DU Official NaPoWriMo Challenge

17 of 30

Wondrous Warmth


The Sun brings back warmth to my bones
As returned as blossom to the trees.
Vigour courses through me,
reenergised by the heat;
banishing the slow sluggish sense
that grew too familiar with the cold.
It is nice again,
to feel the warmth and revel in it
to bask and feel the heat
whether sitting or walking.
Embracing the warmth while it lasts
as either the march of time
and processions of seasons
or a wild wind,
Can see the warmth away.

(Unique Words: 57)

#18

"~புள்ளி மான்- the flawless fairy spotted deer.."
       (an inspired lyrical)





(intro verses)


stranded in the gushing
shores of the holy Ganges..

she, a mesmerize of a spotted dear.. yet there
in a deeply torn~ thirsting melancholic daze

is in search of.. the waters..
yes, in search of the waters..


closing her eyes.. she is in
the search of vision..  yes
stranded.. & where else to go..

disbelieving self… stranded
to be gone astray …this poor
deer of an endearing beauty..


(refrain)

stranded in the gushing
shores of the holy Ganges..

she, a mesmerize of a spotted dear.. yet there
in a deeply torn~ thirsting melancholic daze

is in search of.. the waters..
yes, in search of the waters..




(stanza #1)

as like lie..,.. strangely
when the truth faked itself..
her naivety self just
took the truth as lies..

& even after thousand
testimonials, disillusioned
her now only clearly sees
& says.. all these (truths)
merely as dramatic fakes..

when its all the mere illusions
of her eyes.. poor her cannot be  
in blames.. though now as curse
she carries heavily a burden..
of an endless sadness..

& mourns within.. as when
this warring inner struggle
will it (ever) end now?


(refrain)

stranded in the gushing
shores of the holy Ganges..

she, a mesmerize of a spotted dear.. yet there
in a deeply torn~ thirsting melancholic daze

is in search of.. the waters..
yes, in search of the waters..




(stanza #2)

it’s a false faking deer..  taken
to be a true & innocently arriving in
as refuge... even by the all wise
& polite goddess Sita whilst
her forest penance .. to be
a victim of a villainous (Raavan's)
a targeted treacherous trickery..


it’s an enshrouding distrust in there
& a digging wasteful doubts in here…
each of the eye sees a different sight…
however, the disappointment
is one & the same…




(final refrain)


stranded in the gushing
shores of the holy Ganges..

she, a mesmerize of a spotted dear.. yet there
in a deeply torn~ thirsting melancholic daze

is in search of.. the waters..
yes, in search of the waters..


closing her eyes.. she is in
the search of vision..  yes
stranded.. & where else to go..

disbelieving self… stranded
to be gone astray …this poor
deer of an endearing beauty ..


(ultimate refrain within final refrain)

stranded in the gushing
shores of the holy Ganges..

she, a mesmerize of a spotted dear.. yet
in a deeply torn~ thirsting melancholic daze

is in search of.. the waters..
yes, in search of the waters..





*unique words:142

17/30

Heaven

Heaven is a room with you in it,
where love and acceptance exists;
a cool spring running through
tall grass on a hot, summer’s day;
the color of worn sea glass,
a perfect mix of sea-space green;
heaven is our honesty, borne
of mutual vulnerability, and trust;
a smile, warm and generous,
reaching upwards to your eyes;
heaven is connection and respect,
space to be who we are, as we are

#17

Borders

Have you been true to yourself today?

If so, what have you learned?

The closer you are to truth
The farther away from hurt

But sifting through the emotions
Can feel so raw and bare

Did you hear yourself today?

Did you decide what you are worth?

Did you violate your conscience
To prevent someone else’s hurt?

Reactions are less scary
Then neglected borders

Disappointment is a natural plight
Let them manifest their own story

55 u/w

17/30

What Were You Expecting

Not everything is always sunshine and roses
Or blue skies with pretty eyes that shine
There are days when the haze feels colder
As if some kind of angst is biding our time.

It’s unrealistic to expect everything to be perfect
When the unexpected may be lurking nearby
Some of us with older bones know it to be true
When we’ll have to look at fate right in the eye


56 Unique Words
70 Total

17/30

The Process of Writing

Inspiration is hard to define
Hard to fathom
Until it shows its face
Usually pretty quickly and fleeting
Working fast to jot it down
Take notes
Begin to write
Do anything to remember the thoughts
They flood in almost faster than you can comprehend
Sometimes it’s a topic
Others it's the rhythm and flow
A few words here and there
The rest to be filled later
The rewording happens even faster
Sifting through all the synonyms in my brain
Finding the right word or phrase that convey the emotion
Faster still is the interruption that halts all thoughts
The tangent
Or roadblock
Or interruption
And just like that the inspiration is gone
But hopefully if you were fast enough
The poem is written

17/30

This is Not a Song of Ascent

There is no defying Gravity –
no leaping or jumping or flying.
She’s doubled down
and lifting my hands (my hands)
is too hard, too heavy,
not worth the effort.

She hadn’t noticed that she’d slipped,
let just a corner of my world
feel a breath lighter than before.

She only noticed when I filled
my lungs to full capacity

and sang, a full-throated
belly-voice that echoed
through my ribcage.

And now she’s doubled down, Gravity.
I got a little too close to heaven
in my own mortal body
and she couldn’t let that float

She’s doubled down
and lifting my eyes (my eyes)
is not worth the effort.

17/30

The Alchemists

I

Dancing firelight in the night
Stories of poetic glories
Told and shown, just right
Every pen telling a tale of the histories

Filling in the blanks of the mysteries
Hidden in a dimension within
Awaiting poetic gaits to walk to the gates
Dance of fates – Manifestations of creation

II

Creator creates – Alone as standing stone
Presented to vaulted presence elements
To be bronzed and stoned
Nature’s poetic roam

Told upon the standing stones
Arranged in arrays
Capturing enraptures of rays
Nights upon days

III

Listening to the glistening
Of everything everything says
Days over nights
Tossing and turning into the tale, just right

This mystical magical trail
Showing shapes without fail: Personal legend
And tale.  Open heart – Open mind

Setting sail.

IV

All you ever wanted to be – You can be
Set me free – Into a sea of see
Waves can save – Speaking reborn graves
Open arms in swarms – Saved by waves

Foreign ways in a foreign place
The ancients understand these poetic ways
A marathon not a race

Writing as: Saving grace

V

Writing as: Continual self mastery
Samurais wielding swords, masterfully
Cutting through societal labyrinths

Blossoming in blooming hyacinths

Where the sky fell we couldn’t tell
Becoming saints of death, in the sense
We went – where no one else went

Into the greatest depth we leapt

VI

Snow melt on mountain tops
Forever flames of alchemical fires
I’ve become a gothic structure with gothic spires

Forever flames of alchemical fires

Never forget who you were
And you will never lose sight of who you are
Follow the invisible star

Pulsating in invisible afar – So far: Too far

VII

And then you
fall
Reliant upon the nature of
it all

No one to call

Because you don’t believe in anything: At all

Least of all
The elements of
it all
Perhaps because of
all

That you: Saw
Molded by the warped-bent-folded-enfolded

VIII

I am another you.  What happens
to one

Happens to all.  Someone
Saw

And tried to tell everyone when someone fell  
I listened and pondered
In
My wanders

&

Wonders at the wonders
of

This sometimes magical
Sometimes tragical

Path.  Sometimes subject to something
like wrath.

Strange gates opening in fates.

IX

Sometimes falling into the calling of a splash

Nothing left to do but crowd surf
a skydive
over dark cloud skies
Turf
of
Only that which flies

X

The treacherous best

XI

Savage dragons, are we.

#17/30

Harvest From the Tomb

I sow these seeds of love for future’s bloom;
commit them to the dark in hope of light,
through dank decay, to harvest from the tomb.

When melancholy crowds my lover’s mind
and all my tenderness awakens spite,
still, I sow seeds of love for future’s bloom.

Likewise, when bleakness threatens to consume,
or apathy tells me “give up the fight,”
despite decay, I’ll harvest from the tomb.

Though we can’t see the pattern on the loom,
we work our threads with patience day and night
to sow our seeds of love for future’s bloom.

By way of little deaths, new life resumes –
oblivious to shadows, taking flight –
fed by decay; the harvest from the tomb.

So, though the world around is filled with gloom,
the artist’s spark will guide us somewhere bright:
keep writing seeds of love for future’s bloom!
Their dark decay yields harvest from the tomb.

17/30

NaPo 2025 Day 17

Spending time with my kids
and in mid board game
I froze then exclaimed,
“I must compose; I have nothing written.”
No inspiration has bitten my hide
so, I will ride the words that come.
Some cross the finish line sprinting
and others are stuck squinting for the end.
Half pretend to know where to go
and the others are no shows.
Now I can go back to be a mother –
fudger, on the attack in these games.

[Unique Words 63]

17/30

PERSPECTIVE

Perspective places you on a line
To the left and the right are traps but you’re fine
Stay in the present and follow it home
Don’t get sucked in by temptations you’ve known
Riding the wave takes patience and grace
Always aware of the nightmares you’ll face
But deep in your soul you’ll always take heart
With the knowledge that even as things fall apart
Love brought you here and is all around
Love’s happening without making a sound

17/30

The Problem With Isolation

I am a small, weightless soul
a woman at best
I take to the forest where once I’d go for picnics
Friends didn’t feel as far as the clouds that hovered above,
and now I’ve come to know them more than I ever should
Because now, what lies before me
On earth and holy heavens high
Is a world of soot and ash
A grayscale.
A polluted dream I never dreamt I’d see
And I’m lifeless in the middle of the foggy forest, alive yet devoid of color
I’m a mess. You’re a mess.
We understand the tragedies of our past
And share the pit of hopelessness
The future didn’t bother us
In the recycling days, I wait
For in my hour of decay, there’s got to be more than one person lost and lonely
Surely, yes?
Come and find me

I’m closer than you think.

17 of 30

Dang!

In a right panic
I burst through the door
of my quaint cottage
wearing only my striped nightshirt
and worn flip-flops
nearly slipping on the cobblestones
of my peaceful seaside village
awakened by the town crier, Stan
as he shouted, in his deep Bass-Baritone,
“It's midnight and all is well…except poet Bob
forgot again”
the agitated butcher, Lou
flings open his window
vehemently shushing  
the crestfallen versifier
to himself whispering
“Absent mindedness
will be the death of that man”
Pierre, Pierre! I forgot again
the exasperated baker
stayed put in bed
sighing “mon Dieu”
clamping a pillow over his head
yoo hoo! Bob cries
to the candlemaker inside
Celia, I forgot.
do you have a candle
scented of forget me not?
“Now leave me alone…
for pity's sake go home”
spying a friend
outside the Billiard hall
“Say Joe whataya know?”
“Hey there Bobby, I hear you forgot…
well fuhget about it
you've got one more strike
so step up and make it right
then with eyes of menace
he grabs Bobby's face,
gives him a full-on-the mouth kiss
“I got a lot riding on you kid,
you forget again, I'll break your head…but no worries for now, go on back to bed.”

18/30

THAT'S WHY

Why can’t we poets just say it straight, in prose?
well, you see, the sky’s not just the sky
it murmurs past pains, expectant potential
deeply hidden secrets — and that odd bit of cloud
dismissed as a minor player…, well, it’s the key …

… or maybe just one of the keys, those
moments where success takes second place, try
as you might … failure the more substantial
a flapping butterfly wing becomes the loud
result, causing exclamations of suppressed glee …

… sheep-dung dumped on a country lane — squashed
by a hire car’s tyre, where a honeymoon couple once wished.