marked
with delusions & confusion
did not see the true King
when he appeared
& they were taken
up in a mighty cloud
just to come crashing
back to Earth
left to wander
among the devastation
the world had become
Copyright © 2017 Crimsin. All Rights Reserved
the moon fell
from the heavens
& was swallowed by the sea
the water turned to blood
beasts emerged
from a tumultuous ocean
crawled onto dry land
seeking to devour
all in its path
& the people fell down
worshiped the beasts
that had the power
to call the stars
from their seats in space
they performed wonders
in the sight of all mankind
their minds marked
with delusions & confusion
did not see the true King
when he appeared
& they were taken
up in a mighty cloud
just to come crashing
back to Earth
left to wander
among the devastation
the world had become
Copyright © 2017 Crimsin. All Rights Reserved
Anonymous
don't look now (29th)
I want to close my eyes
shut out the disturbing vision
but I'm unable to unsee
images parading solemnly before me
in the board room
and in the street
lost souls dragging burdens
like shackles around their feet
struggling
and slowly losing ground
glazed faces and sunken eyes
flesh barely substantial
as layers fade
and the mask falls away
my mind screams
haunts me in my sleep
invading my dreams in hidden pockets
there's no escaping
this new (un)reality
nothing remaining to see
only bleached skulls
with oceans filling sockets
I want to close my eyes
shut out the disturbing vision
but I'm unable to unsee
images parading solemnly before me
in the board room
and in the street
lost souls dragging burdens
like shackles around their feet
struggling
and slowly losing ground
glazed faces and sunken eyes
flesh barely substantial
as layers fade
and the mask falls away
my mind screams
haunts me in my sleep
invading my dreams in hidden pockets
there's no escaping
this new (un)reality
nothing remaining to see
only bleached skulls
with oceans filling sockets
Greetings, Team Napo Poets! Welcome to Day 29! T-Minus TWO DAYS!!!! Can you see the runway lights?! Everyone please put your seats in the upright position and fasten your seatbelts! The wheels will be hitting the tarmac today, and we'll begin unboarding in the order we boarded, with the African Section being first, followed by England and then America!
In the interim, enjoy our next Featured Team NaPo Poet/s in the Hollywood Squares, Deep Underground Poetry Edition, Anarchitect, Mary Walker, Magnetron, and Psycotic Mastermind!
https://m.facebook.com/DUpoetry/photos/a.10154508509648665.1073741826.148635498664/10155190384993665/?type=3&source=48
In the interim, enjoy our next Featured Team NaPo Poet/s in the Hollywood Squares, Deep Underground Poetry Edition, Anarchitect, Mary Walker, Magnetron, and Psycotic Mastermind!
https://m.facebook.com/DUpoetry/photos/a.10154508509648665.1073741826.148635498664/10155190384993665/?type=3&source=48
Anonymous
29/30
Only Poets Read Other Poets
A great philosopher, poet
and all around smart-ass
twelveoone
[ pronounced twelve-oh-one ]
said unto me
as we conversed upon
the pinnacle of a Mount Literoticus
"Only poets read other poets."
I held up a stone tablet
carried around for such an occasion
in my backpack
Upon it was chiseled the
Twelfth or Thirteenth Commandment
( can't remember which )
Thou Shalt Not Stereotype!
( I added the exclamation point with a Sharpie )
For all that noise coming out our radios
accompanied by guitars, pianos and such
is poetry
and billions of people
without a poetic bone in their bodies
can't live without it
The problem is
those billions of people can and do live without
the kind of poetry we write because
not only is it lacking in music
and is not sung
it has been given a bad reputation for
not making any sense
( granted, some poems don't )
coming off like a private joke
( granted, some poems do )
perpetuating riddles without answers
( yes, that is extremely obnoxious
I'll grant you that as well )
Okay, I admit I'm not really
helping our case here .....
So, what now?
Do we just settle for
only being read by other poets?
Or do we write verse embedded
with musicality and prompts
that inspires Average Joe to experience
our poetry as music in their minds?
Go sit under a tree
fire up your I-Pod, Walkman or whatever
and ponder this for a while:
People going through their days
without ear buds or headphones
listening to your poetry
their playlists
set to REPEAT
Only Poets Read Other Poets
A great philosopher, poet
and all around smart-ass
twelveoone
[ pronounced twelve-oh-one ]
said unto me
as we conversed upon
the pinnacle of a Mount Literoticus
"Only poets read other poets."
I held up a stone tablet
carried around for such an occasion
in my backpack
Upon it was chiseled the
Twelfth or Thirteenth Commandment
( can't remember which )
Thou Shalt Not Stereotype!
( I added the exclamation point with a Sharpie )
For all that noise coming out our radios
accompanied by guitars, pianos and such
is poetry
and billions of people
without a poetic bone in their bodies
can't live without it
The problem is
those billions of people can and do live without
the kind of poetry we write because
not only is it lacking in music
and is not sung
it has been given a bad reputation for
not making any sense
( granted, some poems don't )
coming off like a private joke
( granted, some poems do )
perpetuating riddles without answers
( yes, that is extremely obnoxious
I'll grant you that as well )
Okay, I admit I'm not really
helping our case here .....
So, what now?
Do we just settle for
only being read by other poets?
Or do we write verse embedded
with musicality and prompts
that inspires Average Joe to experience
our poetry as music in their minds?
Go sit under a tree
fire up your I-Pod, Walkman or whatever
and ponder this for a while:
People going through their days
without ear buds or headphones
listening to your poetry
their playlists
set to REPEAT
Anonymous
29/30
Living The Luxurious Lie
Luxurious hair
Unblemished skin
Trashy lashy eyes
A lie I'm accustomed to living in
Should come as no surprise
This is the world created within
your mind
The perfect life
The Stepford Wife
One of numerous stage props
in your dramaverse that never stops
revolving around you
and your kind
Another Artificial Blonde
pleasing the Pretty Blind
What fails to live up to your
ideals of perfection
doesn't recieve an inspection pass
You wouldn't know what beauty was
if it bit you in the ass
Living The Luxurious Lie
Luxurious hair
Unblemished skin
Trashy lashy eyes
A lie I'm accustomed to living in
Should come as no surprise
This is the world created within
your mind
The perfect life
The Stepford Wife
One of numerous stage props
in your dramaverse that never stops
revolving around you
and your kind
Another Artificial Blonde
pleasing the Pretty Blind
What fails to live up to your
ideals of perfection
doesn't recieve an inspection pass
You wouldn't know what beauty was
if it bit you in the ass
NaPoWriMo 29/30 for April 29th, 2017
Villanelle/Terzanelle/Verzanelle/Tillanelle No: 29
AS IF FROM NOWHERE
I let the clarity emerge from somewhere
within a frame that beckons me to write
the flip-side does the same as if from nowhere
the creatures jostle roughly, watch the fight
to see which words will make it on the page
within a frame that beckons me to write
I’d like to think the latest’s all the rage
but often’s just a warm-up act to boot
to see which words will make it on the page
I care a lot … though mustn't give a hoot
nor precious what comes tumbling from the pen
it’s often just a warm-up act to boot
the gift in Na-Po-Wri-Mo once again
is thirty days of practicing one’s art
not precious what comes tumbling from the pen
content to know I play my special part
I let the clarity emerge from somewhere
for thirty days of practicing my art
the flip-side does the same as if from nowhere.
Villanelle/Terzanelle/Verzanelle/Tillanelle No: 29
AS IF FROM NOWHERE
I let the clarity emerge from somewhere
within a frame that beckons me to write
the flip-side does the same as if from nowhere
the creatures jostle roughly, watch the fight
to see which words will make it on the page
within a frame that beckons me to write
I’d like to think the latest’s all the rage
but often’s just a warm-up act to boot
to see which words will make it on the page
I care a lot … though mustn't give a hoot
nor precious what comes tumbling from the pen
it’s often just a warm-up act to boot
the gift in Na-Po-Wri-Mo once again
is thirty days of practicing one’s art
not precious what comes tumbling from the pen
content to know I play my special part
I let the clarity emerge from somewhere
for thirty days of practicing my art
the flip-side does the same as if from nowhere.
April 29, 2017
CYCLE IV: AIR
An Air in Fourteen Lines
From Bach’s G String to Joey’s Blitzkrieg Bop,
From Bowie’s Major Tom to Paul’s Hey Jude,
Vibrations shimmer, waves engage non-stop.
With dancers, beat; with lovers, interlude.
Of stars and ages, music’s rhythmic thrills
Can give back youth and mind of first express,
A racing heart and first orgasmic chills.
Can break the heart anew of love’s egress.
How can a voice and drum bring spirits high;
How can piano’s softest push lay low?
The cannon fire of 1812 imply?
Of California Love or Liszt’s ‘moso.
For sure’ the Air has always filled with song
To shake the hearts of those it takes along.
CYCLE IV: AIR
An Air in Fourteen Lines
From Bach’s G String to Joey’s Blitzkrieg Bop,
From Bowie’s Major Tom to Paul’s Hey Jude,
Vibrations shimmer, waves engage non-stop.
With dancers, beat; with lovers, interlude.
Of stars and ages, music’s rhythmic thrills
Can give back youth and mind of first express,
A racing heart and first orgasmic chills.
Can break the heart anew of love’s egress.
How can a voice and drum bring spirits high;
How can piano’s softest push lay low?
The cannon fire of 1812 imply?
Of California Love or Liszt’s ‘moso.
For sure’ the Air has always filled with song
To shake the hearts of those it takes along.
April 29 ( NaPoWriMo 2017 )
Nursery II
Do not break the cell from within
Of wing'd soul that floats the lab'rinth
Tending deepest niches sightless
In its world of total darkness
Of impending writhing epic
In the wards of deep pandemic
Life with tender strike & purging
From its flight, this like, this surgeon
To the parasites no quarter
By this epidemic thwarter
Cosmos flares of ash in shatters
Second coming rise dark matter
The cure behind the anal sun
Forgiveness of the Ancient One
If not too late to resurrect
In nest of birthing stars reflect
29 of 30
Measure of Courage
On the day of our birth
We are naked and exposed
But after spend our lives
Learning how to be closed
We are social creatures
With yearnings to belong
Yet we wear our masks
And play roles to get along
Actors on a massive stage
Without courage we pretend
Disguised in our self-made armour
Many walls built to defend
But there is more prowess
In apprehensive bravery
Of unveiling your true self
Boldly showing vulnerability
Returning to a pureness
The beauty from which we came
Enlightened and empowered
Never again to be the same
Measure of Courage
On the day of our birth
We are naked and exposed
But after spend our lives
Learning how to be closed
We are social creatures
With yearnings to belong
Yet we wear our masks
And play roles to get along
Actors on a massive stage
Without courage we pretend
Disguised in our self-made armour
Many walls built to defend
But there is more prowess
In apprehensive bravery
Of unveiling your true self
Boldly showing vulnerability
Returning to a pureness
The beauty from which we came
Enlightened and empowered
Never again to be the same
Anonymous
werbepause {ix}
29.04.17. poem 29 of 30
there were things i
wanted to explain
before realising i'd be
making excuses for
enabling you,
my silences spoke louder
than anything i
could say now
in the aftermath of
something i never expected
the weight of it all
presses heavy on my lungs,
making it harder to
push the words
past my lips, even tho i
should be able to
say it by now, i
should be able to voice
that which has a name
i never thought i'd speak
but that was not
justification
even tho i made it okay
29.04.17. poem 29 of 30
there were things i
wanted to explain
before realising i'd be
making excuses for
enabling you,
my silences spoke louder
than anything i
could say now
in the aftermath of
something i never expected
the weight of it all
presses heavy on my lungs,
making it harder to
push the words
past my lips, even tho i
should be able to
say it by now, i
should be able to voice
that which has a name
i never thought i'd speak
but that was not
justification
even tho i made it okay
Death my Fear, Dreams my Freedom
I cannot face that dragon
Death.
My will and weapons
are not strong enough
to pierce its hide
and show the wonder behind
the final curtain
with godly grace.
I am more mage than crusader
and my magic has no power here
I cannot write it out
or slay it with mere pen alone.
The endless cloak of night
is forever just in peripheral vision
maddeningly eluding sight
mocking my movements and moments
as it stalks me
in ever decreasing circles
although Time may stretch endlessly on.
I cannot shake its hand
or stare it in the eye,
avoiding it in my weakness
worried about the inevitable loss
its touch will bring.
I am as yet un-lived
with far too many regrets, hopes, dreams, and desires
as yet unfulfilled
to happily venture into the endless desert
of endless night
as my body finally gives up the ghost
and my mortal coil is unspun;
never to contain my essence again
such thoughts bring too much pain.
And so while the dragon curls around me
day by day
second by second,
I look to escape into fantasy
as in my worlds and mind
the dragon death cannot touch me:
as in dreams I am beyond death
that would be a comforting thought
to have in my concluding breath;
'in dreams I am beyond death'.
(Day and Entry 29, GMT 21:33)
I cannot face that dragon
Death.
My will and weapons
are not strong enough
to pierce its hide
and show the wonder behind
the final curtain
with godly grace.
I am more mage than crusader
and my magic has no power here
I cannot write it out
or slay it with mere pen alone.
The endless cloak of night
is forever just in peripheral vision
maddeningly eluding sight
mocking my movements and moments
as it stalks me
in ever decreasing circles
although Time may stretch endlessly on.
I cannot shake its hand
or stare it in the eye,
avoiding it in my weakness
worried about the inevitable loss
its touch will bring.
I am as yet un-lived
with far too many regrets, hopes, dreams, and desires
as yet unfulfilled
to happily venture into the endless desert
of endless night
as my body finally gives up the ghost
and my mortal coil is unspun;
never to contain my essence again
such thoughts bring too much pain.
And so while the dragon curls around me
day by day
second by second,
I look to escape into fantasy
as in my worlds and mind
the dragon death cannot touch me:
as in dreams I am beyond death
that would be a comforting thought
to have in my concluding breath;
'in dreams I am beyond death'.
(Day and Entry 29, GMT 21:33)
Anonymous
29/30
Anything You Say
Lately, so many
faces you're showing
Saying you are staying
one day, the next
you are going
Leaving us
in a perpetual
state of unknowing
Can't seem to
make up your mind
with all these
seeds of doubt
you are sowing
Why so difficult
for you to commit?
How can we
ever put our trust in it -
the story from your mouth
when it changes from day to day?
Feeling as though
I can no longer believe in
anything you say
Anything you say
Anything You Say
Lately, so many
faces you're showing
Saying you are staying
one day, the next
you are going
Leaving us
in a perpetual
state of unknowing
Can't seem to
make up your mind
with all these
seeds of doubt
you are sowing
Why so difficult
for you to commit?
How can we
ever put our trust in it -
the story from your mouth
when it changes from day to day?
Feeling as though
I can no longer believe in
anything you say
Anything you say
April 29—The Letdown
I returned from Wingaersheek, laden
with sand dollars; a booty ready
for bleaching.
They became white and fifty
shades of grays and yellows, immersed
in Clorox, and I laid them
on baking sheets to dry, contemplating
my last poem for NaPo.
Ah, the joy and satisfaction
of having gotten to the end
of the competition, then
with the burst of wind
through my apartment, away
blew my dreams of
being done…
My elder brain, farted, in
the realization that ‘twas not
the 30th of April, but
the 29th
and I had not one, but
two more poems to go.
The sand dollars snickered at me,
“See what you get,
for plucking us out of our ocean
and tossing us in bleach??”
So close….
I felt akin to knowing
what it would be like
to have the date of Jesus’ return,
then hear him say
“Nah, I’ll wait one more day.”
I will need to sleep now, and
ponder a prayer, that some
idea
magically materialize
from mind to pen
for tomorrow’s last write.
If you're offended
Thank you
You see, if you're offended
it's confirmed
battle true
that your offence
makes you the only person
reading the poems in this book
so just thank you!
Thank you for hearing
of cock
of enduring my interest in pussy
allowing me to trash
the cells of a body
of not crying age restrictions on my
need to discuss
Fucking
politics and religion
Thank you for being offended
at my need to put
four angels in
heels
and thongs
Stealing your ideas
and making poetry
for screwing the spelling and grammar
in a mass swinger orgy
of kisses sucking
anything
just thank you
If however you took no offence
to any word
in any of the last 29
writes
Know this
I don't give a fuck
this was a self catering excersise
that filled it's profesy
I'm out
-stage right
in the wing, as the curtains
fold
when the conductor drops the 30th note
in the pit
while his battern
scratches the itch
in his scalp
We curtsey
because drama
will always be the contact sport
of her majesty
the queen in the glittering
frock
-x-
Night night ladies it's
thirty o'clock
tick tock
RevolutionAL said:
-x-
Night night ladies it's
thirty o'clock
tick tock
Whoo hooo! Please put your trays upright because we have touch down, Poets! If you look out your right window you'll see Africa Team Napo!! We have one more unboarding before heading for America via England!
Congratulations, Al! You did AN AMAZING JOB! I am so proud of you!
-x-
Night night ladies it's
thirty o'clock
tick tock
Whoo hooo! Please put your trays upright because we have touch down, Poets! If you look out your right window you'll see Africa Team Napo!! We have one more unboarding before heading for America via England!
Congratulations, Al! You did AN AMAZING JOB! I am so proud of you!
