Poetry Competition Ends 30th April 2025 11:19pm
DU Official NaPoWriMo Challenge
#15
The Core Wound
I never wanted it to be so simple
To give away so much power
To you as an idea
I would rather fabricate a whole life
Based on anything but the root
If I only knew how much it hurt
That those little paper cuts
Would turn into core wounds
Now I cry from my stomach
And shake from my spine
Did you know that
you’d be the one to cause
Such pain down the line?
59 u/w
The Core Wound
I never wanted it to be so simple
To give away so much power
To you as an idea
I would rather fabricate a whole life
Based on anything but the root
If I only knew how much it hurt
That those little paper cuts
Would turn into core wounds
Now I cry from my stomach
And shake from my spine
Did you know that
you’d be the one to cause
Such pain down the line?
59 u/w
#15/30
Me, Part 4: Entropy
I was eight years old
when we moved 1000km from home
for dad’s sabbatical.
As far as I can tell,
that’s the year everything went
sideways.
There were good things.
The loft in the open-plan classroom,
where I decorated the cover of my weekly workbook
in wild rainbow colours,
completing lessons as an afterthought
each Friday afternoon.
And Anne –
dramatic, precocious, unpopular;
I adored her brazen light.
We were inseparable
and obscenely curious.
Parental supervision was nonexistent.
What could possibly go wrong?
A whole neighbourhood of latchkey kids
rummaging at will
through divorcee moms’ bedrooms.
I learned
to keep a straight face
at the sight of shocking curiosities
to pretend I knew the meaning
of lewd words between laughter
to stay frozen when boys
who were bullied at school
enjoyed the only power they could
touch.
I returned home the next year --
outgoing
worldly
guarded
bruised.
Me, Part 4: Entropy
I was eight years old
when we moved 1000km from home
for dad’s sabbatical.
As far as I can tell,
that’s the year everything went
sideways.
There were good things.
The loft in the open-plan classroom,
where I decorated the cover of my weekly workbook
in wild rainbow colours,
completing lessons as an afterthought
each Friday afternoon.
And Anne –
dramatic, precocious, unpopular;
I adored her brazen light.
We were inseparable
and obscenely curious.
Parental supervision was nonexistent.
What could possibly go wrong?
A whole neighbourhood of latchkey kids
rummaging at will
through divorcee moms’ bedrooms.
I learned
to keep a straight face
at the sight of shocking curiosities
to pretend I knew the meaning
of lewd words between laughter
to stay frozen when boys
who were bullied at school
enjoyed the only power they could
touch.
I returned home the next year --
outgoing
worldly
guarded
bruised.
15/30
In Praise of a Good Novel
or Last Night I Finished Sunrise on the Reaping and I am Not Okay
and when he placed that gumdrop on her tongue
I felt his world forever spiral out
and in, I knew he’d sever everyone.
I wept for him. I closed the book and wept
the real, unfiltered tears of a grieving woman.
My granny always said we sometimes need
to give ourselves permission, conjure up
a justifiable reason to cry.
When someone asks, “Just why are you so blue?”
You can say, with confidence, “My book.”
I once heard scientists discuss the reason
why we turn to melancholy art
when we are sad or when we feel alone.
Apparently, some hormones are released
that make one feel a sense of peace and calm.
But all I know is the blossom of my grief
unfurls, let’s out her dark and lovely petals
to catch on a breeze and float away with grace.
In Praise of a Good Novel
or Last Night I Finished Sunrise on the Reaping and I am Not Okay
and when he placed that gumdrop on her tongue
I felt his world forever spiral out
and in, I knew he’d sever everyone.
I wept for him. I closed the book and wept
the real, unfiltered tears of a grieving woman.
My granny always said we sometimes need
to give ourselves permission, conjure up
a justifiable reason to cry.
When someone asks, “Just why are you so blue?”
You can say, with confidence, “My book.”
I once heard scientists discuss the reason
why we turn to melancholy art
when we are sad or when we feel alone.
Apparently, some hormones are released
that make one feel a sense of peace and calm.
But all I know is the blossom of my grief
unfurls, let’s out her dark and lovely petals
to catch on a breeze and float away with grace.
15/30
The Thick of It
Half-way through
In the thick of it
My minds races with energy and endless possibilities
I don’t want it to end
But all good things eventually…
I lost a full night of sleep
Thinking the worst
Preparing for the expected and inevitable
But it’s not the time yet
I don’t want it to end
My heart stops for a while
Pondering carefully
Knowing deep down inside it’s going to be alright
We’re in the thick of it
But it’s not time yet
53 Unique Words
82 Total
The Thick of It
Half-way through
In the thick of it
My minds races with energy and endless possibilities
I don’t want it to end
But all good things eventually…
I lost a full night of sleep
Thinking the worst
Preparing for the expected and inevitable
But it’s not the time yet
I don’t want it to end
My heart stops for a while
Pondering carefully
Knowing deep down inside it’s going to be alright
We’re in the thick of it
But it’s not time yet
53 Unique Words
82 Total
15/30
When The Night Came too Quickly
I
Cloud enshrouded sunset like a shrine
Sounds of sooted boots, out of their mind
Starless sky lit up and made to shine
Faces of death, strobe lit seek and find
Tank treads diffusing the guts of the dead
Meat machine unwinding and grinding
Taking human makings and giving. Nothing
Everyone in the sun for a moment, looking for. Something
II
Destiny as brash crash – Day into night
Mind into a design that is the shadow of itself
Frozen mid motion by fill in the blank sight
Somebody become merely a body, cut in half
Sometimes in some rhymes – All you can do is laugh
Haphazard circus sideshows of mankind under mankind’s wrath
All you can do is laugh – Sometimes in some rhymes
Face fried by hot grease – Spirit released: Deceased
III
Smoke off the sizzle – Meat burnt to bubbling gristle
Human hearts the favorite parts of the fire: Burnt brittle
Even as every man for himself – Every man stuck in the middle
Figures of death playing both: Violin and fiddle, stuck in the middle
Of when life just ups and
fucks you
for
No good reason. In no good season
***
Cipher
Poems
***
When The Night Came too Quickly
I
Cloud enshrouded sunset like a shrine
Sounds of sooted boots, out of their mind
Starless sky lit up and made to shine
Faces of death, strobe lit seek and find
Tank treads diffusing the guts of the dead
Meat machine unwinding and grinding
Taking human makings and giving. Nothing
Everyone in the sun for a moment, looking for. Something
II
Destiny as brash crash – Day into night
Mind into a design that is the shadow of itself
Frozen mid motion by fill in the blank sight
Somebody become merely a body, cut in half
Sometimes in some rhymes – All you can do is laugh
Haphazard circus sideshows of mankind under mankind’s wrath
All you can do is laugh – Sometimes in some rhymes
Face fried by hot grease – Spirit released: Deceased
III
Smoke off the sizzle – Meat burnt to bubbling gristle
Human hearts the favorite parts of the fire: Burnt brittle
Even as every man for himself – Every man stuck in the middle
Figures of death playing both: Violin and fiddle, stuck in the middle
Of when life just ups and
fucks you
for
No good reason. In no good season
***
Cipher
Poems
***
15 of 30
My Hardware Life - 3
Doors open to a cavernous space
just ceiling and floor
welcome to a brand new store
well after we set it up of course
Store planners show us the ropes
how to read a schematic
called a plano-gram
how to assemble the gondolas,
secret insider term for shelves,
where to assemble peg board
and where to locate each peg
Hours upon hours of hard work
With the same crew
And the same classic Rock
playing on a, mentally exhausting, loop
so often were we working there
I had nightmares where I’m trapped in the store
wearing only my underwear
During the arduous process
there were fond memories created
I fell in love with one of the corporate planners
a nature-loving lady named Louise
a beautiful person I could talk to with ease
probably 15 years my senior
who soon after our time together
tragically died of cancer
Unique word count: 104
My Hardware Life - 3
Doors open to a cavernous space
just ceiling and floor
welcome to a brand new store
well after we set it up of course
Store planners show us the ropes
how to read a schematic
called a plano-gram
how to assemble the gondolas,
secret insider term for shelves,
where to assemble peg board
and where to locate each peg
Hours upon hours of hard work
With the same crew
And the same classic Rock
playing on a, mentally exhausting, loop
so often were we working there
I had nightmares where I’m trapped in the store
wearing only my underwear
During the arduous process
there were fond memories created
I fell in love with one of the corporate planners
a nature-loving lady named Louise
a beautiful person I could talk to with ease
probably 15 years my senior
who soon after our time together
tragically died of cancer
Unique word count: 104
15/30
Life is Cruel
How am I supposed to function without you
You were supposed to watch me grow up
And help me learn about life, being independent, and an adult
You weren’t supposed to die before I graduated college
How am I supposed to keep going
When everyday I think of all the things you won’t see
The memories we won’t create
The time we didn’t get
All the things I wish we got to do together
Now I just chase the songs that remind me of you
Crying until I have no energy left in me
Wondering how the world could be so cruel
To take away the most loving and caring father a girl could ask for
Life is Cruel
How am I supposed to function without you
You were supposed to watch me grow up
And help me learn about life, being independent, and an adult
You weren’t supposed to die before I graduated college
How am I supposed to keep going
When everyday I think of all the things you won’t see
The memories we won’t create
The time we didn’t get
All the things I wish we got to do together
Now I just chase the songs that remind me of you
Crying until I have no energy left in me
Wondering how the world could be so cruel
To take away the most loving and caring father a girl could ask for
15/30
NaPo 2025 Day 15
Dwelling in anxiety again.
My brain is on the fritz
Caught with a blitz
and I have no game plan.
I am not really a fan
of the home teams defense.
It makes no sense
how I am getting crushed.
I have rushed so many yards
the other way
and I stay running infinitely.
It is key that I stay focus.
I know this too shall pass.
[Unique Words 51]
NaPo 2025 Day 15
Dwelling in anxiety again.
My brain is on the fritz
Caught with a blitz
and I have no game plan.
I am not really a fan
of the home teams defense.
It makes no sense
how I am getting crushed.
I have rushed so many yards
the other way
and I stay running infinitely.
It is key that I stay focus.
I know this too shall pass.
[Unique Words 51]
15/30
[NaPo2025—Premeditated Paeans]
ye olde grande pianoforte
“Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies,
the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is
the hand that plays, touching one key or another,
to cause vibrations in the soul.”— Wassily Kandinsky
an ebony and ivory facade,
you slump there in your corner by the wall.
do you remember days the promenade
held crowds that waited for your curtain calls?
you trembled at the old rachmaninoffs
whose haunting lyricisms made you blush,
and when the arrows of prokofiev
flew wild, your ivories lost their every hush,
for finger-teasing was your weakest point
in front of highland lass, tuxedoed men,
or all the jonesses from the hilltop joint,
who came to make their bourgeoisie quite plain.
chopin you swallowed like a ream of silk
compressed against a satin pillow case
dipped in dark honey, rinsed again in milk,
then quitted like a swansong full of grace.
have you forgotten how to make me fly,
when brahms alone devoured all of your span?
i swear your spruce still sings his lullaby
e'en when your keyboard hosts no mortal man.
your pedal-pushers serve no purpose now:
tres corde et una corda too long dead;
although your mixing toe has made a vow,
it seems, to print all octaves on one spread.
your seven octaves are an express line
that can no longer freight sebastian bach;
though cage and feldman may be sanguine,
you'd best sleep now, with sage and patriarch.
© Copyright 2025 April 15
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
UWC 156
15/30
If Only, Charlotte and Her Web
Perhaps it was the way my voice grazed your ears.
But that’s just the way I am.
It carries a feeling.
Allure.
It’s magic.
I want nothing from you.
Just our souls adjacent is fine.
She’s back, how could I be so cruel?
You belong to her.
I think she still wants you.
How do I banish you back to a place where you belong?
I don’t care if it’s right or wrong.
It never did feel good to me.
But oh… to see that sparkle in your desperate eyes.
How could I not?
But it never did feel good, to me.
..
And now I’m sick.
It’s gone awry, you see.
A mental mess, and a web of lies is what I’ve been fabricating.
Ha! Caught you in it too.
She’ll spot the net and sticky threads.
But I’m no Charlotte.
I have no words to spin.
If Only, Charlotte and Her Web
Perhaps it was the way my voice grazed your ears.
But that’s just the way I am.
It carries a feeling.
Allure.
It’s magic.
I want nothing from you.
Just our souls adjacent is fine.
She’s back, how could I be so cruel?
You belong to her.
I think she still wants you.
How do I banish you back to a place where you belong?
I don’t care if it’s right or wrong.
It never did feel good to me.
But oh… to see that sparkle in your desperate eyes.
How could I not?
But it never did feel good, to me.
..
And now I’m sick.
It’s gone awry, you see.
A mental mess, and a web of lies is what I’ve been fabricating.
Ha! Caught you in it too.
She’ll spot the net and sticky threads.
But I’m no Charlotte.
I have no words to spin.
15/30
ODE TO THE MICROMANAGER
Want me to do it by feel
Or you want it to be real
You hired me to know
Yet you still disrupt the flow
I don’t know how to explain
The way to play this game
Just stay out of my way
And all will be okay
I’m a trained and seasoned pro
I know where we need to go
So don’t question my command
Or who knows where your butt will land
ODE TO THE MICROMANAGER
Want me to do it by feel
Or you want it to be real
You hired me to know
Yet you still disrupt the flow
I don’t know how to explain
The way to play this game
Just stay out of my way
And all will be okay
I’m a trained and seasoned pro
I know where we need to go
So don’t question my command
Or who knows where your butt will land
16/30
BEAUTY-DUTY
Life these days has become, IKEA style, flat-packed
designed in central offices for your consumption
easy construction with screws and fittings supplied
simple transport from big depot straight to your soul
loyalty-cards to keep feeding well on track
Life as Spirit? Multi-dimensional and hacked
to fit misplaced attempts at digital unction
destined to finally fail — constantly denied
by the puppeted rulers who project the toll
on the rest of us to avoid getting the sack
Mass rebellion against this sickness requires we add beauty
in our own sphere of influence — it’s a right, and duty.
BEAUTY-DUTY
Life these days has become, IKEA style, flat-packed
designed in central offices for your consumption
easy construction with screws and fittings supplied
simple transport from big depot straight to your soul
loyalty-cards to keep feeding well on track
Life as Spirit? Multi-dimensional and hacked
to fit misplaced attempts at digital unction
destined to finally fail — constantly denied
by the puppeted rulers who project the toll
on the rest of us to avoid getting the sack
Mass rebellion against this sickness requires we add beauty
in our own sphere of influence — it’s a right, and duty.
