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Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2020 Competition

Poetry Accident
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 30th Oct 2016
Forum Posts: 193

#01 of 30

In The Twilight

Beauty was present before the time
that nature built the tallest walls
the irony of the current day
is the degree of the display

absent makes fondness stronger
with lust lasting far much longer
comeliness is thus recognized
in the vision of the eyes

one would hope that life was fair
to dull the presence of this dare
asking souls to respond
in ways that all would say are wrong

instead beauty carries on
even while life is prolonged
just now seeing what’s been lost
in the twilight of last resolve.

Strange Creature
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Joined 31st Mar 2020
Forum Posts: 6

# 1 of 30

All That Lies Within

Feeling not in the most of high spirits...

Perfectly sound reasons for such I have many...

Would rather be a high strung optimist...

But growth..and our comfort zone...

That analogy

Is extremely important to me

When you deal with only
Somewhat fairly recently diagnosed childhood PTSD…
And have many health problems, not to mention live with chronic pain...

It can be difficult,
At times
To keep all sectors running operational..


To make sure…

Each condition is acting and interacting appropriately, with said other conditions...

To make sure…

Each part is responding proportionately...
With no speed up
Or delay

Or loops..


Things like this...

To make sure…

Medical conditions do not exasperate mental health…

And vice versa to be exact


Ripple effect

Like an ecosystem...a delicate..yet easy offset


Tricky, this tightrope walking of mine..

So...I'm feeling not in high spirits at this present moment…

In time;

But, commonality...

I must remember

What someone taught me about that…

And even further back, listening to and downloading guided meditation tracks...

Ones off of self-compassion.org, and other apps…

If looking for my sources,

I reference,


"My life's never been a bed of roses"


Knowledge is certainly power;

And books are quite alluring...

So, distract, read, focus, learn, imagine, attempt, many trips to metaphorical, and also very literal drawing boards...And the like...

Also obtain,

Equilibrium of sorts, routine and structure of sorts,

As well of course...

Freedom...of emotion, expression, thought,


Back to comfort zones...

Still thinking;
But more details...

Of this thing called life...

I want to live it like a happy meadow princess child…

Picking flowers, making crowns for hours...Delight running wild...

Squeezing, cartwheeling!!

Laughing out loud;

Yet, assertive, attentive, highly disciplined in the art of effectiveness, self-compassion, non-judgement mentality towards others as much as possible...

I want to be the type of..

I want to be the type of diagram or, if you will,


Where inside rounded objects...

Lay so many traits, I'm just dying to be...

Compassion, creativity, intelligence, enthusiasm, courage, understanding...

Yes, yes...

I've saved a few of the most highly regarded for last...

To mention,

Yet top of the aspiration list...



Qualities in which I've hidden away inside a hollowed out tree...

Safe from the outside elements…
For fear these precious items may rust...

I just...can't quite construct the correct

Structure of sentence...

Or rhythm of hymn

To express what I'm feeling as so many

Things conflicting…
Back and forth,


Overwhelmed with the senses,

But not in such a painful manner

As to quote
"Strabismus" type vision

And the rise and fall is reminiscent of barcharts...statistics…

Both inhale and exhalation,

My automatic caution-yet-enthralled sideways

Every which way, but-your-eyes


And....how I used to immensely enjoy watching the rise and fall of equalizers…

Just as I would love watching the mesmerizing laps of the life sustaining lake before...

When those beautiful waves crashed into shore..or solid ground...

A bit gritty...Like an amp...

Distorted, like things interestingly unique..granular also…

So, back to sugar and recipes and sweet things...

But...also the sand in an hourglass

The equation...perhaps for the pure sugar high...distance over time

Back to the graph with numerous circles...And qualities of important nature;

And the equalizers...Listening to sound…
Seeing imagery

Reeling in many things
Daydreams of musical nature…

My absolute favourite for as long as I can recall

Stutter, stumble, fall, daydream

Tracks on repeat…
With a distant milkyway eye sort of gleam


I'd love to be
The crash...
Of symbols, of highhats...

Or that of which happens...when waves meet shore…

Perhaps a sound mixture such as pink noise

I'd love to be in the sort of space...held by commonality..

Where the shapes overlap…

And the type of HRTZ where it sounds as though the angels do sing

This world, for me, has more often than not,
Been a very painful sort of thing...

I'd love to express what some see...Foul play...In this world...

I'd love to limp right up...manically

Closing the gaps...

"Equal rights, equal lefts"...

Tour with my gun for appendage type cane...

Count to 21, just for fun

I'd love to strive for equality,

I'd love to play a protagonist in this world...

I'd love so many things…

But are they listening.....??

I'm just that classified as "other" sort of girl

Rowan E.
Thought Provoker
United States
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Forum Posts: 176

1 / 30

shaving your own head

I was right
about the itch,

something like a stare

dark and scattered as the stars
over my shoulders bare,

whispering, insistently
of all the ways to be

that I have left behind
as bones -
the buzzer picked them clean.

As open as a cloudless sky
and promising as spring,

one like me will live and die
in possibilities...

wind too shy to sing at all
and end somebody's doze -

simply, deeply, terrified
of hurting some bird's home -

cloud too heavy, choking on
the wash and thud of rain -

understanding now
the earthly reason for that strain -

If I were not enough
to be a beam upon this life -
if nothing worth escaping me
at all was born inside -

the fingers of it wouldn't
dare at all to poke or pry;
the feathers of it
would have never begged to know the sky -

but here I am - the lovely itch,
the tickle on my skin
telling me how much I've given up,
daring to live.

I meet the gaze of mirror-me
and ask them if we care:
'Fraid not - better, not afraid,
and better without hair!

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 21st Aug 2013
Forum Posts: 576

Body Surfer

Bright, hot Santa Cruz beach afternoon
shiver as ocean with bare skin collides
GASP! my stones will be icecubes soon
a quick breaststroke finds best waves to ride

Approach the swell, drop over the crest
in freestyle glide across crystalline face
knowing when to stop, that's the real test
the wave will never ever cede the race

Haley Quaquaversal
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 24th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 141

This strange bouquet

This strange bouquet
of micro-
organisms, poisoning as glassed dandelion
seeds blown, people skirting to a ball wearing bal-
aclavas, canvases
across their mouths highlight the speaking
eyes, the clear palpable
in the torque language is
swallowing an air swarm
Oh, belle-
donnas, you are a
quaquaversal vein
through the micro-scope
of space

51/56 words

Sabrina Kirk-Caldwell
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 29th June 2018
Forum Posts: 288

1/30 (double post for today, due to mental illness episode.)


It t'was years ago,
When like a billow, my fury did wash over me, and start to grow.
When I saw her,
Turning my memory a blur,
And since then, my fury I have fostered.
Just when I tried to relinquish it, I appeared to have gone backward,
I looked inly, but found her to be a bawd and a knave,
And now hereat whenever I see her, I have to try to not rant and rave,
About my hatred for her, wishing her in the grave.
Whenever I see her face with mine eyne, or I harken somsone quoth
One of her lines, I silently remember my oath,
To smite that waste of space,
And now it is a race
Against time to get to ifsoever hither somewither
That she may in-sooth be, I whisper
To myself, to dish out her imminent, immedicable, danger,
Her doom,
Somewither she may be, a location, or a room.
Howbeit I hate her ilk, bawds, knaves, and the like,
And as I indite this "take a hike
From life" poem,
This hereunto, hereapon, skim
Her from the pool of life,
Her, rife
With disease of the brain,
And retain
This world's glory,
I must hie hence to her location and furbish my pen, end her story,
Stop her from spewing her word flux she should have saved for a lavatory!
Heretofore, I have been good,
But now, I'm not in the mood,
I have to be good,
Howbiet, murder being my demesne, within a twelvemonth,
I'll release the hatred I've been wont to every month,
I'll arrive upon a steed,
(And not to do a good deed)
And with the plan I did excogigate, I'll deal stripe after stripe,
Instead of just walking hither and thither, spewing tripe
And dreams, never to be acted upon,
But rather anon,
To end and degrade the name of that which is adenocarcinomatous,
And lecherous!
As insignificant as a clew, or an animalcule,
Seeing her face, is cruel
And unusual punishment,
And every time I see her photo,
I am tortured, but must show a happiness pseudo,
Must not let anyone know,
The horrors locked within my heart,
That will soon part,
When I find and tear asunder that pseudo-human,
Nothing but common,
Just bane, and diseased vermin.
Just a mutated, bulbous, blob,
That I am going to rob
Of life,
With which she should never have been rife.
I know why she never married, some reason others see her as a dame, and she erelong, would have too many cisisbeovs,
And they would not be improvs.
I know I may be just a dandiprat,
Not some fancy aristocrat,
But I will make a name for myself,
When on my deathbed, I tell that it was myself
Who made the famous work of surrealism
Showing the nihilism
Betwixt expiry and life.
For I would rather have scurvy than see her face living again,
That is the plan....
What are you looking at?
Oh, don't worry about the tapster, he "didn't" hear that.....

Wondering 2/30

I've been wondering,
Do leprechauns have leprosy?
What if there never was tea or coffee?
What if there had never been scurvy?
Is Minecraft anti-communist?
What would have happened if Brad Dourif, instead of actor, pursued the carrer of florist?
Do fish itch?
What if they really sold the TF2 Sandvich?
Why are there so many songs about singing songs and/or identifying with a song, instead of having a message?
Why do so many people rush into marriage?
Do androids dream of electric sheep?
Why do I have such specific and unusual dreams, when I sleep?
Why do I like images, songs, art, and games so dark, morbid, shocking, and gruesome, when in real life, I don't really?
Why do I prefer older individuals, and find men sometimes under forty, but usually under fifty, and those on magazine covers, ugly?
How can I write about murder,
When in reality, I've never wanted to commit a murder?
Why do so many people use the back door
When excretion of excrement is all it should be used for?
Learning about life, and the world around me,
Learning about me.
Why this? Why that?
How does this happen? Why does this, do that?
Who? When? Why? Where? How? What?
I may be soft, and feminine,
But in reality, that is my masculine,
Like a lioness,
Feminine exterior, but tough, and full of masculine prowess.
All I ask is for my male pronouns to be used, and nothing less,
For respect,
For if you cared enough to read about me and inspect
My description, it says right near the top,
My gender and pronouns, not a big deal if you forget the first few times, but quite a flop,
If I've been writing about this,
Telling you about this,
And it never sunk in, or you chose not to use them,
And never read my profile to confirm them.
I'm trying to stay healthy and physically active (not just mentally), and sane during all this family tension,
Trying to keep this place in a peaceful unison.
Trying to decide if I want to continue to call my mother's husband, "step-dad" to make it easier for others,
Or go back to calling him what he is, "my mother's husband", and not causing any false beliefs for others,
Thinking that we have a close relationship,
When in fact, it has sailed, that ship.
I tried, he didn't want to communicate,
Or participate,
And then when it was too late,
He briefly tried to connect,
But I couldn't, I had already from the situation, disconnect.
Trying to figure out, if the way I believe is purely me
And would have eventually come to me,
Or if some of my thoughts and ideas, I never would have had if others hadn't influenced me
(Nothing wrong with either)
Trying to figure out how best to come out to my father
And tell him my who I am is still the same, no matter my gender,
Or any other labels I may have.
Trying to figure out the meaning of the universe,
What lives out there, dangerous,
What lives deep within the ocean,
And learning languages, foreign.
Spiraling into myself, like a fractal,
Like a fibonacci spiral.

Dangerous Mind
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Forum Posts: 1191

#2 of 30

Time of Butterflies

Do you have butterflies
in your stomach?

How about imaginal cells?
Will thirty days
transform you?

Purple luv from
one of the sweetest
underground Flowrs

One who's petals
are her pages

when her pen is flying
digits carry her on wings

of gentle creativity

For her I animate

Like me...
can you feel the effect?

When you digest
such tender words

Is your stomach

Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 11th Aug 2016
Forum Posts: 85


Corona Checks

Is it morally correct to pursue a check while Corona infects the world
Charging hundreds of dollars for hand sanitizer as germs are unfurled
If we burrowed beneath the psyche of those doing this
I'd bet we'd get sets of fundamental capitalist

They can't resist the mind set of profit at all costs
Total neglect of the poor & sick whose lives are being lost
Money's boss & greed's the cause of an apathetic country
We'll never forget this pandemic as it goes down in history

Tyrant of Words
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Forum Posts: 1677

(two of 30 - Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo 2020)
melongene, me

it was the year 2012 or near there
i carefully planted a white oval
in Gaia’s bosom. . .& forgot all about
that seeded future.

It’s been a black and blues Tao
for me and current events
that tug(ged)-o-war  me
found me searching for
the plant of a dirt burial decade
or 2 or 3 …more?

@ present, i am feeling
more purple’d than blue
or green or pink.
(eggplant, me)

Some plants
don’t seed
produce fruit
as we’d hoped
for. . .

i just effin wish(ed)
my example
could fertilize
new growth  
weed out
the antonyms
of civility. . .

. . .how I long for the strong
to yield and become
fragibly kinder. . .

119 words  
91 unique

poet Anonymous


Rockhollow series: Eight Thirty Eight

Mother sent a letter yesterday,
by Mother I mean birth,
by letter I mean card -
content was peculiar,
something you'd send family midweek after seeing them last for Sunday roast - later you'd call, complain about the cabbage, draft from the window by the table.
Last time I saw my Mother she was wired, early '19,
prior to that it was 2006.
Last time I saw my Mother she was laying, sullen, in front a board that read: Vegetarian, no gluten.
Drips and machines sat around her as bouncers.
I moved a companion chair to the end of her bed, drapes open.  
One minute I could fuck off, why was I there,
next blue-begging me to stay, wishing she could end it.
No one should love a person more when they're broken.

The swing rocks softly,
chill of early morn curls around my knuckles and feet,
a cacophony of gulls swell
in the harbour ferry-side.

People speak of Mother-wounds,
mine are large and sunken from repeated picking at.
She is like a toddler,
innocence, misunderstanding, mindless violence,
an adult's strength.

A lily-flowering tulip waves on a flick of wind,
amelanchier blossoms stun as if last year to fruit.
I kick my legs, wait for observations of open spaces to lull me
as often they do -
not today,
today this fortress has been weakened,
today wounds are forming rivers,
today I sully the canvas.

Lost Thinker
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Joined 31st Mar 2020
Forum Posts: 33

Tough Love

Needy, pathetic woman.
Desperate, attention seeker.
She could teach you how to be a woman,
It’s makes me sick that I chose such weakness.
Poisonous, spiteful, control freak.
Damaging all that you touch!
These are the words of your love;
Who could blame me for wanting to cut
Out the spite, out the pain, out the damage in my brain.
All is in vain, as your constant refrain,
Tells me I am not good enough.
Tough Love.

poet Anonymous


Excuses are best found in the bottom of a glass

Savage love burns in idolatry
as I worship the voice
she uses to whisper and croon
the blues
her song cuts me

it rattles off the hollow-empty
holes in me
echoes sad rhythms
my head sways
as I sip the glass of liquid warmth
to cradle me in its
warming caress

I always wondered if things had been
would I still want to run into the flames
feel the bitter sting turn my tears
to ash

pour me one more
I ask
slurring the sounds that
slip from my poor mouth

the dark enshrouds
penetrating deep
as 10am chimes

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Forum Posts: 2682


Spock-Josh exited the elevator


and entered the Bridge with quiet concern lining his forehead from pointy ear to pointy ear.

"Hmmm, how odd .....
Captain, it appears one of the space-pod
life-rafts has broken off in between
Warped Threed and Foured; perhaps a defect
unforeseen, but I suspect this could mean
someone on board purposely ejecting
while defecting. I seem to be rhyming
like a Rhymulan. This is highly illogical."

"Not to mention, OBNOXIOUS," grumbled Bones McTallen.

"Is that what was floating away on the big screen television monitor?" asked Captain Blaze as he clicked the remote. "Are we going in reverse ..?"

A highly agitated McTallen gripped the safety railing, saying, "The Stanza's deflector shields can't take much MOAR of this much strain, Jim! I suggest you PROMPTLY detour NOW towards the nearest M-class planet! This indolent behavior of yours is going to get us KILLED!"
"Dammit, Bones! You are a doctor, not an episode writer for a science fiction wagon train drama! Just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride."

Spock-Josh raised a bushy eyebrow. "Captain, you might want to ..."


"... slow down for those speed bumps."

Captain Blaze slammed his fist upon on the control panel in exasperation.

"That's it! Next person to side seat drive me will end up wearing a Red Shirt in a landing party exploration of the nearest sketchy looking planet!"

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Forum Posts: 6073

Bwahahahaha ^

Good morning, Crew, Returnees, and Cadets!  Congratulations! If you have a check beside your name, you made it safely through the Bump Zone, more commonly known as "Day One"! If you don't have a check beside your name, you will be required to post two poems today, Day Two, in order to catch up!

As per the rules, you must paste your entries to the competition thread.

geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 1028

2 of 30

Hawks that Cut the Summer Sky to Night
(Catena Rondo)

The hawks that cut the summer Sky to night
In rakes of claws and tease of subtle flesh
That leave our spills in pearls of Moon’s refresh
The hawks that cut the summer Sky to night.

In rakes of claws and tease of subtle flesh
That drive to gain the space of cloven home
Those tastes of metal fruit and chloride chrome
In rakes of claws and tease of subtle flesh.

That drive to gain the space of cloven home
The thrust that seeks to sound the churning deep
The catch that echoes sounds of moans and seep
That drive to gain the space of cloven home.

The thrust that seeks to sound the churning deep
In cries that rise in strength of coming end
A Death that wails us both petite pretend  
The thrust that seeks to sound the churning deep.

In cries that rise in strength of coming end
The raptors’ fight that begs our fitful flows
That streak and stain the Earth of hard turned rows
In cries that rise in strength of coming end.

The hawks that cut the summer Sky to night
In rakes of claws and tease of subtle flesh
That leave our spills in pearls of Moon’s refresh
The hawks that cut the summer Sky to night.

66 unique words

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