Official DUP NaPo/GloProWrimo 2018
After day 1 we have 21 weighing in ( 5 twice into their second day ), and 6 AWOL! Because yesterday was a National holiday, you have until midnight ( your time zone ) tonight to post two poems. If you fail to post, your name will be dropped from the competition and you forfeit your chance at this year's trophy.
Happy poeting!
1. Ahavati - ✔
2. JohnnyBlaze - ✔
3. OxyMoronicMe ✔
4. JadePandora - ✔
5. Viddax - ✔
6. Mel44 - ✔✔
7. cloventongue89 ✔
8. KrystalG ✔
9. David_Macleod - ✔
10. rowantree ✔
11. disFLEXshit
12. ImperfectedStone ✔✔
13. MadameLavender - ✔
14. ThePositivelyDark ✔
15. RevolutionAl - ✔✔
16. crimsin - ✔✔
17. DaisyGrace - ✔
18. Hepcat61- ✔
19. poetryaccident ✔
20. kourtnissixxx
21. javel34
22. ElrondSirfalas ✔
23. rosegold
24. Thetravelingfairy ✔
25. GumboGirl
26. MisfitPoet89 ✔✔
27. Samael
Happy poeting!
1. Ahavati - ✔
2. JohnnyBlaze - ✔
3. OxyMoronicMe ✔
4. JadePandora - ✔
5. Viddax - ✔
6. Mel44 - ✔✔
7. cloventongue89 ✔
8. KrystalG ✔
9. David_Macleod - ✔
10. rowantree ✔
11. disFLEXshit
12. ImperfectedStone ✔✔
13. MadameLavender - ✔
14. ThePositivelyDark ✔
15. RevolutionAl - ✔✔
16. crimsin - ✔✔
17. DaisyGrace - ✔
18. Hepcat61- ✔
19. poetryaccident ✔
20. kourtnissixxx
21. javel34
22. ElrondSirfalas ✔
23. rosegold
24. Thetravelingfairy ✔
25. GumboGirl
26. MisfitPoet89 ✔✔
27. Samael
1/30
"Patterns transpiring in alternate realities"
Cloudwalker catching tears in a picnic basket
dialog dragged the craters surface
a Carl Ade safe from Stuttgart
only charred wooden embers ash remained
cares melted away like the imaginary food on the plastic stove that day
fish hooks crawl under my skin to catch what i fear
i viewed Death as crumbling paper flip book animation
worn are these pages and speed
simulate the motion
simulate the motion
cataclysm
we saw the triumphant return of the Valkyrie
sweet as elderflower mead
i part the clouds
for this life calls me once again
"Patterns transpiring in alternate realities"
Cloudwalker catching tears in a picnic basket
dialog dragged the craters surface
a Carl Ade safe from Stuttgart
only charred wooden embers ash remained
cares melted away like the imaginary food on the plastic stove that day
fish hooks crawl under my skin to catch what i fear
i viewed Death as crumbling paper flip book animation
worn are these pages and speed
simulate the motion
simulate the motion
cataclysm
we saw the triumphant return of the Valkyrie
sweet as elderflower mead
i part the clouds
for this life calls me once again
2/30
THE THESIS OF ME - FOOLISH
Daring without care, driven by needs;
Of thoughts, bore by dreams or personal
Reality;
By illusions or tangible truths;
Either or?
Irrelevant.
For brave hearths are fools
By default
Or is it,
That fools are brave
and knows no fault?
The bridge between innocence and intelligence
Is hanging under a cliff,
Both shallow and deep,
Measured only by how much a person
Fears.
And we cross the line,
Or not.
How foolish are you?
Or are you willing,
To jump with blind faith that underneath
The dark abyss, waiting is a chance
For grasp?
Courage they say, have no eyes,
And fools of yesterdays,
Are legends of tomorrow.
What of today then?
Now, fools are rushing
And we look at them from afar
Disassociating.
So I ask...
Am I brave?
Am I a fool?
And most importantly,
Who will say it, if no one notice?
©MGL2018
First edit April 4, 2018, 9:46 am
(Changed spelling of the Title)
THE THESIS OF ME - FOOLISH
Daring without care, driven by needs;
Of thoughts, bore by dreams or personal
Reality;
By illusions or tangible truths;
Either or?
Irrelevant.
For brave hearths are fools
By default
Or is it,
That fools are brave
and knows no fault?
The bridge between innocence and intelligence
Is hanging under a cliff,
Both shallow and deep,
Measured only by how much a person
Fears.
And we cross the line,
Or not.
How foolish are you?
Or are you willing,
To jump with blind faith that underneath
The dark abyss, waiting is a chance
For grasp?
Courage they say, have no eyes,
And fools of yesterdays,
Are legends of tomorrow.
What of today then?
Now, fools are rushing
And we look at them from afar
Disassociating.
So I ask...
Am I brave?
Am I a fool?
And most importantly,
Who will say it, if no one notice?
©MGL2018
First edit April 4, 2018, 9:46 am
(Changed spelling of the Title)
2.
Vers Libre
We are the Free Verse Resistance
repelling and resisting the conformist drivel
calling out the collaborators of impudent convention.
Underground, overground, all around
our verse flows free
open and flowing like the sea
just as our minds are
compared to the straight-laced
dim witted blinkered horse mob
who have whored themselves out to norm and comfort.
Our words have no metre or rhyme
because no matter the crime our length
can do where the normal does not.
Each line and letter an exploration to leave the senses
discomforted and disquieted
because we don't live for comfort we live to speak
as we see fit
not copying and repeating like the Printer Generation
so shackled to the Dictator of Form.
We are a hard pill to swallow
but never choking back our snake spit words
from fear of worry of breaking the norm
because our intent is international
bringing anarchy in the abc
and a global revolution to the ingrained system.
Cause We are the Free Verse Resistance.
(Unique words: 108.)
Vers Libre
We are the Free Verse Resistance
repelling and resisting the conformist drivel
calling out the collaborators of impudent convention.
Underground, overground, all around
our verse flows free
open and flowing like the sea
just as our minds are
compared to the straight-laced
dim witted blinkered horse mob
who have whored themselves out to norm and comfort.
Our words have no metre or rhyme
because no matter the crime our length
can do where the normal does not.
Each line and letter an exploration to leave the senses
discomforted and disquieted
because we don't live for comfort we live to speak
as we see fit
not copying and repeating like the Printer Generation
so shackled to the Dictator of Form.
We are a hard pill to swallow
but never choking back our snake spit words
from fear of worry of breaking the norm
because our intent is international
bringing anarchy in the abc
and a global revolution to the ingrained system.
Cause We are the Free Verse Resistance.
(Unique words: 108.)
Sculptress
(a pantoum)
formule poésie érotique 2/30
With quickened hands, how swift she shapes the wood.
In pieces broken off, discovered first,
Her passions swell and love’s flow bare withstood,
Now in her naked grip, its art submersed.
In pieces broken off, discovered first,
She found the pleasant features of its rise.
Now in her naked grip, its art submersed,
Each whetted stroke, revealing its franchise.
She found the pleasant features of its rise,
Could easy bend to fill her fondest scheme.
Each whetted stroke, revealing its franchise,
Each hard-tooled thrust made more perfected seem.
Could easy bend to fill her fondest scheme,
The wood in wetted mold within her lathe,
Each hard-tooled thrust made more perfected seem.
In wood’s resist and spray, her labors bathe.
The wood in wetted mold within her lathe,
Her passions swell and love’s flow bare withstood,
In wood’s resist and spray her, labors bathe,
With quickened hands, how swift she shapes the wood.
😇/😈
(a pantoum)
formule poésie érotique 2/30
With quickened hands, how swift she shapes the wood.
In pieces broken off, discovered first,
Her passions swell and love’s flow bare withstood,
Now in her naked grip, its art submersed.
In pieces broken off, discovered first,
She found the pleasant features of its rise.
Now in her naked grip, its art submersed,
Each whetted stroke, revealing its franchise.
She found the pleasant features of its rise,
Could easy bend to fill her fondest scheme.
Each whetted stroke, revealing its franchise,
Each hard-tooled thrust made more perfected seem.
Could easy bend to fill her fondest scheme,
The wood in wetted mold within her lathe,
Each hard-tooled thrust made more perfected seem.
In wood’s resist and spray, her labors bathe.
The wood in wetted mold within her lathe,
Her passions swell and love’s flow bare withstood,
In wood’s resist and spray her, labors bathe,
With quickened hands, how swift she shapes the wood.
😇/😈
2/30
"Tuff or am i just as toy box broken as all these other doll dames, wooden air planes, and Mr.Potato heads"
These dreams take me back to my two story high school home
sloping hill front yard that could cradle a dying man to sleep
grappling off the tall steep pebble front steps
Fireman's carry takeover
king of registered trademarked Tuff
still the brown splinter smiles
weathered worn out pews call my name
for a sit to seep in the days tide
breaking drywall over each others heads
i wish my attention had not been drawn
a glimpse into a fine line of memories marksmanship
huge glass sheet window panes
with cloth chord pulleys
peeled up white tile with hammer claws
the mowed grass from cheap lawn mowers never smelled so sweet
patches of wild onions
marsh murky mud
shutter as a butterfly shatters a spiders web
brawling in my room crossed with a double barrel bed frame
breaking green plastic patio furniture
unfinished dining room laundry lint scent
where i've never felt the sun beam so perfect on skin before
melting arms of growing pains
we helped with painting the roses red
tack welding Elton John songs into mind
bending steel work benches cassette tapes
sleeping outside on damp morning dew trampolines
the Lesbian girl with an obsession for I Love Lucy memorabilia
2 doors down
how many of them are already dead
and how few of us carry on
this life is a swamp that bogs me deep inside
but its beautiful at sunrise even if its one day closer to death
"Tuff or am i just as toy box broken as all these other doll dames, wooden air planes, and Mr.Potato heads"
These dreams take me back to my two story high school home
sloping hill front yard that could cradle a dying man to sleep
grappling off the tall steep pebble front steps
Fireman's carry takeover
king of registered trademarked Tuff
still the brown splinter smiles
weathered worn out pews call my name
for a sit to seep in the days tide
breaking drywall over each others heads
i wish my attention had not been drawn
a glimpse into a fine line of memories marksmanship
huge glass sheet window panes
with cloth chord pulleys
peeled up white tile with hammer claws
the mowed grass from cheap lawn mowers never smelled so sweet
patches of wild onions
marsh murky mud
shutter as a butterfly shatters a spiders web
brawling in my room crossed with a double barrel bed frame
breaking green plastic patio furniture
unfinished dining room laundry lint scent
where i've never felt the sun beam so perfect on skin before
melting arms of growing pains
we helped with painting the roses red
tack welding Elton John songs into mind
bending steel work benches cassette tapes
sleeping outside on damp morning dew trampolines
the Lesbian girl with an obsession for I Love Lucy memorabilia
2 doors down
how many of them are already dead
and how few of us carry on
this life is a swamp that bogs me deep inside
but its beautiful at sunrise even if its one day closer to death
Just A Skiff
I can't remember
those brisk winter months
Huddled in our cotton igloo
Limbs crunched together
seeking the warm refuge of each other's touch
Our eyes the only thing exposed
just to peek over at the immature cartoons
Flickering their nostalgic lessons
that we'd left behind years ago
Our feline family
snuggling up at the foot of our bed
Those three odd balls of fur
so peculiar in their own way
The snarky calico becoming jealous
that she was no longer our only child
The wise grumpy tabby
slowly growing accustomed to this new community
And the Siamese runt always causing trouble
with her queer little paws
Storm stuck holidays
Where we made our own festive company
on quiet midnight walks
icy city roads repurposed
as the new sidewalk for the season
Replacing the walking paths
now covered with a thick sheet
of frozen December rain
Convenience store journeys
with our hands stuck together
for more reason than one
Those times stand still inside my mind
Emanating from the depths
of loves cryptic design
Now I yearn for some new connection
So I can finally remember
Those brisk winter months
2/30
I can't remember
those brisk winter months
Huddled in our cotton igloo
Limbs crunched together
seeking the warm refuge of each other's touch
Our eyes the only thing exposed
just to peek over at the immature cartoons
Flickering their nostalgic lessons
that we'd left behind years ago
Our feline family
snuggling up at the foot of our bed
Those three odd balls of fur
so peculiar in their own way
The snarky calico becoming jealous
that she was no longer our only child
The wise grumpy tabby
slowly growing accustomed to this new community
And the Siamese runt always causing trouble
with her queer little paws
Storm stuck holidays
Where we made our own festive company
on quiet midnight walks
icy city roads repurposed
as the new sidewalk for the season
Replacing the walking paths
now covered with a thick sheet
of frozen December rain
Convenience store journeys
with our hands stuck together
for more reason than one
Those times stand still inside my mind
Emanating from the depths
of loves cryptic design
Now I yearn for some new connection
So I can finally remember
Those brisk winter months
2/30
Anonymous
2/30
Dipped Skinny
Last one in is a rotten egg!
She always comes stripped
bare of false pretenses
eagerly diving in head first
effortlessly swims through
nuances of vocabulary
navigating the murkiest
sentences and worst
stanzas
on her tippy toes
excitedly in throes of discovery
announcing what treasures she
found! in deep ends of the
pond
erring
always on the side of caution
so as not drown novitiates
clinging to their life's craft
during Baptisms in these
artisinal waters
Weak in the knees
I watch from the banks;
a fool as I drool
wishing to towel her off
upon exiting the pool
for in the write poet's hands
she is quite the beauty beheld
when dipped in her element
bringing us the skinny
for Ahavati with Love
💜
Dipped Skinny
Last one in is a rotten egg!
She always comes stripped
bare of false pretenses
eagerly diving in head first
effortlessly swims through
nuances of vocabulary
navigating the murkiest
sentences and worst
stanzas
on her tippy toes
excitedly in throes of discovery
announcing what treasures she
found! in deep ends of the
pond
erring
always on the side of caution
so as not drown novitiates
clinging to their life's craft
during Baptisms in these
artisinal waters
Weak in the knees
I watch from the banks;
a fool as I drool
wishing to towel her off
upon exiting the pool
for in the write poet's hands
she is quite the beauty beheld
when dipped in her element
bringing us the skinny
for Ahavati with Love
💜
Not Long For This World (2/30)
It is my fondest wish that I will not be here to observe
The fall of mankind which will be by his own hand
Mankind will commit suicide leaving no note
Not even a musical one
It will be a slow and painful suicide with much suffering
Taking as long as you, trying to cut your throat with
A large, cumbersome, fresh, green cucumber
Or a bunch of deep red grapes
They have started the process already their plan afoot
Create a refugee crisis flooding other countries
With a culture and ideology that doesn't mix
Hatred and violence building
Europe has fallen there is no way to get back normality
The ghetto Islamisation has taken a firm hold
Without knowing they are all puppets
White elites string pulling
The elites plan war but not a conventional one at all
It won't be a world or nuclear war; no soldiers
It will become a worldwide race war
Skin pigments and Ideologies
It will spread like a virulent cancerous growth; terminal
An unspeakable and unimaginable slaughter
The streets are paved with fresh blood
Severed heads roll daily
As planned the world's population is reduced by 75%
Leaving enough people, used as slave labour
To run the machines of wealth creation
The elite in their ivory towers smile
Fear is the key to the control of the general population
They will do as they are told to avoid the gulags
A one world government, a one child policy
Big brother was not your real sibling
The earth's resources will now last much, much longer
A lot less mouths to feed and energy used
The elites want to live forever and ever
Thankfully death comes to us all
And just as the elites think they have it all worked out
Mother nature steps in and she's really, really pissed
Mankind like an open sore on a bleeding world
Must be eradicated by virus
There becomes a new paradigm to carefully consider
A better world without the human race
Humanity had its chance and failed
The world will return to beauty
George Orwell wasn't right
It is such a lot worse than
He could have imagined
It is my fondest wish that I will not be here to observe
The fall of mankind which will be by his own hand
Mankind will commit suicide leaving no note
Not even a musical one
It will be a slow and painful suicide with much suffering
Taking as long as you, trying to cut your throat with
A large, cumbersome, fresh, green cucumber
Or a bunch of deep red grapes
They have started the process already their plan afoot
Create a refugee crisis flooding other countries
With a culture and ideology that doesn't mix
Hatred and violence building
Europe has fallen there is no way to get back normality
The ghetto Islamisation has taken a firm hold
Without knowing they are all puppets
White elites string pulling
The elites plan war but not a conventional one at all
It won't be a world or nuclear war; no soldiers
It will become a worldwide race war
Skin pigments and Ideologies
It will spread like a virulent cancerous growth; terminal
An unspeakable and unimaginable slaughter
The streets are paved with fresh blood
Severed heads roll daily
As planned the world's population is reduced by 75%
Leaving enough people, used as slave labour
To run the machines of wealth creation
The elite in their ivory towers smile
Fear is the key to the control of the general population
They will do as they are told to avoid the gulags
A one world government, a one child policy
Big brother was not your real sibling
The earth's resources will now last much, much longer
A lot less mouths to feed and energy used
The elites want to live forever and ever
Thankfully death comes to us all
And just as the elites think they have it all worked out
Mother nature steps in and she's really, really pissed
Mankind like an open sore on a bleeding world
Must be eradicated by virus
There becomes a new paradigm to carefully consider
A better world without the human race
Humanity had its chance and failed
The world will return to beauty
George Orwell wasn't right
It is such a lot worse than
He could have imagined
Anonymous
Things From The Past
(NaPo #2. April 2, 2018)
Obsessions linger around old barns, dilapidated
remnants of former lives, standing
weather-worn, in fields.
I wish to touch the past--
their past
in hopes of finding what I lost
in my own.
No one saves things, anymore.
Possessions become discards, littering
landscapes and filling
outbuildings with valueless
cast offs .
I shall take them .
Life still exists in broken furniture and
ratty lace; their tatters are no match
for nails and paint.
Life still exists in me.
Cut away the parts
that no longer work, fill
them with love, watch
creation become something new--
I am the savior of some things.
(NaPo #2. April 2, 2018)
Obsessions linger around old barns, dilapidated
remnants of former lives, standing
weather-worn, in fields.
I wish to touch the past--
their past
in hopes of finding what I lost
in my own.
No one saves things, anymore.
Possessions become discards, littering
landscapes and filling
outbuildings with valueless
cast offs .
I shall take them .
Life still exists in broken furniture and
ratty lace; their tatters are no match
for nails and paint.
Life still exists in me.
Cut away the parts
that no longer work, fill
them with love, watch
creation become something new--
I am the savior of some things.
3/30
Beyond The Brier Patch
razor wired ideas
cut to the heart of things
quick and deadly is the day
harbinger of nefarious deeds
done undercover of the moon
who sleeps during the day
she turns a blind eye
while her children are at play
wicked is the night
that lit fire under the revelers
carousing, biting, devouring flesh
they race to the sun
leaving gratified songs
for the Earth to dance to
imps and devils delight
while naked we crash into thought
waking to radio stations broadcasting truth
to those paying attention
its on the wind, the television
look in peoples faces and in what they've written
there are beings communicating with us
we scribe on the walls of the human soul
so very sacred
it may take a millennia
for that message to be processed
received and decoded
how exciting it is to know though we wander
we don't do it alone
just like that the day knew her place
the dark pulled back its shades
revealing jewels of knowledge
placing one over my heart
and one over my mind
knowing we're closely observed
as we yawn, stretch and evolve
Beyond The Brier Patch
razor wired ideas
cut to the heart of things
quick and deadly is the day
harbinger of nefarious deeds
done undercover of the moon
who sleeps during the day
she turns a blind eye
while her children are at play
wicked is the night
that lit fire under the revelers
carousing, biting, devouring flesh
they race to the sun
leaving gratified songs
for the Earth to dance to
imps and devils delight
while naked we crash into thought
waking to radio stations broadcasting truth
to those paying attention
its on the wind, the television
look in peoples faces and in what they've written
there are beings communicating with us
we scribe on the walls of the human soul
so very sacred
it may take a millennia
for that message to be processed
received and decoded
how exciting it is to know though we wander
we don't do it alone
just like that the day knew her place
the dark pulled back its shades
revealing jewels of knowledge
placing one over my heart
and one over my mind
knowing we're closely observed
as we yawn, stretch and evolve
Anatomy of Loss
I.
The beginning is vaulted
memory vague as dreams
infrequently recalled
in their truest context
Denizins of mapped choice
are an eco-system of experience
so vast, existence expands
to accommodate us
before snapping back
This blueprint of breath
designed to offer an array
of options simple as a direction;
or, complex as manifestation
We could choose a billion
variations, and would barely
move granuals of mountain
through ten thousand eons
Lifetimes are mere blips
amid a spectrum of time
that doesn't really exist
beyond our human minds
And yet, it does
-
I.
The beginning is vaulted
memory vague as dreams
infrequently recalled
in their truest context
Denizins of mapped choice
are an eco-system of experience
so vast, existence expands
to accommodate us
before snapping back
This blueprint of breath
designed to offer an array
of options simple as a direction;
or, complex as manifestation
We could choose a billion
variations, and would barely
move granuals of mountain
through ten thousand eons
Lifetimes are mere blips
amid a spectrum of time
that doesn't really exist
beyond our human minds
And yet, it does
-
Easter. *2/30
I know we both have been preoccupied,
You probably most times have often said.
It’s not your fault but something we can’t hide
Twix pages that are not meant to be read.
But if we can’t talk, by then, what I want
Is my hollow choc’late Easter bunny.
I gotta have it, though that’s what it’s not.
I’m type 2 laughing sad ironically.
For chocolate I’ll do almost anything,
The hollowness inside mimics the pain.
And sweets can never full exile its sting,
Like plunge into my thigh like Novocain.
So please fill up my basket to the brim.
I’ll never ask for anything again.
Copyright©️Jade Pandora 2018. All Rights Reserved.
*NaPo/GloPoWriMo 2018
2/30
Kites
The day is cloudy
Fog is shielding the sun
A perfect day to fly our kites
To lose ourselves at the ends of white strings
To thrive in a different story
One that I couldn’t write
This time, we will fly
Get lost in our illiterate dreams
And let our kites guide us to another place
Filled with rainbows and sunshine
When the wind hits us right
We’ll sail higher into the atmosphere
Maybe we’ll suffocate, maybe we’ll scream
But kites like ours know how to soar
They are masters at puppeteering
My kite, touching the end of the horizon
Pulling my feet towards reality
A kite that’s bound by string
Will tangle everything
Letting go of my tiny white string
I waved goodbye to those old things
I saw the sun for the first time
Clouds and kites were a distant memory
Kites
The day is cloudy
Fog is shielding the sun
A perfect day to fly our kites
To lose ourselves at the ends of white strings
To thrive in a different story
One that I couldn’t write
This time, we will fly
Get lost in our illiterate dreams
And let our kites guide us to another place
Filled with rainbows and sunshine
When the wind hits us right
We’ll sail higher into the atmosphere
Maybe we’ll suffocate, maybe we’ll scream
But kites like ours know how to soar
They are masters at puppeteering
My kite, touching the end of the horizon
Pulling my feet towards reality
A kite that’s bound by string
Will tangle everything
Letting go of my tiny white string
I waved goodbye to those old things
I saw the sun for the first time
Clouds and kites were a distant memory
