DU Official NaPoWriMo Challenge

2/30

Child of God

And yet the devil rules my mind
Where dark thoughts run rampant

There is no light, not even a sliver
To penetrate the wall of apathy

Prayer falls on deaf ears
Penance gets the biggest laughs

Agonizing loneliness feels familiar
And when the most damage is done

Wearing chains of evil like cherished
jewels I walk cold and silent

52 uw

2/30

Thunderstorm Nights

Nothing beats
Hearing the rain
Pound down
On the window
Being thrown by the heavy winds
Seeing the lightning flash brightly
Thunder crackles overhead


Laying in bed
Propped up on a stack of pillows
Under a heated blanket
Sipping hot lavender chamomile tea
Clutching a book so tight
Trying to read faster and faster
Eyes darting to the next page
Wanting to know how the scene ends
Barely breathing through the action embedded in the words

2 of 30

There is time.

Time enough to slow the gait.
Not,
Time to waist or wait.
But,
Time enough,
Not to rush towards,
An early fate..
There is,
Time.
So I slow and focus,
Not on the face but,
The unseen state of flow.
I slip,
Beneath the passage,
of the passing cars.
Slip,
Beneath their haze,
And post,
Industrialized, haste.
I Slip,
The tailgating chase of
Consumption,
The,
Disruption of,
An indeterminate throttled action.
There is time,
Time enough,
To jump the verges of this,
Thoroughfare.
To leave the paved noise,
Of the carriageway,
And feel instead,
The interplay of a winding path,
Amongst,
A still slick, grass.
Time yet,
To be lead further on,
Before this,
Awakening day.
To leave those,
At last now distant sounds,
Bleating helpless upon their blackened fields.
Lost from sight beyond the stare of trees,
While here,
Life and nature,
Emerges within the flow,
Of a stream.

2/30

I. Legend

Messenger of the Gods: Safron Crocus

Magenta veins, spindly limbs
winding as miniscule streams
 up lilac embossed skin
encompassing petaled tongues
 of flaming yellow, orange

Split stalk, thickly verdant
once a saber-tipped desire
of Hermes' sonorous love
 cursed by a bloody death
 blessed in budded breath  

Eons meandered unerringly
 through cycles of existence
yet the Safron Crocus lives on
reminding us: nothing ever dies
            —it only changes form

. . .

2/30

The Best Spring Times Are –

the roll down the windows, let my hair
tangle in the just-mown-grassy wind
while I belt classic country songs
(and by classic, I mean Jo Dee Messina),
your hand curve-squeezed around my thigh,
and my hand riding the rushing spring,
curving miles speed underneath our feet while we
navigate by whatever star blinks awake next
times;

the sitting in the dark counting down
the days til lightning bug sparks,
drinking tea (mine will always be iced
and sweet) laced with the first sunny
warm day of the year, and stealing
kisses in the shadows on the porch
times;

the flipping of a coin to make decisions
because I can’t make another one
when you’re looking at me with those
twitterpated eyes and I want to get
these twitterpated hands under that been outside
all day t-shirt that fits just right
and we finally made it to cover of night
times.

#2/30

Me, Part One: Beginnings

I remember
 exactly
  nothing.

Which is to be expected, of course.
I have no recollection
 of screaming my way into existence
   on a snowy night.
All I know is that I arrived
 just in time
   for my dad to make it to hockey –
or, so legend has it.

But here are the few facts I have gleaned:
Three homes in about two years –
  young family in transition.
A feisty older brother
And an even older sister
 with a newly broken leg in a cast upon my arrival.
She says mom couldn’t/wouldn’t get out of bed
 to feed her breakfast
   or help her dress
     or take her to school.

Google: maternal depression, effects on infant

And then there’s the infamous story
 of the reckless, impromptu camping trip,
   just mom and kids:
“Gone camping” – no details.
That’ll teach him to take us for granted.

2/30

EVERYTHING IS BACKWARDS

Forgive me if I’m being coy
Don’t want it for my girl and boy
The cancer that you all deploy
I do not know how to destroy

Your ancestors too were chimps
You and your broadcasting pimps
Heedless of anyone who limps
Stepping on the necks of simps

So many things I’ve never seen
On a planet blue and green
Think I know what things all mean
I am a delusion machine

02/30

NaPo 2025 Day 2

Yesterday’s poem
was an easy knockout.
However, today,
I am locked out of my mind.
Oh, look another
“Hey, I cannot find the words” poem.
Show’em, girl, show’em
you can write.
Here is a little insight
I like to rhyme.
Time after time,
it never fails.
I can never derail
from stressing syllables.
Killable lyrics
because I just executed day two.

[Unique Words 52]

2/30

Here’s Your Uproar

Under pressure some expressions may not be at their best
It’s something we all might have struggled with
at one time or another
But to hear the uproar from a woman oh be warned…
Because aside from the bullet shells
there may be hell to pay

It’s a rapid-fire kind of life, if you ask me
One where emotion and logic try to keep in balance
But when words seem to fail what are we left with?
Bloody fingers to pick up the pieces
As if cleaning up the mess
bring us closer together

74 Unique Words
94 Total

2 of 30

So Sue Me!

I missed one deadline
one blasted deadline
on the poetry beat for heaven’s sake
an interview with some up and comer
E.E. something or other
but my Editor showed no mercy
strictly a one strike policy you see
so out the door he kicks my fanny
you’ll never work again in this town sonny
that’s why you’ll find me in this backwater town
just South of beautiful Miami
mixing moonshine mayhem cocktails
for seedy patrons in a seedier bar
If I hadn’t missed my deadline
I could have made it big
a star reporter with the Tribune or Times
attending Park Avenue parties
dressed to the nines top hat and tails

Friend this writing thing is one tough gig

Unique words: 95
Tardy excuse; just plain lost track of time.

3 of 30

Will He? Won’t He

A frequent question by me primarily posed
“Why can’t you take better care of yourself?”
It just takes a bit of willpower.”   
in me, there is no scarcity of willpower
a will bent on my destruction
a powerful desires to surrender to failure
nefarious captor of my spirit
that would rather see me dead
than change for the better

I pause to consider,
What would I lose with my demise?
the chance to see my daughter as a mother
to cradle new life in my grandfatherly arms
the privilege to have stimulating conversation;
to  sing in harmony; to laugh uproariously
with my adult children
in there beautiful Alto and Bass tones

What will I miss when to ash transformed
too much beauty, too much wonder,
too much magic, too much art
too much poetry left to write
and to be separated from my ever-present friend
my life-long companion music
would tear my soul asunder

Unique words: 103

3/30

Becoming the Patron Saints of Death

Meteors drift, silent tapestry,
crossing fetus membrane, 1s & 0s
of wonder, canvas perception,
there are signs in even the snapping
of a twig.  The ancient ones knew
this.  The oblivion of the masses
= ! into ?.

Shivering souls, far away tides
on butterfly wings, such restless
things, wondering about the
wandering, wandering into the
wondering.  These places where
cosmos touches microcosmos,
microcosmos touches cosmos,
that perfect point break, breaking,
point blank.

Everybody dies but not everybody
lives.

When the black hole sun came
They found me:

A forest of poetry.  Every tree
written upon
in
everything under the sun
from dusk
til

Dawn.  Told in poetic gold.
Shown
in

Omnipresent wind
blown.
Do not worry for everyone really

Dies

Simultaneously.  Really

2/30

Sweet Reprieve

I’ve done a number on a few
I’ve been deep down in the swells of my sins
And those waves touch the beauty that surrounds me
It seems useless, to change if you’ve learned to exist in a miserable way
Patterns pave a way back home
To where it all began
Nothing but mess, and the remains of a past time
It rots like any other dead body
It reeks at my doorstep
Let their tears fall!
They’re coming with guns and knives to tear my skin apart
I hold secrets in the crevices of my heart
I’ve cut a piece or two myself, to be sure
We all deserve it, the question is not who
For I’ve lied, I’ve left nasty scars on others
I have them too
But it feels oh so good
Never felt so high
So the cycle goes… it repeats itself
They call it running
They call it avoidance
“You need therapy”
It’s a broken record I’m used to hearing
But I know the hour of judgement is coming
And I call it:
Sweet..sweet reprieve.

3/30

LAWYER'S OFFICE

Sitting in the lawyer’s office, what I thought
would be a ten-minute job to certify
a copy of my I.D and address
took over an hour as I stared
out the window at a local bank.

People went in and out, sought
redemption in money, savings, scarcity
cars passed by, walkers stopped to caress
a dog, each on a common journey, pared
back to essentials - we’re all of equal rank

Once back home, saw passport date had been copied wrong …
back I go again tomorrow — rewrite the living song.

#3  of 30

Faithful Companion of Woe

shake me down
life is so cheap
nothing worth living for
headlights on full beam
still can't see anything
through these eyes

misery follows behind
like a faithful dog
waggling it's bushy tail
nobody really cares
only lip service given
to keep everything ticking over

damn straitjacket
never fits properly
breathing shallow tonight
god's laighing hard
echoing against
those padded walls

unique words 61
total words 61