Official DUP NaPo/GloProWrimo 2018

3/30
Joy and Pain

Curiously uncovering pleasure
despite enduring pain
as one cannot exist
if the other does not remain

When sensations of sorrow
vacate our will to be
we rescind joyfulness
while lacking revelry

Love builds character
heartbreak often proving
without the depths of both
we would be static and unmoving

Devoid the tears we shed
our laughter would be weak
where suffering offers courage
for the secure and the meek

Delight and grief live parallel
precisely to illustrate
a unique dependency
beyond causative debate

Beefy Mac in a Red Bowl. Please.


Not too long ago,
(I’m talking weeks, not years)
you gestured, grunted
making your needs
apparent.

Over and over after you handed me your blue bowl:
Me: do you want crackers?
You: crackers.
Me: do you want cereal?
You: cereal.
Me: do you want soup?
You: soup.

I watched you think.
Ponder each word,
your amazing brain taking its time.
Knowing I wouldn’t give in
until you named it.

You: CEREAL!
Me: okay!

Saying words again.
And again.
And one more time;
you repeating each syllable.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Quiet and shy until you can say it
perfect.

Tonight, though,
we danced a different dance.

“Beefy mac in a red bowl, please.”
Your eyes twinkle,
knowing that I won’t say no.

Especially since I’m not the one leading.


********
2 of 30

(2/30)

The Fount

Beauty snares the supplicants
supping at the poisoned fount
far too late the trap is sprung
as the victims seek for more
there is a story behind the tears
as the mind is turned against
those who follow far behind
also led to toast their chains.

Infancy came with the charge
to walk a path none few would have
after life has savaged them
still the young are brought within
arrayed by surface symmetry
determination is then made
by a world that consumes
with no thought of consequence.

Once the gate has closed behind
those deluded by the charm
run the conveyor with no end
chasing comely will-o-wisps
what came before is soon lost
as the years impose their price
whispering promises falling short
wisdom comes far too late.

Empowerment of the young
a promise made for betterment
becomes the bitter manacles
when the lie is revealed
if only death was an end
once the curse is disclosed
instead the living carry on
to bring fresh beauty to the fount.

#2
FLAWED

I am human
I make mistakes
I get judged
I am lied to
Sometimes I even do the judging
Or do the lying
I am not perfect anyway
perfect is extinct....
Well, that is....if there ever was...
A perfect
Point being.... I try to stop
I am only trying to get by
Just like you...
In this big....BIG world
I just wish I knew what to do
How to.... handle....
All the crazy crap
All the pain...
All the....
Lies and suffering
Yes I'm flawed
I KNOW you are human too.....
So tell me this.....
Just keep it real with me ok? ....
How do YOU.....
Really feel?
Because how I express myself
As a human....
The only way I truly know how....
The only thing helping me figure shit out
Is through my poems....
Every flaw
Every emotion
Needs balance
So.. tell me...
How do you get by...?
As a being on this earth....
It is only up to us to try to figure all this shit out....
And conquer our flaws...

2/30

I'll Wear Years Like a Window

Proudly toward age
I will strut;
The gathering of years, I fear not
since they must.

I'll wear wrinkles
without any rush
to shine the dull proof
of my well-weathered love,

its survival; its panes
standing up
in that old attic glass,
so tough! -

let the days pile on all
of that dust -
on my window,
it just
serves to scatter the sun.

Ahhh im sorry ive been out of town for the doble holiday and just getting back! Is there any possible way i can have a slight extention untill next midnight and ill have 3 possibly 4 submissions ready!?

I'd hate to be kicked, but i also understand rules are rules

In regard to sky blue eyes and the metro
1/30


I saw a saddness
fabricated over the sharp angles
of your jutted shoulder blades

I wanted to slide my favorite fingers
just above the delicate structure
of those naked eyelids
you keep maimed in the sunshine
like a nocturnal median
I understand a bit too intimately

You blink absently in my direction

Consider me anonymous

A single orchid petal
oxidizing on a weathered windowsill
a repressed tidal wave
of sinuous bone marrow
a pair of impulsive hands
clinging to lightning

That blue devil in April
rain has yet to wash away
in stoic shadowgraphy

A string of consciousness debunked
2/30


It isn't raining.
I'm watching humid winds twist between lush tree branches like soft fingertips curling around flowing strands of (almost) auburn streaked hair.
Omnipresent clouds drift past in hues of blue and grey, whitewashed across the sky and mocking me in questionable humor.
I'm waiting for rain to begin skydiving down
down
down so I can reflect about a goddess I don't know if I believe in anymore.
So I can see a dead man ripple in a dirty puddle that's trapped in the depressed arches of cracked concrete.
The capricious writers side of my face is smiling, grinning because we adore any sadness that she might've created for me to disclose in earnest privacy.
It's addicting (how quaint ms; how typical).
Like a bad habbit I resent my childhood for latching onto in hopes that my mother would love me enough to shelter me from; not indulge me in.
Is this good enough for you?
Am i cliche enough for you to scrutinize and dismember habitually within the operating tables of your mind as something dismissive if not entertaining in the least?
I still chain smoke just to watch the cherries fizzle and snap like crimson memories fading away into white sacred ashes of yesterday.
The harsh burn and thought of my lungs crystalline and utterly encased inside of an onyx cancer is a sick comfort.
I close my eyes and pretend to forget that one day I might never allow myself to come back from my escapism.
I can envision that esacape as a sanctuary so clearly that I can even taste the huneysuckles I must have planted there.
I can feel the soil powdered between my toes, and great thick emerald vines; speckled yellow and scarred an angry browning- beginning to wrap around my ankles like heavy iron shackles.
Is that a sign of neurosis?
That my mind is grand labyrinth scheming to restrain me within the very corridors of my own infinite imagination, or is it simply a sign of contemporary artistry?
If I could show someone my perception of the world half glazed behind swollen eyelids, they wouldn't see something nearly as simple as a common landscape, a depiction of everyday novelties.
No.
Instead, they'd find a second plane, translucent and overlapping my surroundings with a magic I've learned to never speak aloud in fear of hysteria.
In recognition that my brain isnt all together; accepting there are indigo frequencies erratically jolting like epileptic electricity where color coded wires would normally belong.
I'm still waiting for the rain to grace me like a lover without a face.
I'm still waiting for texas to dry heave on my porch as irony

Anonymous said:<< post removed >>


Thanks for that, good to know. Much appreciated sir. However, please disregard my previous posts, i believe i just made it

Dear Pregnant Woman


I know it's a parasite
draining your strength
ripping you up inside
in real time
draining your brain
like
a slow motion replay
of a live
porn flick
in reverse
With bad lighting
stupid music
and a plumber that
wasn't ever a fantasy
never mind
a screen hero

I know society absconds you
with what you
should
or
shouldn't do
warning you of the ridiculous
and bullying your everyday life
into non-existence

I know it's hard to walk
hard to sleep
or even sit
or stand
Difficult to speed life up

I know
That the new life
that is about to born from
your womb
is going to
Re-energize
Re-ignite
Re-vitalize
your worn body
faster than a
10 liter energy drink
and six Vitamin B shots
will

Sit back pregnant woman
The world has your back

[·]

Entry 3
Letters to Society, God
& The Goddess
GloPoWriMo 2018
April 3rd

Empty Conscience
1/30

I didn't feel guilty about the act itself,
but rather
the lack of guilt that I felt

my conscience stayed silent for once,
my sin brought along no shame

I didn't hesitate when the urge struck my mind
I didn't fight it - surrendered in an instant
I kept my cool as I entered my sanctuary,
my destructive intentions burning in me

door locked - stripped down - weapon in hand

I could have paused to consider
my promise, broken many times over
I should have stopped to think about
who it might hurt

but I didn't even care enough to get
mad at myself
more than I already was
my conscience was empty,
used up

I tried to find a trace of regret in me
but found nothing