Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2020 Competition

# 29 of 30

From The Belov’ed

After l have a microwaveable
half chicken pot pie for dinner
I mute the news according to
Trump to fix some Twinnings,

then put my feet up for a read
of verse chosen by Jackie O.
I gradually realize it’s outside
there’s the lilting mesmerized

vibe of a middle eastern sing
drifting from out a screenless apartment window where we
are all isolated now that night

has fallen & the courtyard is
serenely still around the pool.
The older man is Arabic I think
while he’s accompanied by a

woodwind, a drum & dog bark,
ending as the front gate clIcks.
His voice like the desert wind
dying at sunset, and the flute

dances, whirling like a dervish
with the right hand held open
and up to receive God’s grace
the left hand faces downward

toward the earth to give that
grace & light to a new world.
Floating by the pool and up to
my window where I’ve moved

aside the rose drapes to feel
a clean fresh evening breeze
upon my face & neck & arms.
I have no need to understand

the words as they are mystic,
for at last after all this year &
year before, after millions are
gone, a novel miracle is come

for in-spite the machinations
to transcend this pandemic !
Where in the wake of all this,
there will be no celebrations.

For those of us who are able,
we’ll wish only to venture out
to nowhere in particular with
no gloves, no masks, no fear.

We’re too weak for Nirvana’s
blessing to soak in, taking us
time to connect as survivors;
To touch and to be touched.

None

Greetings, NaPo'ers!  If you find yourself dipping your toes in the swells of Neptune, you have successfully made it to Day 29!  Can you BELIEVE IT?!  

EPISODE 29/30

Technically, being NaPoWriMo participants themselves, Blaze and Deannavati were not allowed to cross the Writer's Blockade until midnight of April 29th - the soonest their Final Entries were permitted.

Unfortunately, the home worlds of the Clingforms and Rhymulans were located in a time zone a few hours ahead of Earth ( another reason for which  they were able to get through the barrier sooner ).

It was always something going sideways.

Although, on the bright side, no one had tried to eat our Poetic Federation protagonists in the last few episodes!

However, this didn't stop Blaze and Deannavati from forum-ulating a plan to get the Muses back before the Clingforms and Rhymulans got their filthy hands feet all over the precious poetry books.

Firstly, our Federation heroes beamed the seven slugs onto the Rhymulan vessel, who stealthily slimed their way through the vessel until finding the engine room. Forming a cheerleader pyramid, the uppermost slug performed a bellywhopflop onto the Electromagnetic Ellipsis that Sex_on_the_Joe had removed from the USS Underground.

The Rhymulan ship was rendered powerless - stalled, but still drifting on a collision course with the Stanza.

Secondly, they beamed the three Metronomes and BATMAN onto the Clingform ship, who hurriedly hacked its computer - then installed the Khanqueror Worm virus, which had hitched a ride out of Shadoa Nohurryatall's bladder on a kidney bean sized stone. socksscareme was able to lull the angry little bugger to sleep with a lullaby, allowing LunaGreyhawk to mind meld and hypnotize it with a single command prompt: ram the nearest Rhymulan warship.

Thirdly, the Metronomes beamed BATMAN aboard the USS Stanza.

Fourthy, BATMAN beamed the slugs and the Metronomes aboard the USS Stanza ... and, PHEW! It was just in the nick of time!

The two alien warships collided like pinballs and spun off into deep space.

All the Poet Wardens high-fived each other! The USS Stanza was saved, the Muses would soon be recovered and NaPo participants were beginning to break through the Writer's Blockade!

Now THAT is what you call a TEAM EFFORT.

29/30
The Wine

Will we plant that vineyard we always talked about
across the big house painted in mulberry mauve
aslant to mid-hills, sprawled with visceral offerings
each vine twisting in pleasures of here and now.
Limbs upon limbs, flesh flushed with a slight tint
dipped in writer’s tears rewriting the book of love.
Warmth of the light, cool of the dark, mellow’d wine
overflow from the golden chalice one last time.

O’ Gods of the earth, bless me some.

No shadow can sustain what flawed heart knows
no poetry, no prose with exquisite metaphors, veiling
the lines dripping from side of the mouth, veined like
an orison hymn.  Eyes wide shut we bury the seeds
in the bosom of the earth, pouring rivers of dreams
evolving, encircling upon itself soaking the void within
yet; I cannot satisfy the longing I crave for your lips
pearling ruby pearls to whispers one last time.

O’ Gods of the earth, bless me some.

NaPo 2020, April 29th

29/30


WHATEVER ONE’S TAKE

People opting to stay in their homes
are they afraid of death … or life?
Life’s full of risk, like crossing the road
but does that mean lock-down is now the new code?
Keeping one’s distance, wearing a mask
is that the solution, forever a task?
Depriving our bodies of vitamin-D
or crouching inside, afraid to be free?
Isolation, the cranked-up new norm
or lonely as ever, just like before?
Doing our bit to ‘flatten the curve’
or battered, frustrated, and twanging our nerves?
Loving the solitude, peace and the quiet
or frantically stressed with children a riot?
Watching our decades of work disappear
we’re living in hope or living in fear?
A fine chance to grow, expand consciousness
or wrecking the future, a horrible mess?
Clarity gained with friends who will hug
or neighbours who snitch, scared of a bug?
Dividing-to-rule with liberties gone
or communal spirits and acting as one?
Whatever one’s take, examine the flow
of money and power as upwards they go.

(twenty-nine of 30 - Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2020)
April’s Agathokakological Arduousness


i suppose this spill, its gist, the meaning
is all wrapped up neatly in its Title, its
nomenclature.

At last, only two toiling tasks to go;
No more tiresome tangents taken
(un-full)filling hours of trying to
dig up prompts from an emptied
pail of brain matter sweating out
fifty unique letters strewn together
foaming at the mouth forming
words thereby creating another
spill.

Thing is, after You peruse
this one of two,
there lies only one more
spill to spill –

Whew!





____________________
#NaPoWriMo2020
82 words  
64 unique

#29
Stars

at times in our lives
we are writers

stuntmen  producers directors
technical advisors editors

sometimes caterers
makeup artists graphic artists
wardrobe specialists sound makers

each of us stars in our own movie

while also playing characters
in other’s productions

in our own movie
we are the celebrity star

in other’s we may be bit actors
co stars walk ons or extras

what is your role today?

(C) 2020 Raibeart Bruis

29/30

Without You

These tears I expel
Exile me to solitude
I drown in my cell
Depraved of water and food
Uranus seems so close
But Mars is my home
Absorbed in secluded throes
I travel alone
Vultures swarm in circles
Awaiting my demise
They sync in rehearsal
Ready to pluck my eyes
I’m stranded on an island
Shipwrecked and left for dead
Thoughts of personal violence
Swim like sharks in my head
What’s the point of life
If I can’t live it with you
Slice my wrists with a knife
I’d rather Die
Then live my life
Without you

# 29 of 30

Cycle

I can't believe  how quick
The flight of time while on quarantine,
The  days of April quietly walked by
Amid the rush and chaos of the pandemic.
Only one day is left in the NaPoWriMo2020,
Just one more spill to complete,
Just one more day to cross
And the competition will be over.
The days coming after this will pass slowly,
Akin to the flowing of the river following its course,
As it flows to the sea, quiet and unhurried.
The days would march forward, without much significance, as I wait for this quarantine and lockdown to be lifted.
I can go back to my books and read,and write at my own leisure and pace.
Days would turn into weeks,  weeks would turn into months, and months would turn into a year that is over and gone.
The cycle is completed and another cycle begins.
A new challenge will start, another beginning will take place,
And another surprise will be waiting.
A new memory will be woven
As time flows ceaselessly to infinity.

29/30

A Note to Bystanders

I never predicted tragic outcomes, or caused them
No..
But ask me, was my biggest mistake enabling them, if I could stop everything?
Yes.

Being a bystander in the midst of chaos feels just as bad as the perpetrator to a jumbled mess
It does
And expecting a rescuer, is like picking up my broken uke, playing it on the assumption it miraculously mended itself
I’m no miracle worker
I’m not.
They don’t save bystanders
They don’t.

Confidence is key, they say
But I’m not good at listening
Or keeping keys, they tend to go missing
It seems this time, I’ve lost everything
Even my will to change
If bystanders were ever good at anything
It would be watching
That they’re good at
They are.

My note to you, in these final lines
Hints to the fact you ought to stand up for what’s right
Don’t watch a fight turn into war

But remember, if you do
You have no right to judge the outcome that disappoints a bystander
I get it

Do you?

29/30
caught in the rain

Getting caught in the rain on the way home
In gloom city, it was inevitable --
Sharing a small umbrella, creating splashes on
Neon-lit puddles --

Oh how, how did I get here?

The trip on the sea to the city --
I longed for something new.
I did not expect the

Brightness and lightness
With a place so
Associated with its notorious
Dark nights.

Yet here, almost midnight,
Caught in the rain and un-piña colada-ed --
All my tropical childhood memories seem to have
Powered my smile and his.

It's not always like this.
Eclipses will be forever coming and going,
And the abyss not forgotten.
Monsters and skeletons
Bang,
Or creep silently,
Regularly --
Yet he never gave up on me.

Calloused fingers keep me grounded.
And I promise him me as a safe place to land.

From adrift,
Oh how, how did I get here?

The little droplets from the sky
Remind me of girlhood summers, unworried.
Now a drizzling baptism
To the newly hopeful.

And I came to the city curious to its
Depths and secrets and
My kinship to its darkness --

Yet I found more --

I found the good in the old
Memories,
They became lit up by sunlight,
Or by a signal --
And I found him,
Closer -- all along,

Dear hope,
Let it rain;
I found the words again.

229 words
141 unique

29/30

Wanderlust

occasionally I am
overcome by the need
to escape into the wild blue
or whatever realm passes
for such in this modern world
but I’ve never felt the urge
to lace up my walking shoes
or pack a bag for travel;
every place I’ve ever wanted to go
has always been found between
musty covers and torn dust jackets,
in the yellowed, rough cut pages
where anything can happen
if only the scenery has been painted
vividly enough to leave me breathless,
my bones aching, infused with adventure
while I sip tea from my heavy mug
held tightly with both hands
cocooned within my favorite chair
wrapped in a blanket I made for myself,
and reading glasses I keep forgetting
are resting atop my head

Unique Word Count:  96

#29 of 30

Garbage
(c) Sweet Oblivion 29.4.20

When you listen to the garbage and the lies
The government, so pompously, supplies,
As they find the 'Covid' Crisis
Is rather worse than ISIS,
Each person has to laugh (in case one cries);

They tell us that it is unprecedented
To have these deaths with illnesses untended;
Through social isolation,
They've prevented integration;
But have locked us down at home, (which we've resented);

There are lies, damned lies and, then, statistics: 
A base for garbled garbage (Did you miss it?);
Still, the lack of a vaccine
And PPE, I mean(!): 
It is enough to make you go ballistic.

79 unique words
99 words