Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2020 Competition

#1 of 30

Ghosts That Wear the Dust of Shattered Stars

We ghosts that wear the dust of shattered stars,
That shield the rising dawn in cobweb’s silk.
Refuse to live our single day’s become,
But rather fear, regret, its coming loss.

How quick we are to fill our lives with things,
How quick the loss of things becomes our fear.
Those things that take the form of demon gods,
Those things that steal the joys our day would spend.

The naked sun should warm our naked flesh,
The running water sooth our fevered wants,
To close our minds to all the has not been,
To linger in this single moment’s soul:

That press of lover’s warmth in summer throws,
That weight of eager rush as each relents.
We sold to thoughts of how we’ll meet their end.
We ghosts that wear the dust of shattered stars.

1/30

The Three Month Old King

Come in little new year, crawl right in
shy of four months with a halo of a dead moon
‘round your reared head, bearing headline news
we were worried on arrival, speculating
the unimaginable: pains, gains and heartbreaks
carrying last year’s wars, bombs and shrapnel
to cut right through the skin
revealing disease of all mankind
on full volume topping the charts.
A Corona…the coronet of your 3 month reign
but we both know the core of the truth
there are just too many of us populating the earth
destructing more than constructing
undeserved to live longer than we should
on someone else’s watch
which stopped ticking at quarter to two.

I won’t slap your back for a job well done
nor hear you wail at thieves of the sun
cutting from one end to patch another
each on its own solitary road to hell.
I won’t confess my sins, nor yours
on wobbly knees in the church of obsoletes
the holy water is someone else’s piss
and the communion wafer is laced
with Monsanto blessings, instead
I will suck the air my neighbor breathes
eat the words tossed carelessly, and
lick the walls my government builds
washing it down with a cheap bottle of booze
and a dose of faith to taste the color of hope.
After all,  “In God We Trust.”

1/30

Appeal

Said the poet in his desperate hour:

A supplication to the gods who feast
upon the pain-varietals of man;
An entertaining tease to pass the time
as ages wilt and rot eternally.
I sing a song that you may slake the thirst,
or rather, give you cause to let it slip
your mind, a willed omission. In repense,
confer upon you something to be told
when you, your greatest cravings cannot sate.
Thus is what I offer greater still
than any fleeting bliss you may derive
from all my fleeting mortal agony.

Though well you know the Earth in final hours,
succumbs, below, to man’s advanced disease,
I doubt you’ve heard of Fe, it’s matron high
and tireless devotee to her kin.
A hidden gem beneath the soot that smears
the earth; the faintest smile of love upon
The face of those that perish bearing young.
What horror could befall this votary wife
and tireless toiler in her family’s name
to cause her to neglect her constant watch
and lead her to this humble bar to drink?
A drunkard wanders near her, beckoning
through slurry tongue and eyes half cocked, for drink--
his plea is met with silence like a grave.
In hanging air, he senses her reply,
begins to set his sights on someone else,
when lifting up her head she thus replies:

Alright, I’ll keep you in your slurry state,
enhance your blurry eyes with further smear
on one condition: carry what I say
and tell the family of the one I held
and buried in the woods surrounding. Lest
my guilt should go untold, their anger stayed
when payment through my heart should rightly pass.

# 1 of 30

Covid 19: Fatal Kiss[b]
The world is in turmoil
As frontliners fight blindly in all fronts
To contain the deadly virus
That has taken the world by surprise

People are helpless amidst its silent attack
Doctors and nurses are groping in the dark
Fighting this invisible enemy
At the cost of their lives

Covid 19 spares no one
Young and old, rich and poor alike
Succumb to its fatal kiss

Yet, hope is not lost
At the end of this battle
Humanity will rise again
From this rampage

Life will be different
But more meaningful
As people realized the gravity of lost that this virus has caused

(one of 30 - Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2020)
Addlepated


To be “right”
verses
To be “kind”

I will ever choose the latter.

Meditating amidst a flood
of my own choosing
wondering, does it truly matter --
better yet,
WHY, to some, DOES IT MATTER!?

If You disagree with me
OK.
If You agree with me
OK.
Either option should be without
ego, right?

I am bedeviled
by energies
on both sides of the fence
slapping me awake
from a muddled nap
and indolent dreaming

making me happy
for social distancing!



_______________________
#NaPoWriMo2020
81 words  
64 unique

1/30

Mars at Jupiter’s End

Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity,
Gigantic and majestic reigns supreme,
While Mars, the Bringer of War,
Echoes in the distance like a dream.

Perhaps it’s the giant’s breathtaking presence,
That portrays such power and magnitude,
Yet in the shadows there’s a coming resonance,
Personified by a fierce and ferocious attitude.

But at the end of Jupiter’s glorious suite,
There’s a sweet and explosive harmony,
The brutal Mars bars percussive attack,
All come together, deafening and artfully.

# NaPoWriMo2020
76 words
57 unique

#1
April Rap

i got the

jewels

ain’t eatin” no

gruels

or

toadstools

just gotta follow the

rules

like at the swimming

pools

or the housing

modules

you might think you’re

cool

but i ain’t no

mule

so give up the

tools

don’t want no

duels

scary

ghouls

or messy

drools

don’t try to pull over the

wools

i been to some

schools

enjoyed a few

yules

you’ve reached the end of this

spool

don’t want to hear no

mewls

just go out and

engage those

April

fools

1/30

All Good Things of this Earth...

The jazzy beats are on again --
Fighting with the next door neighbor's children's screams --
Over an off-key diva two doors over,
Over the nonstop yammering of a raging mother.

These are the storms, the storms --
The thunders not of comforting chaos but
A huge
Fucking mess
Of a living
Leaving the lonely with her rattling bones in the night,
Staring out weary
Of this world around her.
Wistful of mists,

Imprisoned --
Caught in a craze of fighting over
A rusty crown
For a dusty castle.

Oh, to be free once more.
Oh, to feel all the small things,
All the good things missed --

A friendly laugh and a warm smile,
Tight hugs and conversations over stars --
The fancy and fanciful
Exploding colors --

The thunder

With the comforting weight of a good heavy rain,
The waves engulfing as if a hug to wayward thoughts --
The trees, perhaps --
The towers, perhaps --
Imposing over
Me.

All the small things,
All the good things,
All good things of this earth...
Missing.

Missed.


168 words
102 unique

1/30

Learning to Make Biscuits

Completely alone for the first time.
Ten year old big shot –
biscuit loving
neighbor Papaw
alone for the day too.

Step ladder flour reaching,
every day spoons instead of
measuring spoons,
bravado of an
“I’ve only cooked with Mom,
but I can do this,”
kid.

Every surface dusted with
flour fingertips –
oven knobs, cabinet doors,
brand new cookbook for kids,
black Michael Jackson t-shirt.

I read the recipe four times.
Followed every step.
Patted my dough out,
used a water glass to cut them,
brushed the tops with butter,
placed them in the oven.

Set the timer and prayed.

Fifteen oven watching minutes
and my bravado
proved true:
Golden, perfect biscuits
now cooled on my mom’s
flour covered counter.

A call to biscuit loving,
neighbor papaw
had him sitting with me,
sweet tea in hand,
in front porch rockers with a plate
of biscuits and strawberry jelly
between us.

And he took a bite -
Eyes wide, slow chewing,
throat clearing.

Then I took a bite.
Sweet Lord in Heaven,
It was terrible.

Terrible in the way that I,
to this day,
still remember the taste.
My face hot,
nothing to do with a summer morning.
A whispered
“you don’t have to eat it,”
shuddered out between tears.
But he ate them anyway.
Two of them, in fact.
(With copious butter and jelly.)

That was the day I learned that
Love eats the terrible biscuits.
And thanks you for the time it took
and hugs your neck.

Then takes you back in the house –
teaches you the difference between
self-rising and all-purpose flour,
how you level off your measuring cups,
what the recipe actually means when it says
one teaspoon.

I learned that love keeps
no record of wrong,
but it ain’t willing to let you
stay wrong either.

*
183 unique words

#1 of 30

Sweet Oblivion

It just so happened that day
I had swallowed oblivion
My neck bent at obscene angle
Prevented uvula from any good intent
My eyes round with belladonna
Had stared longingly
Towards someplace lovely
And in the safe distances
Outside myself and the dirty wall
Outside of a house made of cards
Beyond black walls of grinning Jacks
Somewhere inside the celestial body of grace
There, existed love
Existed family
Existed Man bound by God's good covenant
And existed pardon by that same God
And so in that happenstance
Now written, Sweet Oblivion
By touch of warm hand on cold skin
Self was forced out of my flesh
By some merciful act
Of some unknown savior

#1 of 30

A Passing Storm

Rain pounds on the metal roof
Water dripping into the attic from an unforeseen hole
A flash illuminates my dark room
Thunder growls, low and strong, vibrating my core
Swelling to it's peak
A perfect harmony of nature fills the night
Water
Light
Sound
As quick as it came, it passes
Clouds taking it all away
The night plunges back into darkness
Trickles of water dripping off wet surfaces are the only sounds left
The once dry air now filled with cool moisture

scribbles in a poet's diary #01
(01 of 30—Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo2020)

scribble #01: odessa sings alone

thom-fool day
when sages congregate
and fools anticipate
the trembling of their punny bone
odessa sings alone
night and day
harp music fills her soul
as march goes on parole
may time not guzzle all my days
nor steal my spirit's praise
straightaway

this april day is but the first
nor can its prospects be reversed

© Copyright 2020 April 01
by Clyve A. Bowen♫

________________________________
NaPoWriMo2020—April 01
Total Words 56
Unique Words 50

calamitygin said:#1 of 30
Sweet Oblivion
By touch of … hand


1/30

Finding My Hair (c) Sweet O 1.4.20

Your cold hand finds my hair, as does the brush,
You tended my locks with; and, so, I rest
And close my eyes: the memory is lush,
As was your company: you were the best,
Lost friend a girl could have; you reassured
Me once, but, on this first day after death,
The most I hope for is others, once cured,
Won't feel this loneliness; now you're sans breath
I do not wish to dance or have the fun
I had before lockdown; and this disease
Stole you and all my happiness; I'm one
Who will try not to be sad or to grieve;
And, so, I chat with your ghost - I declare
How you allay my tears. And brush my hair.  

83 unique words
122 words

1/30

Pen Negotiations

Here I go again, hands clenched
Around my lucky writing utensil
The one that’s left ink stains on hands
And smeared itself on narrow lines
I believe no drop has gone to waste.

This pen has told stories
Of my childhood, bringing light to the things hidden and unseen
You might even say, this pen
Rescued me, from it repeating

Today, however, my pen speaks differently
Like a language newly learned
I must find some paper
A journal.. anything
What is the cause of this awakening?

An uprising of fear surrounds me
The people are hurting, what more can I do?
I must start writing.

This pen has seen the corruption of a fallen world
And the tears of those who inhabit it
I shielded myself from those things
Diligent self isolating
But my pen remains completely free
My mind and pen negotiating
Whether or not to free myself
As well

This pen has written
Heartbreak, and tragedy
Beautiful stanzas, and ugly poetry
But today, for a change
I’m proud to say

This pen is rewriting history

NaPo 2020, April 1st

1/30

Life through a window

If this Spring can't give up it scent
and only glass is sent to prevent,
then will the children learn to play
on empty roads throughout the day

No risk to life from monstrous tires
or exhaust notes to break the quite.
How will hedgerows burst maternal
from words I scribble in a journal ?

There's movement in the flower bed
but even the dafs have bowed their heads
I swore I felt the warmth of the sun
then I remembered, the heating is on.