Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo Competition

1/30

Inception – Day One

How dim these lights might seem in evening sun
But still they flare, their flame to call us back
To places’ time where fear would have us run,
In dancers’ time that breathless feeds our lack.

The Ancient Eagle cries and mountains ring,
As if their screams might sing our worlds to dust.
My heart picks up their song and so I sing,
And beat the drums and dance this ancient lust.

With somber screams no wounded night will hear,
From mountain smoke and bone and mud I wake,
To join the hymn of flesh and love severe,
To drink the bitter blood in life’s partake.

In flares and scalding heart, time’s rebegun!
How dim these lights might seem in evening sun.

Words: 126
Unique Words: 92

#NaPoWriMo2019

NaPo/GloPoWriMo 2019

1 of 30

segue girl

girl, you just took a right turn
and I’m still stuck at the last left
back it up
I’m doing the best I can
but at this point…
I’m not even sure where I am
I thought I was following
but then you veered
leaving me…here
sorry but…
ya lost me

can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard it
story of my life
it’s the unfortunate result
of an overdrive mind
thoughts come at me
so fast I can barely track them
so sharing…yeah right…
there’s a trail
clear & simple
(even when it skitters)
the problem is…
no one else can see it

so I’m trucking along
expressing myself
and they’re nodding
…until they’re not…
and then I have to stop
go back
just to give them the map
maybe even hold their hand
giving a few express directions
then watch
as the fog (maybe) begins to lift

and invariably
they slowly shake their heads
looking perplexed
they might even laugh
slightly amused
sometimes a little uneasy
as I hear them saying
I see the path
but I’ll be damned
if I know how you forged it
your mind, girl…
it’s a mess

sigh
don’t I just know it

1/30

The Splendour Of The World Around Me

I marvel at the splendour of the world around me
I am in awe of everything that God has created
My eyes feast on all these wonders I see
As I watch the miracle of life unfold each day

I see magic in the coming of dawn
When the sky brightens after a dark night
To welcome a new day in the rising of the sun

I see beauty in the falling darkness
When the stars twinkle in the milky way on a starry night
Or when the moon glows so bright on a moonlit sky

How life flows with time in a perfect cadence
Is a symphony conducted by divine hands
That puts everything on earth and in heaven
In perfect order and harmony and not by chance

125 words
85 unique words

#NaPoWrimo2019

1/30

Dear Storm Crow,

Do you plan
the disturbances?
Or do they sprout
organically from your
brilliant mind?
Do you, as they say,
wing it?

I won’t say there was
peace
before you came
into your own,
but there was
predictability.

But you,
I am not afraid to admit,
have made
Mischief
a proper noun.
It is the fifth person
in our four person
family.

I wonder, often,
what travels through your mind
at the speed of light.
What incites your body
to move
while the rest of us are content
in stillness?

What tectonic shift goads
your mouth to speak?

I guess it doesn’t really matter:
the inciting instances or tectonic shifts
or the unpredictability.
You are you,
Storm Crow.
Son of my blood and tears
and marrow.

If you always speak
in riddles,
I will love you
no less.      

Lakeside 1/30

You can spot his festivities,
twin blossoms swiveling
with his awareness
one step at a time. Passer-bys
confuse tenderness
for tenterhooks.

Eye sirens like pulsar stars,
they shutter shriller than,
and then, the trees. Subject
walks along the bank
and is the subject of a panel
at the American
Natural History Museum-

headlined under how lampshades
change and charge the walls
in dreams of information gathering
at the edge of black holes, there
endless light thinly licks
the zeroes. The sky

is a color leaking
through the lantern 
of your sealed mouth.
Pollen shakes as sound
scatters it, with it, from
the cerebral-like clumps
on legs of bees. This is how
I garner the existence of what
makes his head and everyone’s  

turn and blink through the yellow motes
made apparent, the sky highlights
those angled words as the bees
comet-tail them in this shallow hour.
I rub them into my meta-
carpals, for shapes
made of matters dark, for after-
images of anti-space.

#NaPoWriMo2019
117 unique/ 164 words

1/30

Adam'antly and Eve'ning

When comes Morning's early hour -
pristine and clearly crystaled flower
brilliant about me as this one -
round azure womb rebirthing sun -
bivoacked sky abound evacs night -
there's unmistakeable slanted light
speaking to me with great ease
of pleasing, infinite possibilities
that I pray to Heaven never ends
while on all fours, God Force Source
tends these Desires of mine and yours;
its knees muddied in Our
Garden of Eden








for Ahavati with Love 💜💑💋

inspired by Emily Dickinson's "There's a certain Slant of light" and "I dwell in Possibility"

1/30

Becoming A Poet: Notes of an Online Journal

“Becoming A Poet”

I’m not sure just when it started
But I knew this would be the best part.
A feeling, being down hearted,
Was about to be rendered as art.

I don’t know where it had come from,
If it slid down a chimney one day.
Did it march in, beating a drum,
Were there children outside fit to play.

I’m not sure how it created
The inspiration deep within me.
I felt the muse had related,
And was ready to set my soul free.

I don’t know just why it turned on,
If it wasn’t from pushing a plug.
I wonder, how long this goes on?
So much better than taking a drug.


82 unique words
8/9/8/9 syllable count


#NaPoWriMo2019
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019

NaPoWriMo 2019  -  April 1st  -  No:1 of 30


SLIPPING A THRESHOLD

It’s a little door for sure
that slips a threshold from one economy to the next
a pretext for grief and a practice of letting go

The heart has been burning its own messages
has been beating its own drum since before we were born,
clocking joy and sadness in a swinging rhythm

We ask: “is this slither of time all mine?”
“You know the answer already, yes you do” comes the response
“you are walking backwards along a narrow path

trusting each step, constructing meaning
out of the disappearing horizon. 30 poems
in 30 days lie hidden - and the texts are already pencilled in.


(106 words. 82 unique words)

1/30

Please Find Me

Let me speak out from beyond the grave
Only ever seek justice out in my name
For while I sit here flesh rotting from bones
Never being able to again return home
The guilty still walks and breathes in fresh air
Without a second thought, not a glance or a care
Yes I still can see them living out their life
While others try to figure it out amid strife
Here I am voiceless and yet still unfound
Buried not beneath dirt but the leaves on the ground
Undisturbed and still waiting for my voice to be heard
Though my lips have turned blue and cannot breathe a word
They bare the marks my fingers left upon their face
No I didn’t die pretty, filled with venom not grace
Fighting my damndest yet I was still no match
When I was fallen, there was no one to catch
Just covered with debris found oh so close
I’m still unsure of what I miss the most
Can someone please find me because I am still here
No closure to my fate, and the future so unclear
The evidence is degrading and slowly falling away
If this should continue, my killer free will stay.



4/1/2019
Unique words: 141

           

Southern Vittles

1/30

Hey darlin' are ya hungry?
does some breakfast sound good?
coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice
buttermilk pancakes drownin'  in syrup

later on for super
we'll have fried chicken and fried okra
black eyed peas and a mess of greens
cheesy shrimp and grits
UH UH UHNH, careful of the steam

Uh oh, you must be thirsty
do ya want sweet tea over ice
or if you'd rather have a coke
whatcha want...Mtn Dew, Dr Pepper or Sprite

WAIT  WAIT!  you can't go yet,
my feelin's will be hurt!
NO ONE EVER leaves this table
without having desert!

Mmmm, slice of sweet potato or pecan pie
perhaps my peach cobbler a 'la mode
Just taste it for me Honey!

I'm sorry...
I didn't mean to goad

1/30

Super Man's Last Flight

The B-24s, the Liberators,
The Second World War’s incinerators,
They dropped bombs all over the Pacific,
They were key to winning the war,
Legendary amid the corps,
They created a hell on earth that was horrific.

But the service men called them “flying coffins”,
Odds of surviving these missions weren’t too great,
And of all the glories of the men who told their stories,
This is the account of Super Man’s crew and their fate…

Phil and Cuppernell piloted the plane,
Lambert in the tail, Nelson along for the ride,
Brooks and Douglas were the waist gunners,
Exposed on the plane’s sides.

Glassman in the belly, Mitchell in the nose,
Pillsbury was the top turret gunner,
And Louie was the bombardier,
(He had been in the Olympics as a runner.)

Twenty three B-24s took off before dawn that April morning,
Deployed to destroy the enemy’s supplies,
Super Man led the way with the others on the wing,
On a mission sure to bring the adversary’s demise.

It was right after the bombing over the island of Nauru,
As the planes turned around heading back to base,
Japanese fighters converged on the bombers,
A vicious dogfight was about to take place.

The gunners fired away with all their fury,
The Zeros fired back and the tracers flew by,
Many bullets penetrated Super Man,
It was hell under a beautiful sky.

The plane rocked and twisted under heavy fire,
A cannon round struck Super Man in the tail,
Shrapnel tore into Lambert’s hip and leg,
They were unsure if they could prevail.   

In the belly Glassman had been hit,
Two hunks of shrapnel penetrated his back,
Adrenalized the gunner didn’t feel a thing,
But Nelson had been hit during the attack.

Then a shell blew a hole near the top turret,
Metal debris and blood was everywhere,
But yet somehow the top turret gunner carried on,
Pillsbury’s foot and knee were torn to shreds.

Louie went to help Brooks who was bleeding,
Lying on the catwalk over the open bomb bay,
As he dangled Louie pulled him back to safety,
But Brooks was hurt badly in the fray.

Douglas and Pillsbury still manned the guns,
While the other bombers encountered flak,
The two gunners kept their eyes open,
As two more Zeros moved in on the aircraft.

Pillsbury still wounded, his foot dangling,
Had a furious look on his face as he scanned,
He spotted the Zero coming toward them,
Thinking, I have to kill this man.

The Zero pilot drawing near hesitated,
That’s when Pillsbury shot heavy rounds,
The tracers penetrated the cockpit,
And took the Zero down.

A second later Douglas at the waist,
Shot down the last of the Zeros,
And if the plane made it back,
The crew would be hailed as heroes.

Still it was a five hour flight back to base,
Running out of fuel and with no landing gear,
Half the crew was injured and the plane was shot to hell
But crashing in the ocean was the biggest fear.

Louie bandaged and took care of the men,
While the pilots managed to fly the plane,
Most of them bleeding, one of them dying,
None of them would ever be the same.

Phil and Cuppernell made a hard landing,
The plane stopped at the runway’s end,
And all twenty-three B-24s made it back,
Though none were shot up as bad as them.

Medics took care of the wounded,
But the crew lost Brooks in the end,
With five hundred ninety four bullet holes,
Super Man would never fly again.

_____________________________________
594 Words
294 Unique
#NaPoWriMo2019 

1.

Words Over A Bridge


Dug the wily wizard guards the bridge:
standing watch over the Bridge of Stanzas
ever vigilant so that only the true poet may pass
while the rest can only gaze at the greener grass.
To prove that they are a poet true
three trialling testing challenges must be passed
that is all Dub asks for those who wish to pass.
Yet budding poet beware;
these terrifying tests have sent some mad
the writing strain proving too much for their brain.

Along came the first contestant,
dressed in fine Oriental garb
though in truth from central Texas,
and said this to the worm of words:
"honourable one
accept this given token
let me pass freely".

Then came the second
sporting a smirk and bounce in their step
a jolly hat perched askew on their head
and a bundle of puns under one arm,
they spoke to the squirm of syntax:
"There once was a writer
who was a bit of a fighter
with pen and sword
and many a word
was a satirical blighter."

Finally came the third
dragging reams and reams behind them
every page covered in blue language
an epic of their erotic odyssey,
they opened their mouth to recite their odious verse
but before they could
Dug zapped them with a spell
so they said instead:
"Oh to be a lonely cloud
and think above the world
far from the so maddening crowd
to fly unhindered above
basking in the sunshine
watching over all I love
that is my greatest desire
to be able to float freely
before I sadly expire".

Yet for all the Worm's wizardly wisdom.
poetic wiles and wordy cunning,
they had been outsmarted and undone
as the three poets joined hands
to cross the bridge together,
as Dug had forgotten to state that the three challenges
must be completed by each and every poet.
So it was that the wily worm was thwarted,
unable to wriggle out of this predicament
as countless poets flooded over the bridge
spouting poetry to all and sundry
oversaturating the world with poems
until no one wanted to read them anymore,
oh dear!

(Unique words: 213.)

1/30

TWO WORLDS, SIMULTANEOUS

i.

Walking on the Malecón
where everything is in a state
of decay and yet at once
so rambunctiously alive,

eyeing all the 1950s
American land-yachts,
carefully-yet-frugally maintained
because they have to be—

I feel at peace with the play
between entropic nature
and human technology, humbled
in La Habana, Cuba.

ii.

My parked company car’s
rear passenger window got smashed
(2018 model, fancy).
The window was pretty cheap to fix—

but flecks and scratches on the door
and microscopic defects in the paint
add up to thousands to be paid
because it has to be,

because you cannot sell
an un-whole company car
someday in the future
in America.


#napowrimo2019

FULL PLATE
Poem 1 of 30

Of me they say
“He'd be late for his own funeral”
To which of course I reply
Too many things to accomplish
Before I'm ready to die.

Contemplating
highest mountains to climb
arias I'll sing at the Met
countless autographs to sign
the billions I'll win with one bet

Pondering
the many novels I surely will  write
voluminous assemblages of poetry
for world peace, to end hunger I’ll fight
Olympic gold medals, skiing and archery

Tomorrow
I start implementing my plan
to each feat dedicating my all
now I must go work on my tan
binge watching my shows at nightfall

Title:   Night by Water  

Two of Thirty
Unique words: One Hundred and Ten

#NaPoWriMo2019

In the night, where red drips upon cream dress
I walk barefoot
beyond Rockhollow's garden gate, along the winding path of the reserve,
across thick litter and seaweed leaving stains upon calves,
to observe the boats beneath the New Moon.

I feist on the lapping of water,
it calms the war drum of my vessel.
I dance upon slate dressed canvas,
paint my face in stinking estuary soil.
I imagine you there across the bay
though you're barely even a ghost anymore.

The rain shower hits unexpected
as it does when taking for granted these
abnormal, hot Spring days.
Blood is washed from the stones and my feet,
I return to the garden by running, along newly compacted paths, up my hand cut deviation
where nettle and bramble leave their
lasting impressions.
Goodnight Mother Moon,
slumber in your quarter -
my fertile bones rest too.