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Official DUP NaPo/GloProWrimo 2018

poet
MadameLavender
Guardian of Shadows
United States
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Joined 17th Feb 2013
Forum Posts: 4500

Flea Market Assholes

(Napo #21, April 21, 2018)


No, I can’t break
a one-hundred dollar bill
at seven in the morning, for
the one-dollar item
you want to buy.

Did it occur to you
to get reasonable change
on your own, before
coming to the flea market, where
I don’t take bills larger than a twenty,
anyway
for fear of counterfeits?

You, sir, are an asshole.

No, my vintage folding dowel rack
IS NOT FOR FUCKING SALE!

Did you not see the large sign
taped on it
that says only the items displayed
on the rack
are for sale and the rack is
N.F.S. ?

You, ma’am, are an asshole.

No, you can’t have two for a dollar, when
each item is only a dollar each,
already.

Did you think I didn’t see you
pull up in a Mercedes, yet
you want me to just give my goods
to you?

You are all assholes.

I vend because I love it.
I vend because a little extra helps pay the bills.
I sometimes run out of bags—
Too fucking bad, bring your own next time.
I don’t take returns—
this is not a boutique.

I will hopefully not grow
To hate something I love because

YOU PEOPLE ARE ASSHOLES!

poet
ImperfectedStone
P M Banks
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
19awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 10th Oct 2010
Forum Posts: 963

21.30 UW:86

Message in a bottle.

You had a piece of my heart
in a glass bottle and that piece
fluttered
there
trapped,
weakly,
unable
to reach out,
unable
to see past
bound to the tradegy
of your lack of loving me, despite taking me,
despite stealing a chunk of me, you were cowardly.

Don't turn, not here
again,
at the water's edge,
and rise up,
offer my half back
to my whole
and try to know me
as I am.
Your acceptance is not necessary,
this time,
and that small, weakened part of me
is not necessary either. You had me
like the cliffs have sea.
I was never meant to stay
and you were always meant to erode.
The foam it rolls and rolls, making hollows,
seagulls sweep overhead,
the ugly noise is deafening,
deafening.

poet
Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States
46awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 1468

Anatomy of Loss

XI

.i

Mississippi mud shack
walls cracked with spring
or winter depending
on the season it was

Dirt through floor boards
never changed regardless
of what weather was born

I was a cotton picker hanging
from my cousin's back
alongside the negro

Deep south was the same
to poor white trash  
as it was black slaves

And yet there was happiness;
an untasted closeness
among the geography
of wealth and greed

Untamed beauty resides
in poverty the affluent
consider loss of equality

The wise know gratitude
not for gluttunous coiffeurs
but dialy bread to break

Blessed and shared
intimately by friends and family
while the upper eschelon
lost amid their grand estates

Contemplate entire fortunes
eschewed for a Life of Love

. . .

21/30




For My J, with Love 💜

poet
JohnnyBlaze
Dangerous Mind
United States
6awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 845

21/30


Hair

unplanned
cascades everywhere
along wing clipped shoulder blades
beyond cherubic derriere

Each strand
twirled and flipped
a loom spun thread
thought begun in her head
formed with great care
explored at length

Courage to go against the grain
of everything we mortals are taught
her greatest strength

Haloed
in an Ariadne's headress
she makes her stand
fearing not loss
nor pain of
knuckle rulered reprimand

She's got this

She's got Love












for Ahavati with Love

💜




poet
poetryaccident
Fire of Insight
United States
13awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 30th Oct 2016
Forum Posts: 161

21/30

Into The Dream

I escaped into the dream
where waking pain could be fled
there the ache found new soil
to bloom unasked behind my eyes
a cast of thousands with recourse
bent to ask the hard questions
about the truths I thought secret
a curse I long to take once more.

The deceased found new life
I’m called out to resolve
with my accepting of that farce
asking why I chose the paths
they alone saw my bent heart
this is the story in nightmare’s grasp
demanding flesh for the scourge
in repetition as nights progress.

Disreality became a word
bending shape ponder why
then turning toward the trivial
as if the answers were to be feared
this jailed freedom born of desire
behind the walls topped by clouds
where lies are relished far too much
verity moves from high above.

Conviction written with a pen
tortured scripts by my hand
with the blocking that transcends
avoidance found and then abused
there I find I can escape
from the pain with just a thought
wake to a world that I detest
perhaps I’ll sleep to dream again.

poet
rosegold
Thought Provoker
United States
2awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 12th July 2017
Forum Posts: 28

(19/30)

Poet's Recruit

(Inspired by prompts #7 and #8)

poets, assemble –
take up your quill,
or pencil, or typewriter,
or whatever you will

gather around
and join in our fight
just bring perseverance
and desire to write

our mission simple:
one poem per day
come march with us;
waste no time with delay

our army diverse
some young, some old
all welcome to join
whether timid or bold

ready your minds
ideas prepared
inspiration kindled
encouragement shared

when our moment arrives
the trumpet will blast
we'll set off empowered
determined to last

the course isn't smooth
and may knock you back
but stand up stronger
and rejoin your track

poets, gather round
consider my word:
do you simply write?
or will you make yourself heard?

so speak across nations
embrace your chance –
displaying our confidence
in poetic dance


poet
cloventongue89
Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
16awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 360

Hoping For The Best (Having An Affair With Doubt) - (22/30)

What’s the worst-case scenario of our best intentions
When capability is a scary word
Crying wolf in the eyes of an honest man
Peering through the broken lens of a bad experience
Self-preservation is robbery of possibilities
What’s worth the risk of getting hurt?

Pride like a scab in the process of healing
I hit your leather wound
Only to unveil the pain in tenderness
Like a struck nerve beneath a tough exterior
You still bleed like it happened yesterday

For every heart that proves a farce
When fool’s gold glistens so well
How does the "real thing" glitter
When the day dawns
On what we've yearned a lifetime for

There’s no goodbye’s
Where there are no authentic greetings
When you leave me here as mere “poet”
Will you know me as nothing more?

For better or for worse
We're married to the breath in our lungs
Words away from promises or a broken heart
Can I give utterance to love?
When every word is a gamble
Hesitant to mean anything to anyone
For fear they might mean something to me

How can I handle another’s heart?
When I’ve been so prone to be careless with my own?

Dear life, are we breaking up before we’ve begun?
When all the meaning is stripped away for what could go wrong
Dare I ask the question of what could go right?
To prevent divorcing oxygen in search of a breath of fresh air…

poet
Jade-Pandora
jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
113awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 9th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 3834


“Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength.”

Empty Bowl  *22/30

When I’d been diagnosed,
It was the first string of
Medical jab & sting
Over the years
In longer worms
Of consequences
From that first recognition.

But it was the first one, as it
Fled the doctor's lips
Like a gypsy moth.
His stolen words,
Crude & mute,
That flew in my ear
With powdered wings.

Before then, I was immortal,
Afraid of nothing nada nil.
Even spiders that spin
Caught in a web.
Denying wee things.
Now I had tiny creatures
Secretly growing inside me.

I'd rather have had a bowl of
Goldfish or a puppy my own
And make it my friend.
My friend would be
Middle-aged
In dog years by now,
Taking care of
me instead.

But that's just it. I am still here
And my friend never was.
Yet an influence to me
In many ways
As is a dog prone,
To give my pause
paws
When it’s one of those days

Which are sadists, resolved
To lay me low I cannot see
For any time l let my
Blithe spirit slump.
A fat groundhog
Coming out to find
Six more weeks of winter.

But I’ll be much worse off
If I didn’t ask of my life
To fill my empty bowl.
When no one but I
Can show God
What I need, not want,
If there’s hope diagnosed.




Copyright©️2018 Jade Pandora.  All Rights Reserved.
NaPo/GloPoWriMo 2018

poet
JohnnyBlaze
Dangerous Mind
United States
6awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 845


( 🍩 = posted and counted since last update )

And we're back up to 18 participants - a baker's dozen!

Greetings, Poets! Welcome to DAY 22!

Guess what?

You're three-fourths of the way home!

Forget about traditional countdowns and ball drops; see how these cities drop instead; next with Raleigh, NC.

Eight! . . .

Raleigh's nickname is "The City of the Oaks," and this North Carolina city has celebrated this fact with the dropping of a giant 10-foot, 1,250-pound copper acorn on New Years Eve. Unlike many other cities, this New Years Eve object can be seen at all times. It is always located in Moore Square Park and travels just a few blocks down the street for the festival. There's still no sign of a giant squirrel.

If you ask Us, that's just nuts.

Speaking of "nuts" that "do" crazy things .....

🍩1. Ahavati - III
🍩2. JohnnyBlaze - III
🍩3. JadePandora - III✔
🍩4. Viddax - III
5. Mel44 - II✔✔✔✔✔✔
🍩6. cloventongue89 - III✔
🍩7. David_Macleod - III
🍩8. rowantree - III
🍩9. ImperfectedStone - III
🍩10. MadameLavender - III
🍩11. RevolutionAl - III✔
🍩12. Hepcat61- III
🍩13. poetryaccident - III
🍩14. Thetravelingfairy -III
15. MisfitPoet89 - II✔✔✔✔✔✔
16. Samael - II✔✔✔✔
🍩17. Rosegold - II✔✔✔✔✔
🍩18. thepositivelydark - II

If your name isn't listed, it's because you haven't posted, and we haven't heard from you in at least three days!  

You can do it, Poets! 🎊

And, Thank You for your participation!

poet
samael
Samael Talmudic
Fire of Insight
United States
7awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 3rd Aug 2017
Forum Posts: 67

19/30

"Unintended to depart but it's been a good run"

Funerary rights
clacking across the floor as polished black dress shoes,
thin long laces to match.

a dimly lit room crackling by a fireplace
reminds me of mourners,
widows,
gold diggers,
grandmothers passing.

once filled warm hospital beds
now stained,
changed white again,
ready for the circular hourly rounds of nurses bleached smiles.

a batch of fresh air cooked up,
smells like childhood off the well seasoned cast iron skillet.

a set of wooden steps at the Heiskell mercantile,
mother holding our hand as we dangle to reach the next foothold in life.

we need not brace for the impact striking out at us
for landing in a coffins lining is a soft soft fall.

poet
JohnnyBlaze
Dangerous Mind
United States
6awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 845

22/30


Mind Fades To Black

ink flowing from this pen

No holding back, my Love

Write you a poem every day

We both know I could

but what if I should

run out of things to say?

What then?

Mind fades to black

graphite streaks from this pencil

No holding back, my Love

Draw you daily in shades of gray

We both know I could

but what if I should

lack enough pages in my sketchbook

for your figure to play and dance

What then?

What will become of this romance?

Mind

fades

to

black











for Ahavati with Love

💜





poet
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
24awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 925

Sunday Afternoon
(the bop)
formule poésie érotique 22/30


Peel back the rayon’s gracious hungry cling
In Sunset’s ocean night, that gooses ‘round
A catch of Whiskey - L.A. woman sings
In myths of highways’ pulse, Echo’s sound.
How sweeten spikes the poet’s ramble brings,
And seven mile snakes, their prophets found.

“L.A. woman, Sunday afternoon…’

The tales of Lizard Kings, and Momma’s Pops
That burn in acid rain these Angel Dreams:
Venice to Cucamonga whistle stops,
Topanga down to Malibu, tires scream.
In backdrops just as real as movie sets,
like painted faces smeared on glowing screens,
The lines I read, exposed with no regret,
A short form calm found in a peep show scene.

“L.A. woman, Sunday afternoon…”

Her licks with Muse’s tongue our world begun,
Her softest kiss from Andalus’an sun.
With stroking touch, that press the weight of words,
Her pleasure squeals in our shared verse unheard,
Our lover’s sheets show how our parts attune,
How she can get me there “just not too soon…”

“L.A. woman, Sunday afternoon…”

😇/😈



poet
Viddax
Lord Viddax
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
19awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 10th Oct 2009
Forum Posts: 6159

22.

Carnal Satiation


I adore you and must see you
as time and my lust
cannot wait
or be contained,
let me ply my truth
in those hills I long to climb,
those mountains I yearn to mount
for I am a moth to your flame
burning brighter than any mothball
inflamed and ablaze,
desiring and aspiring
to add frosting
to your beautiful bran muffins
aching to start baking
as more than the yeast has already risen.
With skin silkier softer than
sweet sultry peanut butter
I am the jam too add with a bam
to make the exclaim goddamn,
as my lust to yours is so entwined
even as I dream of your hind;
so much reverie in the derrière
such delicious delights
beyond any paltry pork rind,
that the mind wanders
but the tongue drools
prompting moisture for all involved.
You are my waters of life;
as cool as any mint julep
fiery as any tequila
and all the more pleasurable
when going down
even if I drown
in those hips that would
launch a thousand ships
and those lips that can eclipse
the very stars in their radiance
as we undulate
in our own physical cosmology
to shake the heavens and earth,
all that as prelude and harbinger
for the following performance
if you would but open up
and let me in.

(Unique words: 141.)

poet
samael
Samael Talmudic
Fire of Insight
United States
7awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 3rd Aug 2017
Forum Posts: 67

20/30

"Coster shops at Knoxville"


Could i bother you for a father?  
 
run run the rails  
up into Virginia,to parked Bristol motel rooms.  
 
run run the rails into bourbon soaked Kentucky,  
back in the wooded hollers.  
 
ringing in the gravel,  
the lead seeped train yards.  
 
is it Norfolk?  
two white bay mare steeds besting each other,  
burning black as coal into the night.  
thoroughbred,  
content on cutting through the winds old ways.  
 
drifting through the days at dusk,  
as detaching as train cars,  
but cabooses cease to exist.  
 
pull that line to hear the blowing whistle,  
whisking around the wilderness,  
the train cars,  
the southern Appalachian's.  
 
call me by a namesake  
but repetition failed to forge a third generation.  
call me home once again  
and i've forgotten what heritage looks like,  
except in words wishing only to carry a legacy that will be forgotten.  
 
railroaders use to build boilers in the Coster shops  
but the lines slowed down.  
we gave in to the tires of the roadway and the wings in the sky.  
 
take pride in what you bring to life with your bare hands,  
break free from what expectations have been set for you  
and find your own way in life.  

poet
David_Macleod
David Macleod
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
32awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 753

Love You (More) - - - Dedicated to Nightbirdblue            (22/30)

I love you more than bacon
A martini left unshaken
Please don't be mistaken
I love my milk a shaken
I just love you more

I love you more than ice cream
A bucket full of Jim Beam
It gives me such a strange dream
Love Gran's Chicken Supreme
I just love you more

I love Scottish champ Andy Murray
A bowl of Scottish curry
My haggis shaved not furry
I love a McDonald's McFlurry
I just love you more

I love you more than Nation, Flag and Queen
And vegetables that are green
And mushrooms if their clean
I'd love a trip in a submarine
I just love you more

I love you more than Bunjee Jumpin
Environmentally antidumpin
To give The Donald a right good thumpin
I love bumper cars and bumpin
I just love you more

I love you more than boiled eggs
I love you more than full beer kegs
I love you more than I love Greggs
I love you more than having legs
I just love you more

I love you more than your daft cat
She's certainly needing squashing flat
I'd only punch it tit for tat
last resort; a baseball bat
I love my 'fuck off!' front door mat
I just love you more

I love your smile, makes my heart sing
If I had a step it would have a spring
To you, no doubt, I'll always cling
For you I would do anything
I love you more than everything
And I just love you more


Note * "Greggs" is the Scottish equivalent of a Taco Bell of bakers. The main reason we have heroin addicts that are obese - to many Pies

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