DU Official NaPoWriMo Challenge

4/30

Day Four: The Captives are Already Restless

It’s much too soon to be this lost,
we’re only four days in.
You’d think I’d know the ropes by now,
but here I am, chagrined.

I’m told that this will be my ninth
completed NaPoWriMo.
You’d think with that much practice I
could pull a poem from the sky,
but I’ve no words to show.

Except this drivel I’ve pulled out
my sorry poet ass.
I’m sorry that you’ve had to read
a shitty poem with no creed
and not an ounce of class.

The word count now is sixty-four,
I’ve filled the poem’s cup.
The day is done, thank god for that!
Now, let’s go take a dump.

4/30

[NaPoWriMo - 2025 Collection] Flowers from Thoughts
[ . . . ]

III

The Fire Bringer: Giant Fennel

Bouffants of yellow, towering
 above deserts, resistant
 to burning elements
patiently waiting to be plucked
 for ancient alchemical rites
 
Prometheus, defiant potter
 in the art of clay, Titan
god of fire, fashioning
 a terracotta race, primitive
 in kaolin ignorance

Stolen from Zeus's lightning bolt
 or perhaps Hephaestus’s forge
 shall always remain unknown
the scorching flame smuggled
 in a hollow fennel stalk—  
 
its pithy heart, so slow
 to burn, transported
 from Olympus to Earth
a gift of divine knowledge
 —a revolution of love
 
    of pain and sacrifice

. . .

4/30

The Hierophant

Come, sing the song of ages
teach me your ways
that I might be whole again
Lift my spirits ever higher
upon the wings of intellect,
and compliment my intuition
making it strong and wise;
save me from no one, rather
teach me to save myself
from error in discernment,
guide my sacred, path
that my ways become
your path within, and so
that what is truly desired
becomes manifest in reality

#4/30

Observing from the Treetops

She said I was “so quiet”.
I smiled and thought
 that’s because I have little to say
 about comings and goings I can’t track,
 drama and gossip I never understand,
 faceless names I’ll forget tomorrow.
Your words buzz around my head like gnats
 and I am not a part of all that.

It’s not that I don’t try to speak.
My commentary is simply
 the wrong shape
 to penetrate their ear holes
Words tumble from tongue to floor
 getting nothing but blank glances
 as if I farted or confessed an unsavory sin
 or made random squirrel noises in Greek
 and they just don’t know what to do with that.

Who knows, maybe I really am speaking Squirrel.
 After all, I watch from the treetops
   observing a wider angle,
     perceiving the characters
       behind the performances.

04/30

NaPo 2025 Day Four

I am so tired.
Unwound and unwired.
I want to go to bed.
Expending energy I cannot shed.

Well, here I am
giving a damn
about writing today’s piece.
Am I able to be chill and release
some emotion today.

Sometimes life gets in the way.
There is not enough time to express
how our lives are a mess.

Anyhow, my eyelids feel the weight
of exhaustion sedate
me slowly into a lullaby.
Day four done, buh-bye.

[Unique Words 64]

4/30

Seasonal

I am a seasonal creature
The wind that ruffles leaves
The chill that grips your bones
In these moments, I wish you’d go
Too  many tracks to follow in the snow
Seasons change, I know
Some skip over me
Others string me along
I am a ray to brighten your hair
And cover you in summer kisses, so tender red
the world spins faster
I’m losing control and going crazy
It’s dangerous
It’s intoxicating
In these moments, nothing matters
There is no wrong, there is no right
Even my reflection damns me
I laugh
I let the season do the work for me

The moments in between, autumn and spring
Well, I guess I’m a little scared
I am the rose you smell in a distant garden
But it’s in those days between
It’s foreshadowing
I will soon be the sun that scorches everything
In manic daydream
When the high is done, I am the auburn, scarlet, golden leaves
Hurting
Begging
Screaming
as the green is stripped away from me
My body changes, I break free from the branches that kept me nourished and flourishing
So frail and lifeless
I tumble slowly down
Wherever I land is fine
Weightless, and so very small
You’ll miss me if you don’t check
Yes, you will miss me
Shorter are these days, so grim
So far from blooms of spring
I am the raven perched on your fence, though you may not know this yet
because I am the fog of the forest
The clouds in your mind
But we seem to love the gloomy weather
I yearn for this season each year
It’s beautiful, and I wish to stay in shortening days
I am a creature of the night
This is why, this season fucks me
I cannot resist those colors
The sky
You
..Or whoever’s lips touch mine
I’ve fallen in love, and I’ve lost it
in a short, short span of time
Addiction and abuse
And the fear of darker days
Snow that will suffocate my little body, so fragile… so sensitive to the cold
It happens every year
Seasons do that, don’t they?

I am a seasonal creature
I am forever shifting
The only difference is the age I’m becoming
Maybe they aren’t seasons
Because time isn’t slowing
Months are now days  
And I’m no longer changing
Just decomposing.

4/30

Pure Gold

Stake a claim, hoping the border of metal rivets or wooden posts are upheld by the honor of those dumb enough to never second guess.

It's here my seeds will sprout to blades of grass, bordering the stream of consciousness, sharpened to the point.

I'll pan my golden dreams to spend nuggets of wisdom on the future.

I'll invest my hopes to balance my fears, rich with paranoia.

As the stranger walks upon the turf made mine, the shield will rise with voices.
Tunnel visions and silver veins.

Striking upon the rush of blood, the gravestone and old oak meet.
Second guessing as a first thought, poor in just minutes to spend.

#5 of 30

When Survival Kicks In

I tried to die today
opened packets of pills
dropped on dirty steps
counted rach one
like little coloured sweeties
but tasted disappointment

woke up alive again
heart didn't give out
why can't life let go
still here wondering
darkness swallowing more
never letting light in

always waiting for death
anticipating
yet left disjointed
after the mirror smashes
dont misunderstand me
when survival instincts kick

eventually breath will fade

unique words 69
total words 69

5/30

MUCH MORE THAN NOTHING MORE

Nothing more than a rational meat-machine
than an economic maximiser
than a pushing and shoving dog-eat-dog —
this is how our Lords and Masters still spread
the spammed narrative on the rest of us

Mind you, sure’s not the way it’s always been
injected with poisons by media and Pfizer
‘breaking news’ keeping minds hyped in a fog —
poets like Lawrence … their poetry lasts long after dead
solitude in Nature without the techno fuss

Opportunity knocks in the fall from grace
with Trumpian nonsense and Elon’s mad space.

5/30

The Alchemy at the End of it All  

Dappled rain, a spring time
train – Expectations of the
sun, on the horizon, how
they all seemed like they
would come…

Forever.

How we get used to things.
The pattern
seeking
creatures that
we:

Are.

Have you ever heard
of nesting?

It’s when
a dying person
performs rituals,
preparing for
the

Great gig in the sky.

They say my father
did this, folding all
of his ties

Just before he

Died.

I received the
box
of
ties: Teary eyed.  A dreary sky

Who am I.  Who are we
If
We all: Die.

Springtime makes me
think
of

The realization of: Death.
The cold rain
a
purification
of
a growing acceptance.

I’m gonna die.

Some get just the dirt.

But I get a sky
in
which

To fly.

Time to reflect.

Sit by the waters I loved
as a child.  Sit
for

a while.

Time to bring together
the elements,
thought forms
changing

Form.  Spring – Summer -
Fall

How we all

Fell
for

It all.  Et al.

How we rose
To  

The stars
at

The end
of

It all.  

5 of 30


uncanny & delightful


it's the little things
ya know...
details others miss
but not him
he knows the sound of my cough
...when it's normal
just my asthma acting up
& when it's...different
never let's it pass unnoticed
I don't like the sound of that
to him it's very evident
when I'm not quite...solid
struggling to process
maybe it's just that I'm too quiet
I don't know what it is
somehow he knows when something's amiss
invariably...he reaches out
calming my mind
telling me to take my time
focus on the moment
do what I gotta do
& before I know it...
I'm inspired
his essence spilling out of my quill
as my ink reflects on my appreciation
...admiration is healing...
when he's absent...I miss him
he makes sure I feel seen
& soon I'm bouncing back to my feet again
to find him waiting for me
...smiling...
...as so often happens

#5

Wrought

Expansion or stagnation?

I’ll say what the darkness does-

Hopefully, shrinks
when you wake up
And finally turn on that light.

Do you dream,
Or is it all just a nightmare?

Fluttering lids
And grinding teeth

Let yourself rage
Against the coming of days

As the earth shifts
Right under your feet

Expansion

Or stagnation?

Luke warm egos stirring the pot
Don’t be fooled by their wretched rules

Gravity is never this wrought.

64 u/w

05/30

Solemnized

I remember the day, as if it was yesterday
Samantha laid her hands upon my brow
whispered her last spell, brushed her lips
against my NOW, and ceded her spirit.

I am unable to yet, let go of my memory
of when Charity died.  NO PARENT
should ever have to endure this type of
grief.  
My Mom died March 2025, but I found
my Daughter and my attachment
cemented  -- something I thought I left
let go -- a long time ago.
My Daughter died very very VERY young
But when I chatted with her during a
Ritual Repast, she sounded very wise
……………aged.

Do spirits age?
Just another wonder dreamscape amidst
grief,
I suppose.

5/30

Poetry is Music

Poetry is music, so let it flow
dancing on the air to the rhythm of words
sewn to together as stars

jewels to be beheld and worn
shining in the thoughts and minds of others
to be polished and shared with another

The muse is giving when listened to
but deny her utterance, and she will whisper to someone else

of fields of glory and days that wander lazily forever
of love and beauty not to be mistaken
of heartbreak and sorrow and brighter tomorrows

sing oh heavy heart and be lifted
grieve in verse reaching a poet's soul
give hope to those who struggle similarly

gift yourself in song
doing poetics on the aether
dance into the hearts and thoughts of your brothers and sisters

5/30

Time Heals All Wounds. Really?

Does time
really heal
all wounds?

Or, does it just
dull the memory
Until the brain
becomes too
exhausted
To maintain
the pain

It’s a stupid
Expression of
Dullard humanity

Something only
To say because
No one ever knows
what else to say

What it takes
to tamp out
the flames of hurt
burns too deeply.

I’m scorched and too
Tired to make
Any further
Distinction

52 uw