Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo Competition
22/30
Proverbs [ NaPoWriMo 2019 Collection ]
III. Rules of the Game
vi. Nomenclature:
rules for naming systems
from relatively informal conventions
centering around political
and/or philosophical dominance;
theoretical linguistics connect
global existence: commonality
experienced through identification;
etymology reveals derivation
evolution per society—
namely among men;
History repeated itself over time;
no man without woman—
nor perfect Eden
unless contrasted by choice
In the beginning was Ferz
Wazir, Vizier, Hetman, Lipp
until finally a Queen
under Isabella I's reign
During such troubadour tradition
called courtly love, she arose
more powerful than any predecessor
essential to her king's survival;
if lost, nothing of value remains—
as though Adam, alone
holding only Eve's bitten apple
had he chosen obedience instead
"Long Live the Queen"
. . .
words: 105
unique: 105 ( sans end quote )
Proverbs [ NaPoWriMo 2019 Collection ]
III. Rules of the Game
vi. Nomenclature:
rules for naming systems
from relatively informal conventions
centering around political
and/or philosophical dominance;
theoretical linguistics connect
global existence: commonality
experienced through identification;
etymology reveals derivation
evolution per society—
namely among men;
History repeated itself over time;
no man without woman—
nor perfect Eden
unless contrasted by choice
In the beginning was Ferz
Wazir, Vizier, Hetman, Lipp
until finally a Queen
under Isabella I's reign
During such troubadour tradition
called courtly love, she arose
more powerful than any predecessor
essential to her king's survival;
if lost, nothing of value remains—
as though Adam, alone
holding only Eve's bitten apple
had he chosen obedience instead
"Long Live the Queen"
. . .
words: 105
unique: 105 ( sans end quote )
22/30
Poetic Medic
WAIT!
Before operating on this sterile
body of work occupying
intensive care - defibrillate!
Conditoned critical, my poetry
lying there under so many lamps
death near
Charging to 500 amps;
shouts
CLEAR!
Pulse returns
and it takes a breath
Rescuscitated, weak, restored
hereabouts to land of the living -
no longer terminally pathetic
destined for a morgue shelf
When it comes to honest critique
my dear Poetic Medic is kind
thoroughly giving of her healing self
for Ahavati with Love 💜😷💋
#HonestCritique
Poetic Medic
WAIT!
Before operating on this sterile
body of work occupying
intensive care - defibrillate!
Conditoned critical, my poetry
lying there under so many lamps
death near
Charging to 500 amps;
shouts
CLEAR!
Pulse returns
and it takes a breath
Rescuscitated, weak, restored
hereabouts to land of the living -
no longer terminally pathetic
destined for a morgue shelf
When it comes to honest critique
my dear Poetic Medic is kind
thoroughly giving of her healing self
for Ahavati with Love 💜😷💋
#HonestCritique
22/30 A Garden Pet
One day I was in Nana’s and Grandpa’s yard
in the early morning after spending the night
at their house and the flowers were waking up.
I looked beneath them and saw a tiny green
worm moving along, clambering over the bark
mulch and inching towards me.
I got down to ground level and put my ear close
to the ground and heard something like, ‘Someday,
you will write about all this and lots of people
will read it’, and I whispered in reply, ‘Someday
you will become a butterfly’, and heard,
‘So will you'.
I went inside to have breakfast.
I didn't tell Nana and Grandpa about the worm.
110 words, 80 unique
One day I was in Nana’s and Grandpa’s yard
in the early morning after spending the night
at their house and the flowers were waking up.
I looked beneath them and saw a tiny green
worm moving along, clambering over the bark
mulch and inching towards me.
I got down to ground level and put my ear close
to the ground and heard something like, ‘Someday,
you will write about all this and lots of people
will read it’, and I whispered in reply, ‘Someday
you will become a butterfly’, and heard,
‘So will you'.
I went inside to have breakfast.
I didn't tell Nana and Grandpa about the worm.
110 words, 80 unique
22/30
Bloody Sunday
I spent yesterday in the joy of sharing
with family and friends and it wasn't until
posting my 21 piece here that I turned on
the TV to find that hate had once again
reared it ugly head, this time in Sri Lanka
As I sit here now composing this, my
thoughts are not really here, but I will
carry on just like those who are victims
of the hate that plagues mankind, for to
do less would be to surrender to that evil.
84 words, 67 unique
Bloody Sunday
I spent yesterday in the joy of sharing
with family and friends and it wasn't until
posting my 21 piece here that I turned on
the TV to find that hate had once again
reared it ugly head, this time in Sri Lanka
As I sit here now composing this, my
thoughts are not really here, but I will
carry on just like those who are victims
of the hate that plagues mankind, for to
do less would be to surrender to that evil.
84 words, 67 unique
LADIES AND GENTS, POETRY!
Poem 22 of 30
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Made worse by no sleep and old age.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Haphazard the choice of the words I am linking.
Friend, come May, please cover my cage.
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Muse inspired well spring was once overflowing.
Now sputters barely trickling in place on the page.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Heart and soul naked myself overexposing.
Reluctant to tap my big barrel of rage.
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Resorting, en fin, to nonsensical rhyming
Lada lada weeda quoth the Vada va Vage.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Prone to hyperbole, incessant kvetching.
Not so subtly admonished to act my own age.
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Poem 22 of 30
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Made worse by no sleep and old age.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Haphazard the choice of the words I am linking.
Friend, come May, please cover my cage.
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Muse inspired well spring was once overflowing.
Now sputters barely trickling in place on the page.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Heart and soul naked myself overexposing.
Reluctant to tap my big barrel of rage.
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Resorting, en fin, to nonsensical rhyming
Lada lada weeda quoth the Vada va Vage.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Prone to hyperbole, incessant kvetching.
Not so subtly admonished to act my own age.
My brain cells depleted by rhythmically thinking.
Dear synapse please fire for this poem I'm inking.
Double post (excused for professional reasons)
Lakeside 21
It is a fact, a small fact. A known one
among our kind. Among the singed.
Among the moths of fringes and in their
fringes is this fact burnt from that what
we misunderstand as the moon in the kitchen.
It is a joyous metaphor of the night-blues.
There we edge drawers of butchers
and carvers. There we prosody
with the mashers and the strainers.
The boiling point and the preservatives,
the thermostat that will sink in a side.
All those are emotions ready at hand
for lamentations of frenulum hinges
creaking madly. Not only are we there
to surround ourselves with shadowy
flutters made large on the walls of trees
and flutes of frisson altercations in bubbly
angels, we exchange feelers and draw
the veins as vines. What is your
life story? Also another fact.
Lakeside 22
We say who we were right then.
Tell me, were you made to uncurl
your proboscis and bend the antennae
down as the television turns into dirty snow.
We disturb each other’s entry-ways
with tell me more, tell me more about the world
outside, I’ve just came from this place,
this cemented state,
something grey and narrow and it wasn’t the sky,
I barely made it out. The subject always
leaves the kitchen lights on with the grace
of a million moons. Somehow, we flew there
without science. Once upon a hot night,
I placed the volts of a blue moon as guard
and by morning I blew the ashes of splinter-
sized hands and an eye of a wing out the window.
Fire and wind, two kinds of flight and the Deaf
have just begun a wordless dream of day.
21: 87 unique words of 136
22: 100 unique words of 143
Lakeside 21
It is a fact, a small fact. A known one
among our kind. Among the singed.
Among the moths of fringes and in their
fringes is this fact burnt from that what
we misunderstand as the moon in the kitchen.
It is a joyous metaphor of the night-blues.
There we edge drawers of butchers
and carvers. There we prosody
with the mashers and the strainers.
The boiling point and the preservatives,
the thermostat that will sink in a side.
All those are emotions ready at hand
for lamentations of frenulum hinges
creaking madly. Not only are we there
to surround ourselves with shadowy
flutters made large on the walls of trees
and flutes of frisson altercations in bubbly
angels, we exchange feelers and draw
the veins as vines. What is your
life story? Also another fact.
Lakeside 22
We say who we were right then.
Tell me, were you made to uncurl
your proboscis and bend the antennae
down as the television turns into dirty snow.
We disturb each other’s entry-ways
with tell me more, tell me more about the world
outside, I’ve just came from this place,
this cemented state,
something grey and narrow and it wasn’t the sky,
I barely made it out. The subject always
leaves the kitchen lights on with the grace
of a million moons. Somehow, we flew there
without science. Once upon a hot night,
I placed the volts of a blue moon as guard
and by morning I blew the ashes of splinter-
sized hands and an eye of a wing out the window.
Fire and wind, two kinds of flight and the Deaf
have just begun a wordless dream of day.
21: 87 unique words of 136
22: 100 unique words of 143
22/30
Carrie Lou
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
Your name pierces my fragile ears
Sisters follow your tattered staff
And gather in scarlet tents
I beg you to repent
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
You’re blinded by your craft
The devil lives inside of you
How many matches does it take
To finally burn yourself?
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
Master pretender
Earth bender
Magic defender
Hell sender
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
Leave your wicked ways
Burn these books of yours
Set these women free
Before they know they’re deceived
Carrie Lou
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
Your name pierces my fragile ears
Sisters follow your tattered staff
And gather in scarlet tents
I beg you to repent
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
You’re blinded by your craft
The devil lives inside of you
How many matches does it take
To finally burn yourself?
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
Master pretender
Earth bender
Magic defender
Hell sender
Carrie Lou, Carrie Lou
Leave your wicked ways
Burn these books of yours
Set these women free
Before they know they’re deceived
Tactility
(Twenty-Three of 30 -- Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2019)
A swallow hard from petrified mouthed fluidity
and I am giddy with delight as each cell with
in and without vibrates against the walls of
one another to the point where I don't know if
I want to vomit what little every other day
consumption is left or if I merely need to don
a warmer jacket to ward off the shivers caused
by goose bumps from our vibrating skin on skin
contact from when You touch me.
Touch me again
please...
#NaPoWriMo2019
82 words
65 unique
(Twenty-Three of 30 -- Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2019)
A swallow hard from petrified mouthed fluidity
and I am giddy with delight as each cell with
in and without vibrates against the walls of
one another to the point where I don't know if
I want to vomit what little every other day
consumption is left or if I merely need to don
a warmer jacket to ward off the shivers caused
by goose bumps from our vibrating skin on skin
contact from when You touch me.
Touch me again
please...
#NaPoWriMo2019
82 words
65 unique
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
With No Other: Notes of an Online Journal
23/30
“With No Other”
I give in to the time that is left.
Let me lay with you, my mother.
Let me see the stain and hold your breath
These few minutes with no other.
As I watch your eyes of cataracts
With the thoughts I cannot discern,
Why we didn't know each other then,
And never had the chance to learn.
We were both brought close again to burn.
I’m alive with you just as when,
With your silent words you hide a yearn,
You would make it happen again.
The trees are naked of leaves and hawks,
Though Spring’s in my veins, I’m bereft.
To follow you on those quiet walks,
I give in to time that is left.
81 unique words
9/8/9/8 syllable count per stanza
#NaPoWriMo2019
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
23/30
“With No Other”
I give in to the time that is left.
Let me lay with you, my mother.
Let me see the stain and hold your breath
These few minutes with no other.
As I watch your eyes of cataracts
With the thoughts I cannot discern,
Why we didn't know each other then,
And never had the chance to learn.
We were both brought close again to burn.
I’m alive with you just as when,
With your silent words you hide a yearn,
You would make it happen again.
The trees are naked of leaves and hawks,
Though Spring’s in my veins, I’m bereft.
To follow you on those quiet walks,
I give in to time that is left.
81 unique words
9/8/9/8 syllable count per stanza
#NaPoWriMo2019
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
23/30
something totally opposite
let me be starry-eyed. don't give me the burden of knowing I sipped on your mental energy
with my fumbling.
Yes, quite simply, dear
craftsman I do revere -
if you want to growl at me,
have a reason.
Forgive me if I'm made of meat.
Small. Tempting to pick off.
Go ahead.
But I am just being.
I won't bother running
when we're both the same species;
I may be far smaller
and clumsy, yes, with wobbly baby gazelle
steps.
I am stumbling into growth.
I'm unashamed of
having just learned,
first tasted
fresh-found freedom.
It is honest and it is joy.
Nothing has tried me yet,
been inscribed in me yet -
for now I chase these young, gory spurts,
the blood
of the type of Art
I am seeking.
Also, in fact, the unabashed bones.
The smooth, sacred skin
will come one day.
First I need insides.
something totally opposite
let me be starry-eyed. don't give me the burden of knowing I sipped on your mental energy
with my fumbling.
Yes, quite simply, dear
craftsman I do revere -
if you want to growl at me,
have a reason.
Forgive me if I'm made of meat.
Small. Tempting to pick off.
Go ahead.
But I am just being.
I won't bother running
when we're both the same species;
I may be far smaller
and clumsy, yes, with wobbly baby gazelle
steps.
I am stumbling into growth.
I'm unashamed of
having just learned,
first tasted
fresh-found freedom.
It is honest and it is joy.
Nothing has tried me yet,
been inscribed in me yet -
for now I chase these young, gory spurts,
the blood
of the type of Art
I am seeking.
Also, in fact, the unabashed bones.
The smooth, sacred skin
will come one day.
First I need insides.
Ahoy there, Crew and Landlubbers following along!
( ( ( thudddd-dunnng thuddd-dunnng thuddd-dunnng ) ) )
Awwww!
Thesaurus Rex hatchlings!
Aren't they just the cutest things?!
Unfortunately
Katja saw the little buggers
stopped to play with them
and was caught in their mama's
Antonym!
She too was changed into swine
prancing absolutely divine in a tutu
soon to dine with the lumbering beast
during a toasted marshmallow feast
and after a few dirty martinis
be hugging coconut trees!
The fastest one back to the beach
was none other than Jade-Pandora -
as Captain's Johnny & Ahavati
pointed the direction from vines-
for the rest were dismally dizzy
as they not so cleverly zigged and zagged
while the Thesaurus Rex lagged behind, busy
nuzzling and kissing her own tiny kind
However, what was puzzling was
one hatchling from the batch went
missing .....
Team Members, thank you for your reports - they have all been addressed.
* If you have already submitted your Twenty-third offering, it will be reflected on tomorrow's update.
Don't forget to check out your features rotating on the front page of our website and daily on our social network accounts:
http://poeticmedics.com/ https://www.instagram.com/poeticmedics/
https://twitter.com/poeticmedics?lang=en
Also on DUP's facebook. instagram, and twitter, so be on the lookout for your flag flying the mast!
https://www.facebook.com/DUpoetry/
https://twitter.com/DUPoetry
https://www.instagram.com/dupoetry/
https://www.pinterest.co.uk/dupoetry/visual-poems-from-du-poetry/
Words on a Canvas group:
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/groups/words-on-a-canvas/discussion/
Happy Poeting, Team Napo'19!
legend:
✔✔✔ = 3 Weeks
