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Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo Competition

poet
Josh
Dangerous Mind
Portugal
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Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 264


NaPoWriMo 2019  -  April 22nd  -  No:22 of 30


VILLAGE THRESHING-ROCK

Right up close
on the south side of our house
lies the village threshing-rock
held in common, owned by no-one -
though no longer used
for its original purpose.
It carries unknown histories
dating back centuries
holding stories of a stage
in making bread.
Vertical integration. From farm to table.

Three hours ago it had a heap of my lenha* on it
so I got up early to wheelbarrow and stack it under cover
before it got too hot to work
before the forecast rain came (which it might not).
Then I brushed the rock clean of bark and bits
as a ritual to honour its longevity.
I took the photo ten minutes ago
and sat down in the garden to write this.
It’s 10.45 a.m. Time for breakfast now.
The bread will taste different today.


(136 words. 103 unique words.  * ‘Lenha’ is the Portuguese word for wood, cut & split ready for the wood-burning stoves)

poet
FromTheAsh
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 20th Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 382

22 of 30

timeless


I can't remember where I heard it
but I never forgot the words
a society grows great
when old men plant trees whose shade
they know they shall never sit in

Greek...I think
but universal in content
how much better the world would be
if everyone acted from the goodness of heart
without thought of reward
but living by a compassionate conscience
thinking beyond even the lives
of our own sons & daughters
to an unseen distant tomorrow
where nothing is done with harmful intent
clear understanding
a stranger is merely an unmet friend
if I have
…and you need
I'll share
I'm not at all about greed
if we had a bit more of that
what a different place this would be
working together
hand in hand
benefits everyone
utopia, maybe
but I'd rather call it
reality

poet
JusTim_
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 22nd Jan 2017
Forum Posts: 112

22/30


Nothing


Woke to thoughts of nothing
no tired eyes, no remnant
of late night cries

but I'm sure that's about to change
because I know I'll think about her,
and mmm oh yeah yeah yeah her
and let's not forget about her
and those delectable words
damn she so makes me purr

my minds about to stir
as the sun licks my face
(or was that the dog?)

the skies are blue
with wisps of white trailing
a plane circles up above
and I see you

disrobed in the doorway
to my heart

could there be happiness on the horizon
the day will have to wait

poet
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 981

22/30

“True Sun” Rising: Day Twenty-Two

(a sonnet – embellished)
In pictures: truth – can this in words inspire?
The words that shade like painter’s even’ light,  
That rise in specters’ grace like brush-stroked fire,  
A silenced voice reused, a second sight.  
 
To give a form’s control to tangled thoughts,  
A mathematician’s curve to subtle words,  
That hold in perfect motion, moments caught,  
That sound like setting sun in ocean heard.  
 
A life has passed in passions’ cold destruct,  
Where “no existence” rules my muted heart,  
The “me” I might have been in love’s construct  
Negates in badger words and spite’s impart.  

How can my heart in chains begin to speak?    
How can a broken soul, a new soul seek?

I long for life all spent at end of day,
A single ho’ur held in sunset light.
An orange and yellow flame and then away,
From baby's breath to old man's bed, then night.

I long to live one hour in your heart,
Entwined in perfect passion's pure embrace.
True fi’re in old blood new life impart.
One touch, one kiss, may Time's cold hand erase.

I long to live one ho’ur in your sun,
That I should live a life before life's done.
(“True Sun” – G.C. 2013)


New Unique Words: 83

#NaPoWriMo2019

NaPoGloPoWriMo2019

poet
24601
John Brady
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 21st Jan 2017
Forum Posts: 135

22/30

The trampoline kid

So I’m in the store
and that damn fat kid
from across the way
was shuffling around

I entered
wearing sunglasses in the rain
after a weekend of celebrating
the death of Christ by becoming
an actual zombie

I’m in there buying food
trying to put meat on my plate
instead of the TV dinner puke
I’ve been slinging back for days.

He pushes past a frail woman
as she looses her footing,
his gut knocking over
a few cans on display

he tries the same with me
but my steel is pinning this kid
to shelves like vanilla pudding
squeezing through a strainer
as he finally moves back
admitting defeat.

Now Momma
never taught me much
but she did teach me
about respecting people.

I look behind at him
“what’s the matter with you boy,
you never said please in your life?”

He hadn’t.

I knew his old man ran off
with his secretary
when he was young
and the boy spent his time
filling his emotional hole
with candy

and his Momma
well, we hooked up
in a crazy night of screams
and she don’t treat that kid
as good as she saddles up.

That’s the thing about living;
people think they got an excuse
to be rude sons o’ bitches
because their wives left
or Daddy-o didn’t care

truth is
we’re all hurting, all of us
but here we are winging it,
waking up, making our way
to the store, celebrating
dragging our broke asses
around the block.

“Say please”
I growl from behind shades.

The kid looks up at me
and asks me real nice
as I let him pass me by,
watching him leave.

It’s not
about punishment

it’s about dignity,
learning kindness
one trauma at a time.

poet
rosegold
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 12th July 2017
Forum Posts: 58

*Note: double posting due to absence*

19/30

trying

I'm trying my best
pouring out every drop of energy
are my efforts not enough?
I'm spilling all over the table
with my shaking hands
what am I doing wrong?
they say try harder
but I can't steady myself
there's not much more I can do
they say I'm incompetent
maybe they're right
I never amount to anything
insufficient work
doesn't add up
no matter how long I struggle
I have nothing to prove
and everything to lose
I'm finally giving up
are you happy now?

poet
rosegold
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 12th July 2017
Forum Posts: 58

*Note: double posting due to absence*

20/30

hourglass

Whenever we're together, I'm constantly
watching the clock, dreading the
impending moment when I'll
inevitably have to leave
you and return to my
lonely dark room.
It's like there's
a glaring
hourglass
keeping watch
to make sure I don't
relax or have too much fun
reminding me that my time is
running out, and my peace will not last.
When the last grain falls, I count the ticking
seconds until I can turn it over again with you

poet
Sky_dancer
Dangerous Mind
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Joined 10th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 568

22/30

Superior Seeing

Into the world screaming, the baby cries, feeling fear, pain, myriad sensations and a solid sense of I.

Child of seven, rides, carefree, wind blowing in her hair, still she feels the same sense of self, even though not one thought, not one feeling, not one molecule of the baby she was is any more.

Teenager now, flirting with the boys, dancing into her bloom, flushed and thrilled with life, she still feels her I, as solid as the day she was born.

Young woman, pensive and searching, questioning the thread of life, remembering back to her youth when that feeling of "Oh, no, I'm back on the wheel" came to her. I, still there, that continuous self superimposed upon the ever-changing, impermanence of body and mind.

In the balance of midlife, she comes to view the I through wisdom's scope. Through anger, in fear, when making love, in sorrow, it's there, always there, the thread of "me".

The cause and basis of experiential existence: A mother leaves, the pain of I. A man invades, the shame of I. A father's madness, the fear of I. The changing of one mother to another, and another, the I's uncertainty.  The birthing of a child, the pride of I. The marrying of a man, the epochs of I. The finding of religions and paths, the searchings of I. The breakdown, the madness of I. The finding of him, the saving of I. The finding of wisdoms, the finding of I. The I looking at I, the I looking at I.

poet
SatInUGal
Kumar
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 31st Dec 2015
Forum Posts: 474

22/30

LITTLE CONVERSATIONS

Never has my life felt so much
Like a role in a dramatic film
As the moment right after
I forced myself
To ask her
That inevitable
And ridiculous question
And she responded with
The perfect song,
As if it had been selected
By a credentialed expert
For this exact spot
In the script.

I tip my hat to that expert,
My first love,
Cosmic big sister,
Dearest friend.


#napowrimo2019

poet
Summerrain75
Fire of Insight
Philippines
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Joined 6th Jan 2019
Forum Posts: 95

23/30


Music

I turn to music whenever I feel some heaviness in my heart
When nothing can stir my emotion
When I feel my heart is hardening a bit
When a sense of ennui engulfs me

Music has a way of reaching deep into my soul
It has a way of evoking feelings inside me
It brings out all my emotions to the surface

I find release in music
It helps me to unload the weight in my heart
As its soft and gentle melody awakens my humanness that feels so much

I feel more alive when I listen to music
Whatever I am feeling at the moment
Whether I'm happy or sad or empty

Sometimes I wonder why certain music affects me so deep
It tugs at my heartstrings
And makes my heart raw
It makes me cry silent tears on lonesome nights when I'm alone with just my thoughts and music for company


#NaPoWriMo 2019






poet
rowantree
Rowan E.
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 5th Aug 2015
Forum Posts: 150

22/30

look up!

I remember
being used to passing folks
and sharing a moment
or two:
once-overs,
smiles,
grins -
peeks into eyes,
into the day going on behind them -
into lives.
Lord, did I love it
when the modern world was that way.
Now on sidewalks
or even light-filled cozy cafés
it's like a satire -
like a commercial making fun of kids
like junkies clinging to plugs -
movie or show scenes
joking
about the terrifying thing
that nobody's
fucking looking up anymore.

I still catch my peeks,
get to feel like part of a species
and share a little presence
now and then;
the little glass screens
have got about nine of ten
among my peers
walking and texting through blind steps.
But I can't wail about it - they
haven't plucked out all the eyes yet.

Which is nice, yes.
Good to know I'm certainly not the only one
still admiring the sky.

poet
Viddax
Lord Viddax
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
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Joined 10th Oct 2009
Forum Posts: 6387

22.

Simply Elementary


Large and copious is this corpse;
a near uncountable body
of wicked work
which foul marks show,
battered and thumbed
what mad mind
could plumb to such dark depths?
To kill not with a swift strike
but ceaseless brutish battering
the sound shattering
sending teeth chattering
gossiping greatly
about the potential party
prone to vicious violence.
Each blundering blow
a significant stab
constituting criminal intent
consistent crime
upon a consistency,
callously enacted
with all the art and finesse
of a sledgehammer
against a porcelain-white paper-thin leaf
From the wreck
any amateur can easily detect
a long laborious line
boring in its trying toiling
so messy in its message
crude cumbersome movements
a curse upon such cowards!
It truly is a mystery
this murder consigned to history
going down in infamy
the shoddy ex-body
clearly saying
'they've got it in for me!'
as it lies languidly
for all to see and stare at.
A gruesome sight
in which only the perverse take delight
as all the parts are misplaced
all jumbled up, a stifling stiff;
what amateur constructed this corpse?
It reeks of the beginner
that dreams of aspiring higher
though this body has expired;
dead, dull, deceased.
A poor body of work to be sure,
yet not so sure of the instrument of death
for that could have been almost anything
from a poisonous pen
to a prattler s word;
forever going on and on
but never reaching anything of meaning,
always yearning yet never learning.
So it is
this body has been murdered
its entirety quite entirely dead
as deceased as the dumb dodo,
the perpetrator still at large
or at least in view of a few
where they remain
unskilled in all but kill
for they are a butcherer
quite blind to all but their own words;
an utter idiot of idioms
who murders the language
leaving only a corpse to remain
a bloated body or work,
the tone so forced and unnatural
that it is a crime against poetry and prose.

(Unique words: 203.)

poet
wallyroo92
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 730

22/30

The Legend of Relámpago


I’m going to tell you a story about a masked avenger,
Faster than Zorro and more agile than a luchador,
He fought for those who couldn’t defend themselves,
I’m talking about the one and only – Relámpago!

He had been a lawyer and a local sheriff,
In a small quaint town just north of Mexico,
And one day after the mafia couldn’t buy him,
They killed his family with one harsh blow.

His family’s funeral took place on a rainy day,
Even then the mafia would still not let go,
He was attacked in the middle of their burial,
And left for dead under the storm’s shadow.

As he laid there dying he swore an oath,
To avenge his family and everyone in the pueblo,
Just then a bolt of lightning brought him back,
With a new found strength and name – Relámpago!

He struck fear in the hearts of evil men,
Seeking justice for average Jose (or Joe),
And when he’d catch his killers in fear they would say:
Es el diablo! To which he replied: No Relámpago!

He was lightning fast with punches and spin moves,
Evading their knives and daggers anything they’d throw,
And legend has it that he could even dodge bullets,
Adding to the fame and therefore the name – Relámpago!

Folklore says that when he walked into a cantina,
He would order a glass of agua fresca made from aloe,
Anyone who didn’t want to die would then clear the room,
Because the man in the mask was the legendary Relámpago!

--------------------
257 Words
161 Unique
#NaPoWriMo2019 

poet
Heaven_sent_Kathy
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 1st Nov 2017
Forum Posts: 104

22/30

Cycle: Notes of an Online Journal

”Cycle”


With the tread a blur
When I pump the pedals ‘round,
And the gentle whir
As I cycle through the town

This dark early morn’
In a fog of muted sound,
Distant thoughts forlorn,
Tiny glimpses lost and found.

Shades of slate surround
All the colors of the past,
Haunt a battleground
Where my fate in Time is cast.

Never mind, I say,
In a caution that I rasp,
Back to where someday
When my journey ends at last.




syllable count per stanza: 5/7/5/7
unique words: 60

#NaPoWriMo2019
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019

poet
ImperfectedStone
P M Banks
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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Joined 10th Oct 2010
Forum Posts: 1077


Title: Blossom for Bedtime
Twenty Two of Thirty
Unique Words: Eighty-Three

#NaPoWriMo19

Ten cherry blossoms hanging in a line,
the wind ripped through and now there are nine.

Nine cherry blossoms on the tree as weight,
a tit bounced on a branch and now there are eight.

Eight cherry blossoms are eye-catching in Devon,
a child ran fast and now there are seven.

Seven cherry blossoms dangling from sticks
the rain beat down and now there are six.

Six cherry blossoms, fresh and alive,
a squirrel lept over and now there are five.

Five cherry blossoms, high above the meadow floor,
dog jumped for ball and now there are four.

Four cherry blossoms clinging to the tree, the gardener brushed by and now there are three.

Three cherry blossoms, quite pink against the blue,
Mother picked some for a vase and now there are two.

Two cherry blossoms cling together in the Sun,
a pigeon planned a nest and now there is one.

One cherry blossom with it's work quite done,
it flutters to the floor and now there are none.

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