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OFFICIAL DUP Glo/NaPoWriMo 2021 Competition

Fire of Insight
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Joined 6th Jan 2019
Forum Posts: 229

19 of 30


It has been our routine
To visit Doctors' clinic
Since he was operated
For raptured aorta
Brought by aneurysm

That happened in 2008
13 years have passed
Nothing changed
Last December he had another surgery
A flank excavation
To remove blood clots
As a result from bleeding
When he suffered from kidney injury
This was not a major surgery
But still as risky because of his condition

Today we went for another Visit
To the hospital and his Doctor
For his protime
The INR is high and another adjustment
Has been made to the dosage of his warfarin
Through the years
We've learnt to adapt to this routine
We've learnt to live with our health issues
And trying our best to work for our health and well being

Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 8th July 2019
Forum Posts: 490


Writing the Storm

trembling lips will speak to love  
of loss, of fear, of death;
broken hearts and hurt thereof,
upon hope’s final breath

crowded minds will ponder gifts
of time, of faith, of space;
squandered days and subtle shifts
behind regret’s disgrace

leaking pens will spill the words
of each, of them, of all;
anxious souls and restless swords,
beneath the tempest squall

rain surrenders to the storm
art transcends intended form

55 unique words

Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 27th Feb 2014
Forum Posts: 509

(19 of 30—Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo2021)

sonnets among my scribbles

bus driver
sonnet #19

he knows each bend by name along the route
that navigates him, every living day,
past grazing cows and pigs in disarray,
to where the country vendors sell their fruit.
he knows whose stop is at the ackee tree,
who debarks at the broken iron bridge;
he picks up Iceman with his soft drink fridge
and lets the children ride to school for free.
he takes a swig of liquor at the square,
and naps until the market women come.
then, fired by the courage of his rum,
zigzags his way along the thoroughfare.

the hearts of great men flutter in their chests
until, at terminus, the old bus rests.

© Copyright 2021 April 18
by Clyve A. Bowen♫

UWC = 81

Dangerous Mind
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Joined 29th July 2018
Forum Posts: 550


Leaving Me Discouraged

I worked so hard to change things,
though it seems these transformations
are minuscule.

What the fuck do you want?

Please try grasping hold with both hands
some sort of introspection: a mirror, one
glimpse at yourself...

I'm tired, discouraged and broken down—

Absolute burden should not rest on me.

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 22nd July 2019
Forum Posts: 60


Garbage Collector

My silent hero
Weekly auto scoops my Bins

Overflowing with negative
Insults In every form imaginable

My own worst sabateur
It’s no surprise my posture is bent
Like the Hallows Eve crone

My Silent hero
You collect my weekly snippets
Of self loathing and dismay

And leave behind
A clean and empty bin

Promising the potential of filling
It up again only this week...

Perhaps there is a remote chance
I might top it off with
Self appreciation instead

I like my garbage man

(50 unique words)

Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2018
Forum Posts: 241



I am the mastermind
That is highly sought after
The only one of my kind
Who’s more cunning than an actor
I topple the wanted charts
And am more elusive than Waldo
My pen creates works of fine arts
That can only be described as Bravo!
My craft is immense
With its own viral attitude
Clutching you by the throat in suspense
Superseding its own longitude and latitude
The fire traces from my ink
Glues the blades to my lines
So when its read you’ll need a shrink
To sop up what’s left of your minds
Everybody wants a piece
Well I’m sorry I don’t share
I’m not for sale, rent, or lease
And to be quite frank I really couldn’t care
I’m a ghost that’s on the run
With a pen and notepad on my back
Thirty days of writing ain’t no fun
So I stay wanted, till team Napo wants me back

Twisted Dreamer
United Kingdom
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Joined 25th Sep 2019
Forum Posts: 75

19 of 30

Sweats to blame..

Because it's days like this,
When all is a little addled,
That only Rage can surpass,
"Just another bomb track"
To keep your body jacked,
Your mind on track,
And when music stops;
The momentum slows,
Petering… towards,
Of tea?
Repeat, replay,
Get through the day.
I wish,
I had more to say for you today,
But the poetry's been spent,
In the pumping of blood,
The perspiring,
Of sweat.

Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 581


A custard cream dream

When life is fraught with daily drudge
commitments just a what you can fudge.
Sit down and take life`s hard edge off,
with that indulgence, hard and soft.
A cup of tea and a custard cream
dunk it quick and in a flash,
your mind flies from the daily task.
Escapism in the fillings seam
the biscuit holds a wanton theme.
Heavens confection in that oblong
consuming it can do no wrong.
For its delights, never flattering the thighs
may cut those daydreams down to size.
So when the shitstorm hits the fan,
sweet sugar snacks are in demand.
Your life is full of woe`s.
partake in its pale yellow glow
I jest dear friend.
No other cookie could pretend
no rival, claim the crown of crumbs.
Ecstasy, between finger and thumb

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 5062


[ Dreamscape And Nightmares ] Of Course Corrections

When I asked the bookstore clerk  
if they had any books by "Jeffrey Bates"  
the answer was, No  
Not surprising, considering  
I had dreamt the person's name  
being mentioned during a book promotion  
However, there was a "Jefferson D Bates"  
who authored Precision In Writing  
originally published in 1978  
the gist of which was about excising  
excess language in anything written  
---government documents notably  
being the worst known literary offenses
to Humanity, as well as the Humanities  
An item not normally stocked;  
this handbook required special ordering  
---never saw it on a shelf  
or in a catalog to begin with  
for those of you thinking that's how  
I ended up dreaming about the man  
Just get to the point when writing  
Of course! And advice  
can't get any simpler than that;  
it's what helped fashion me into  
the poet I am today

especially after a disasterous  
attempt at long winded fiction
which was my dream job  
I was born to be a writer;  
that much is obvious  
but without direction, you may
end up going the wrong way
or just plain nowhere  
with your talents

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 30th June 2016
Forum Posts: 456


Ode To Night IX

Carry me forth, O sturdy night
in branches of your knowing
which splits apart as water over rocks
returning to its eternal self as a wound clock.
From early day you carry me along
toward this fortress, purposeful and strong.
The setting sun announces your debut
and in your midst my dreams are coming true.
I wait for day to ebb, and only then for you.
Carry me forth, O sturdy night.

            54 unique words

Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 12th Apr 2018
Forum Posts: 54


used to write like Asimov

now he writes like sketch lines
old hand-held anger

in the letter tails
greyscale words

five o'subtle colour shadowed
dotting like fireflies forming

bare bones of a picture
letting imagination

play amongst the strokes
sparse met implication

he trusts our tiny light trails
to follow on his own

in well-landed flinging
of wildflower seeds

growing messages
for deer in the woods

Lord Viddax
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
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Joined 10th Oct 2009
Forum Posts: 6575

#19. April 19th.

Of Fallen Kings

Wretched and wraithed
Beholden to the ring
Our will subsumed
To such a little thing.

Our pride was our downfall
Desire to cling to life
Proved as an undoing
Bringing us only strife.

Now we wander abroad
Ever searching, seeking
All efforts in vain
Frustrated we vent shrieking.

One we were might kings
And beholden to none
How far we have fallen
Merely slaves to One.

(Unique words: 53.)

Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 587



You don’t seem as one to gamble
Should I reintroduce myself
Like first impressions are the eyes preamble

Taking calculated risks based on the chance you can control
Cut your loses with everyone that you write off
Self-preservation of the reckless soul
Hardcore on the outside but inside your soft

What will find you humble in the end
No one’s got a fix on life
Everyone’s got an edge
But what’s your angle with your knife?

Cut up or cut down
You draw blood either way
And all I’m left with are the things I wish that I could say…

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 29th Mar 2017
Forum Posts: 1017


Dear Grace,

You hadn’t touched me in years.
Hadn’t lifted my lid,
touched your fingers to my keys
in more than a decade.

I was little more than an
expensive bookshelf. The only
touch you offered was when you
used lemon oil to take care
of the dust, put away the stacks
of books, or when you’d snap the lid closed if
one of the boys lifted it and
their timid fingers pressed a few keys.

I was thankful for those moments when
they risked letting me sing.
They risked getting into trouble,
risked your temper, for just a few notes.
Maybe they knew…

Knew that you needed me,
needed to feel my singing vibrating
in your chest, your feet.
Needed to let loose all that
rage you keep locked away.

And then one day, one absolutely
ordinary day, you sat down.
Lifted my lid and stared through me in silence;
not seeing me, but the past. Your hurt.

I wanted to take it away. I wanted to
fill you with all those glowing memories of late
nights playing Piano Man and Landslide
and all those Shostakovich concertos.

I heard you sniff, then you quietly
closed my lid.
Got up.
Stood back and
Pressed your hands on either side
of the music stand and raged
until your voice cracked. Broke.

But then,
then you sat back down.
Lifted my lid and spread your fingers
across my keys.

Do you remember the first thing you played?
From the depths of your memory,
your shaking hands and cracking voice
produced a version of an old hymn.
The one you sang at your grandpaw’s funeral.
The one you held to even when your faith was gone.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth.
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide.
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
blessings all mine with ten thousand beside.

And we wept, Grace.
We wept and I watched as you
picked up the first
broken piece.

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 31st Dec 2015
Forum Posts: 800



I cannot tell the difference
Between fuchsia and magenta
All I know is what I learned
From watering those
Ballerina flowers
Pirouetting on air
Held by long delicate arcs
No lantern traps
Of anglerfish
Just that tender offering
A hanging garden
Robed in contrast
Lady in black
Deeply blushing sepals
Grasping ebony corollas

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