OFFICIAL DUP Glo/NaPoWriMo 2021 Competition
Greeting, Great Poets of the Fellowship! It's ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE! We wish nomoth well, who, as a photographer, enjoys the view from the summit ( and has plenty of food from the banquet to suffice him for months! )! We are sure he will be wildly successful and content.
If you have reached the "Downhill from Here" sign, you may safely proceed into day 17!!!!
17 of 30
Notebook
I noticed my old notebook
That had been lying
On the bedside table this evening
It has been there for months
But I did not open it
It contains old poems I wrote and posted
In other poetry sites
This evening I decided to go over it
And read some poems that are good in my opinion
I needed to distract myself from the feeling of discomfort brought by hyper acidity
I had a bad afternoon due to it
That I had to skip my dinner and just took slices of pancakes
I found one poem that was featured twice in that site as poem of the day
It was a good piece or it wouldn't have been featured
Some poems were just as good
And looking back I wondered
Where those inspirations came from
Lately my poems are more in touch with reality
With day to day life I'm experiencing as I live one day at a time
Unlike those poems I wrote before
Where there is a touch of unreality to them but more poetically spilled
I dream of putting them in one book
Not on a notebook that can be easily ignored like this one I have
Where only me knows what is inside it
Notebook
I noticed my old notebook
That had been lying
On the bedside table this evening
It has been there for months
But I did not open it
It contains old poems I wrote and posted
In other poetry sites
This evening I decided to go over it
And read some poems that are good in my opinion
I needed to distract myself from the feeling of discomfort brought by hyper acidity
I had a bad afternoon due to it
That I had to skip my dinner and just took slices of pancakes
I found one poem that was featured twice in that site as poem of the day
It was a good piece or it wouldn't have been featured
Some poems were just as good
And looking back I wondered
Where those inspirations came from
Lately my poems are more in touch with reality
With day to day life I'm experiencing as I live one day at a time
Unlike those poems I wrote before
Where there is a touch of unreality to them but more poetically spilled
I dream of putting them in one book
Not on a notebook that can be easily ignored like this one I have
Where only me knows what is inside it
( 17/30 )
Satellite
[ . . . ]
Part II: Arc of the Covenant
[ . . . ]
iv.
Re-New—
cocooned, enveloped;
a womb of prophecy
gestating from its provenance
into wholeness again
Her cyclic demise
a desert mirage—
peripheral space a trajectory
coursed exactly where
it is meant to exist
Stars distract from seeking
that thumbnailed print;
a French manicure
expanding from the tinseled
ebb of nighttide
swelling inside itself
And, so, we remember
lest we ever forget—
Lamp of Heaven and Earth
predating rainbow
and commandment;
oldest known promise to man:
Darkness shall never last
Satellite
[ . . . ]
Part II: Arc of the Covenant
[ . . . ]
iv.
Re-New—
cocooned, enveloped;
a womb of prophecy
gestating from its provenance
into wholeness again
Her cyclic demise
a desert mirage—
peripheral space a trajectory
coursed exactly where
it is meant to exist
Stars distract from seeking
that thumbnailed print;
a French manicure
expanding from the tinseled
ebb of nighttide
swelling inside itself
And, so, we remember
lest we ever forget—
Lamp of Heaven and Earth
predating rainbow
and commandment;
oldest known promise to man:
Darkness shall never last
17/30
The reoffender
Jammed key, in the lock
judgments, brought by forced smiles.
lovers turned to warders
terms we handed down.
Incarceration freely signed,
lice that leave their love-bites.
Cold dinners scraped off metal plates.
The big house ! its ties
walk away or turn around.
A fakir rest on a bed of nails.
The point where freedom beckons each,
shackles rust that screech
Chains that weigh with deep reproach
and time to brood.
Plan the same mistakes again,
trapped on the Ferris Wheel.
Its rings encircle,
do the time and not appeal
The reoffender
Jammed key, in the lock
judgments, brought by forced smiles.
lovers turned to warders
terms we handed down.
Incarceration freely signed,
lice that leave their love-bites.
Cold dinners scraped off metal plates.
The big house ! its ties
walk away or turn around.
A fakir rest on a bed of nails.
The point where freedom beckons each,
shackles rust that screech
Chains that weigh with deep reproach
and time to brood.
Plan the same mistakes again,
trapped on the Ferris Wheel.
Its rings encircle,
do the time and not appeal
17/30
Fast Cars Faster Women
Having no interest in either
I wonder why I should care
Perhaps because I’m neither
Claiming no interest yet wanting your attention
Seems a hopeless case this-
Wanting you, watching you
Never garnering your notice
Romantically, at any rate
Would I be this type
Does it merit you’d find me
Nearly as alluring as the rest
Of the mares in your stable
An outcome never to be known
Now as sure as the winds shift
So did my outlook for you
An infantile heart
Yields a childish result
That answer being crystal clear
The insatiable need requires
A bottomless feed trough
Ignoring this puts heavy strains everywhere
Carry on
From the spectator side lines
It’s with pleasure I’ll watch you crash and burn
(83 unique words)
Fast Cars Faster Women
Having no interest in either
I wonder why I should care
Perhaps because I’m neither
Claiming no interest yet wanting your attention
Seems a hopeless case this-
Wanting you, watching you
Never garnering your notice
Romantically, at any rate
Would I be this type
Does it merit you’d find me
Nearly as alluring as the rest
Of the mares in your stable
An outcome never to be known
Now as sure as the winds shift
So did my outlook for you
An infantile heart
Yields a childish result
That answer being crystal clear
The insatiable need requires
A bottomless feed trough
Ignoring this puts heavy strains everywhere
Carry on
From the spectator side lines
It’s with pleasure I’ll watch you crash and burn
(83 unique words)
17/30
Ode to Aoife
Baby girl, of silky fur
And a fox tail like no other
You make Monday mornings worthwhile
Curled up on my bed
Soothing me to sleep in gentle purr
Nudging if I doze
So I may turn on your laser pointer
Aoife, thank you for trusting me
When I found your feral body
Timidly shaking
Scared and violent
This bond of ours is incomparable
Baby girl, you’ve rescued me too.
Ode to Aoife
Baby girl, of silky fur
And a fox tail like no other
You make Monday mornings worthwhile
Curled up on my bed
Soothing me to sleep in gentle purr
Nudging if I doze
So I may turn on your laser pointer
Aoife, thank you for trusting me
When I found your feral body
Timidly shaking
Scared and violent
This bond of ours is incomparable
Baby girl, you’ve rescued me too.
#17. April 17th.
Realms of Middle-Earth
Elven Halls with finely crafted rafters
Dwarven Mines filled with industry and sturdy portals
Hobbit-holes, quaint in their pursuit of comfort
Cities of Man that sprawl out in stone and timber
Wizard's Towers rising with power into the sky
Forests of the Ents, preserved and cared for.
The accursed lands of Mordor, full of ash and hate
and Fallen realms in thrall to the Dark Lord.
And furthest to the West,
the seas to Valinor.
(Unique words: 55.)
Realms of Middle-Earth
Elven Halls with finely crafted rafters
Dwarven Mines filled with industry and sturdy portals
Hobbit-holes, quaint in their pursuit of comfort
Cities of Man that sprawl out in stone and timber
Wizard's Towers rising with power into the sky
Forests of the Ents, preserved and cared for.
The accursed lands of Mordor, full of ash and hate
and Fallen realms in thrall to the Dark Lord.
And furthest to the West,
the seas to Valinor.
(Unique words: 55.)
17/30
Red Alert
I should have listened to their advice
I should have heeded to all the warnings
But all the should haves are useless now
And could have avoided all the mournings
Then again when a young and restless heart
Desires and needs for a great escapade
Nothing can stop it no matter how smart
Until it realizes there are dues to be paid
But that’s the price we all have to pay
Life’s bumps and bruises have a cost
We learn little by little day to day
Even in those times when we feel lost
Now here I am remembering years passed
Reading pages from my old red book
Captured in verse like a blast from the past
Along with every emotion it took
I should have listened to their advice
But what’s a young man in love to do
Life’s bumps and bruises have a price
When a restless heart goes to pursue
153 Words
92 Unique
17/30
Second Wind
I’m sweating letters from my pores
Must keep up my pace in these Napo wars
I’ve been through hunger strikes and sores
To brain freezes both in and outdoors
I put meals on wheels on speed dial
My wife’s cooking deserves a trial
Mars and Venus are out of alignment
I can barely continue this assignment
Someone, please force me to stop
Or at least take the reigns and make it a co-op
I can’t feel my fingers anymore
This verbiage stew is hard to ignore
My stomach growls
This persistence howls
My light bill’s growing
My laptop’s all-knowing
My brain is shrinking
From all this overthinking
All this writing
All this typing
From within
Second wind
Second Wind
I’m sweating letters from my pores
Must keep up my pace in these Napo wars
I’ve been through hunger strikes and sores
To brain freezes both in and outdoors
I put meals on wheels on speed dial
My wife’s cooking deserves a trial
Mars and Venus are out of alignment
I can barely continue this assignment
Someone, please force me to stop
Or at least take the reigns and make it a co-op
I can’t feel my fingers anymore
This verbiage stew is hard to ignore
My stomach growls
This persistence howls
My light bill’s growing
My laptop’s all-knowing
My brain is shrinking
From all this overthinking
All this writing
All this typing
From within
Second wind
17 of 30
Saturday
Today didn't go entirely as first thought,
But brought,
Something emerging,
From all that's been wrought.
Another hidden gem,
Beging with pleasant surprise,
And continued,
Upon those wandering tracks.
Their entertaining and curious thoughts,
The reflections and pondering,
Alongside an answer to a calling,
Of the more ancestral,
And arcane,
Even the instinctual
And the natural,
Bringing a good chicane,
To the trial,
Of yet another Saturday
Saturday
Today didn't go entirely as first thought,
But brought,
Something emerging,
From all that's been wrought.
Another hidden gem,
Beging with pleasant surprise,
And continued,
Upon those wandering tracks.
Their entertaining and curious thoughts,
The reflections and pondering,
Alongside an answer to a calling,
Of the more ancestral,
And arcane,
Even the instinctual
And the natural,
Bringing a good chicane,
To the trial,
Of yet another Saturday
17/30
The Dogwoods are Dying
The dogwoods are dying.
I see them missing from hillsides
once white and green and purple.
Now, bare branches stick out
awkward amongst the redbuds
and the pale new green of the pawpaws
and red maples and the coffeetrees.
Science tells me it’s a disease:
dogwood anthracnose
starts in the leaves, moves to twigs,
then downward causing cankers
until the tree can’t be saved.
But Papaw noticed the first dead one
the day after my Granny died.
Those pristine blooms are as much a part of
my childhood as breaking beans, planting
potatoes, and climbing trees. They watched
as I traveled the woods between my house
and Granny’s to make sure my little girl
heart was safe from whatever worry
burdened me that day. They whispered back
as I planted secrets under their branches: a box
of old coins, a candy bar I stole from the grocery store,
love letters never sent.
They are magic I look for every spring
as winter loosens her icy grip.
Magic.
Granny told us
fairies made their homes in
the blooms and branches to hover
over her babies as we
traipsed into the woods on our own.
And how they’d tell her if we did something
forbidden. Like carving our initials into tree trunks
or damming the creek too much
or wading into the water in mid-April instead
of waiting for May.
(She always knew. You can’t convince me she
didn’t have spies in these woods.)
Their magic is less now,
fewer trees whisper every year.
Soon there won’t be enough fairies
to make sure my babies make it
from our house to their Granny’s and I’ll
have to rely on something else.
And I don’t know if I can stand it.
The Dogwoods are Dying
The dogwoods are dying.
I see them missing from hillsides
once white and green and purple.
Now, bare branches stick out
awkward amongst the redbuds
and the pale new green of the pawpaws
and red maples and the coffeetrees.
Science tells me it’s a disease:
dogwood anthracnose
starts in the leaves, moves to twigs,
then downward causing cankers
until the tree can’t be saved.
But Papaw noticed the first dead one
the day after my Granny died.
Those pristine blooms are as much a part of
my childhood as breaking beans, planting
potatoes, and climbing trees. They watched
as I traveled the woods between my house
and Granny’s to make sure my little girl
heart was safe from whatever worry
burdened me that day. They whispered back
as I planted secrets under their branches: a box
of old coins, a candy bar I stole from the grocery store,
love letters never sent.
They are magic I look for every spring
as winter loosens her icy grip.
Magic.
Granny told us
fairies made their homes in
the blooms and branches to hover
over her babies as we
traipsed into the woods on our own.
And how they’d tell her if we did something
forbidden. Like carving our initials into tree trunks
or damming the creek too much
or wading into the water in mid-April instead
of waiting for May.
(She always knew. You can’t convince me she
didn’t have spies in these woods.)
Their magic is less now,
fewer trees whisper every year.
Soon there won’t be enough fairies
to make sure my babies make it
from our house to their Granny’s and I’ll
have to rely on something else.
And I don’t know if I can stand it.
17/30
Self-Abnegation
After we met, I silently began packing
myself away. It was evident from the start:
there would be no us— only you.
A suitcase already stuffed near bursting
with your vanity, made room for me impossible.
Desperate attempts at containing
what never mattered, caused so much
to snag and unravel.
Self-Abnegation
After we met, I silently began packing
myself away. It was evident from the start:
there would be no us— only you.
A suitcase already stuffed near bursting
with your vanity, made room for me impossible.
Desperate attempts at containing
what never mattered, caused so much
to snag and unravel.
#17
Nova Scotia strong
There’s a slowness in my body,
heaviness in my heart.
The world goes on around me
as I’m sitting here, apart.
It’s not exactly sadness,
though tears do often come;
just lacking motivation,
feeling unfocused and numb.
Tomorrow we’ll remember
tragedy so hard to bear;
I didn’t really know those lost,
but grief hangs in the air.
We’ve held each other through so much -
there’s nothing we can’t weather.
What makes us “Nova Scotia strong”
is tears and songs – together.
Nova Scotia strong
There’s a slowness in my body,
heaviness in my heart.
The world goes on around me
as I’m sitting here, apart.
It’s not exactly sadness,
though tears do often come;
just lacking motivation,
feeling unfocused and numb.
Tomorrow we’ll remember
tragedy so hard to bear;
I didn’t really know those lost,
but grief hangs in the air.
We’ve held each other through so much -
there’s nothing we can’t weather.
What makes us “Nova Scotia strong”
is tears and songs – together.
(17 of 30—Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo2021)
sonnets among my scribbles
divorce
sonnet #17
would you rescind the covenant you've made
with that once better half you pledged your life?
because abundant pleasure finds brief strife,
must you allow your flame of love to fade?
is not the rose sequestered by sharp thorns
that modify her liberties to dance?
and does Sweet Rose die when, by sudden chance,
a dark raincloud her habitat adorns?
a circle marred and broken by discord
cannot encircle love in its ellipse;
when dusk obscures love's face, a full eclipse
may yet be stayed by consummate accord.
faith is not shallow, trite, or trivial,
whose covenant remains convivial.
© Copyright 2021 April 16
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
UWC = 80
17/30
What If?
What if?
That’s what I always ask myself
What if something happens
What if something goes wrong
What if I have no control
What if I can’t stop this
What if I get that call
What if I can’t reach anyone
What if no one tells me what’s going on
What if he never leaves that hospital
What if I’m not home in time
What if I never get to build things with him again
What if I never get to listen to his music with him again
What if I never hear his voice again
What if I never see his smile again
What if I never see him again
What If?
What if?
That’s what I always ask myself
What if something happens
What if something goes wrong
What if I have no control
What if I can’t stop this
What if I get that call
What if I can’t reach anyone
What if no one tells me what’s going on
What if he never leaves that hospital
What if I’m not home in time
What if I never get to build things with him again
What if I never get to listen to his music with him again
What if I never hear his voice again
What if I never see his smile again
What if I never see him again
