OFFICIAL DUP Glo/NaPoWriMo 2021 Competition
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
29/30
A Mothers Compassion
Sorrow grips me tightly when
he expresses grief at the finality
of it all: mourning what has been lost
and will never be.
There exists an urgency to wrap gentle,
loving arms around him, gather tears
for safekeeping: take away his overwhelming pain.
My heart grieves things I cannot change.
A Mothers Compassion
Sorrow grips me tightly when
he expresses grief at the finality
of it all: mourning what has been lost
and will never be.
There exists an urgency to wrap gentle,
loving arms around him, gather tears
for safekeeping: take away his overwhelming pain.
My heart grieves things I cannot change.
29/30
[ Observation Points ] Crop Circlings
What brings you joy?
In the imagination, seek it out---
listen
look
taste
touch
smell
and keep whatever you find
alive in the heart and mind
---sow additional seeds
whenever you can;
harvest all year round
What else are these senses for ..?
Aiding you in an earthbound
scavenger hunt to acquire more
money? time? security?
attention? affection? Love?
The very things you concluded
you didn't have enough of . . .
only because you instead
focused on what didn't yield
a measure of happiness
as if a farmer anticipating
a blighted field
[ Observation Points ] Crop Circlings
What brings you joy?
In the imagination, seek it out---
listen
look
taste
touch
smell
and keep whatever you find
alive in the heart and mind
---sow additional seeds
whenever you can;
harvest all year round
What else are these senses for ..?
Aiding you in an earthbound
scavenger hunt to acquire more
money? time? security?
attention? affection? Love?
The very things you concluded
you didn't have enough of . . .
only because you instead
focused on what didn't yield
a measure of happiness
as if a farmer anticipating
a blighted field
29 of 30
Day 29
It's day 29
One more day
And I'll reach the finish line
One more push
And I'll get to the end of this NaPoWriMo
I never thought I would get this far
This year is the toughest for me
It started with a lot of challenges for my family
I was not sure if I would finish or drop out from this competition
When I decided to try for the third time
Now I'm almost there
I'm glad I joined again
Writing for 30 days gave me something
To look forward to in the month of April
To keep my mind connected with poetry
Sometimes I ask myself why
I have to write for thirty days
And follow some rules to stay in this NaPo
But I always end up writing and posting before midnight
Because the pull of poetry is stronger
Day 29
It's day 29
One more day
And I'll reach the finish line
One more push
And I'll get to the end of this NaPoWriMo
I never thought I would get this far
This year is the toughest for me
It started with a lot of challenges for my family
I was not sure if I would finish or drop out from this competition
When I decided to try for the third time
Now I'm almost there
I'm glad I joined again
Writing for 30 days gave me something
To look forward to in the month of April
To keep my mind connected with poetry
Sometimes I ask myself why
I have to write for thirty days
And follow some rules to stay in this NaPo
But I always end up writing and posting before midnight
Because the pull of poetry is stronger
29/30
Thanks for the Memories
I remember asking myself
how I was supposed to move
much less move on,
how I was to make it
through my days
without you
when I couldn’t even imagine
making it out of bed;
I felt cheated, whether by my
lack or yours,
the whole damn thing
so unfair;
the world continued spinning
despite my disbelief that it could;
I put one foot in front
of each of the tiny steps
before this one,
determined to do the work;
I wrote poetry
about love lost, playing both
victim and villain,
I walked countless miles
in contemplation,
replaying those moments
where you left me
to figure it out on my own;
and now I ask myself
what better a gift could you
have given me?
Thanks for the Memories
I remember asking myself
how I was supposed to move
much less move on,
how I was to make it
through my days
without you
when I couldn’t even imagine
making it out of bed;
I felt cheated, whether by my
lack or yours,
the whole damn thing
so unfair;
the world continued spinning
despite my disbelief that it could;
I put one foot in front
of each of the tiny steps
before this one,
determined to do the work;
I wrote poetry
about love lost, playing both
victim and villain,
I walked countless miles
in contemplation,
replaying those moments
where you left me
to figure it out on my own;
and now I ask myself
what better a gift could you
have given me?
29/30
Strike Three
I threw the game.
With a swing and a miss.
My last up at bat.
Bases loaded and a tied score.
It was a perfect pitch.
Hard contact could’ve been made.
I chose to whiff it.
Because. I. Just. Didn’t. Care.
Exhaustion, not any more.
Running past empty, nah.
All that was when I gave a damn.
Today I struck out on purpose.
I dropped my Louisville Slugger.
Right there at the plate.
For once I smiled for me.
My shoulders released in tension.
Took a deep breath called Relief.
Turned and walked off the field.
(66 unique words)
Strike Three
I threw the game.
With a swing and a miss.
My last up at bat.
Bases loaded and a tied score.
It was a perfect pitch.
Hard contact could’ve been made.
I chose to whiff it.
Because. I. Just. Didn’t. Care.
Exhaustion, not any more.
Running past empty, nah.
All that was when I gave a damn.
Today I struck out on purpose.
I dropped my Louisville Slugger.
Right there at the plate.
For once I smiled for me.
My shoulders released in tension.
Took a deep breath called Relief.
Turned and walked off the field.
(66 unique words)
29/30
Ethel
Memory loss makes me
Angry at the universe
Double helices of doom
Belied by countless good times
In so many places
Indoor outdoor
Oh the outdoors
Prayed at nature’s
Vast cathedrals
Learned to be adventurous
From wild grandma
Our very own John Muir
Of course I’ll (hopefully)
Never forget the smile
In those eyes
Your epic witch’s cackle
I don’t think you knew
Whose son I was
Near the end
And I’m not sure he’ll know
Whose children mine are
In a couple decades
Can’t worry about that though
When I have your laugh
To hold on to
Like a raft
On your beloved
Lava Falls
Ethel
Memory loss makes me
Angry at the universe
Double helices of doom
Belied by countless good times
In so many places
Indoor outdoor
Oh the outdoors
Prayed at nature’s
Vast cathedrals
Learned to be adventurous
From wild grandma
Our very own John Muir
Of course I’ll (hopefully)
Never forget the smile
In those eyes
Your epic witch’s cackle
I don’t think you knew
Whose son I was
Near the end
And I’m not sure he’ll know
Whose children mine are
In a couple decades
Can’t worry about that though
When I have your laugh
To hold on to
Like a raft
On your beloved
Lava Falls
29/30
A sweet bird (For Olivia)
Its plumage bright with green and red
I hear its calls, its cries allure
as round the tree its pops its head
With raven hair that nods to greet
in coyness, her mouth a smiling aperture
her plumage pressed so smart and neat
"Good morning" is the phrase I hear
that warms the heart, its glow secure
a day like each to be revered
So blessed am I to live so close
with cheer that, flies to me so pure
that youthful spirit, to me post
Smile`s and joy, unfettered hope
Olivia, a friend I have procured
that medicine my daily dose
to invigorate this old goat
A sweet bird (For Olivia)
Its plumage bright with green and red
I hear its calls, its cries allure
as round the tree its pops its head
With raven hair that nods to greet
in coyness, her mouth a smiling aperture
her plumage pressed so smart and neat
"Good morning" is the phrase I hear
that warms the heart, its glow secure
a day like each to be revered
So blessed am I to live so close
with cheer that, flies to me so pure
that youthful spirit, to me post
Smile`s and joy, unfettered hope
Olivia, a friend I have procured
that medicine my daily dose
to invigorate this old goat
(29 of 30—Official DUP NaPo/GloPoWrimo2021)
sonnets among my scribbles
the preacher
sonnet #29
the Word of God is fire upon his tongue,
a kindling framed with no apologies
to anyone who cringes on the knees
for pardon, whom he has convinced of wrong.
hell hath no fury like the angry priest
intent to save some wayward soul from sin,
vice-gripped in earnest by the devil's gin:
that serpent on his dust alone must feast!
Cuban cigars, perhaps a swig of beer,
occasional indulgences in stride,
the cardinal, few foibles to hide,
his own salvation keeps above a jeer.
the preacher knows the truth, "God is not mocked,"
for every erring priest shall be defrocked.
© Copyright 2021 April 26
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
UWC = 82
29/30
Legend Of Trees
Gnarled man shepard of dark
you've been alive since all was dark;
a lack of sun or moon to glow
wherein a mist gave room to grow.
The oldest yet, I see you there
within the deepest forest air
among the things you only care
to not destroy the lion's share.
But you are not the only one
so deeply aged and as strong
as the very ground upon
which you drag trailing fronds.
There are trees much older still
and their silence keeps them chilled
hiding from the harvesters cut
that want to use them all up.
In the pool I see them there
reaching toward the sunlight spare
Fangorn is the voice of them all
and they listen when he calls.
Legend Of Trees
Gnarled man shepard of dark
you've been alive since all was dark;
a lack of sun or moon to glow
wherein a mist gave room to grow.
The oldest yet, I see you there
within the deepest forest air
among the things you only care
to not destroy the lion's share.
But you are not the only one
so deeply aged and as strong
as the very ground upon
which you drag trailing fronds.
There are trees much older still
and their silence keeps them chilled
hiding from the harvesters cut
that want to use them all up.
In the pool I see them there
reaching toward the sunlight spare
Fangorn is the voice of them all
and they listen when he calls.
29 of 30
Over the pine.
I have ventured past:
Shadows and granite,
Disparagingly bled,
Lashings of blood,
And flooded other verses,
Of other topics,
Unpermitted,
But still,
gestated.
And here and now,
Words,
Hesitated.
I've returned,
Frantic to nature,
Where I am always to be,
At the urge of the creature in me.
What is left to see?
As I turn to the skies?
But the depth of grey,
Being no surprise.
It feels to be,
An echo reflecting back on me.
But I choose not see,
However bright,
The pillars of light,
Are etched within you and me,
Mirrored in the fractured casism shine,
As a cloud enshrined sun,
Breaks down to dusk over the pine.
Over the pine.
I have ventured past:
Shadows and granite,
Disparagingly bled,
Lashings of blood,
And flooded other verses,
Of other topics,
Unpermitted,
But still,
gestated.
And here and now,
Words,
Hesitated.
I've returned,
Frantic to nature,
Where I am always to be,
At the urge of the creature in me.
What is left to see?
As I turn to the skies?
But the depth of grey,
Being no surprise.
It feels to be,
An echo reflecting back on me.
But I choose not see,
However bright,
The pillars of light,
Are etched within you and me,
Mirrored in the fractured casism shine,
As a cloud enshrined sun,
Breaks down to dusk over the pine.
#29. April 29th.
Word Crafting
I look at words
as tools and materials upon a bench
lifting and holding each
weighing it up in consideration,
testing out the ring
to see if it is sound,
knowing that in that short time
if I find it to my liking,
if it just fits,
then I will definitely use it
somehow;
cobbling others around it
satellites and limbs
for the obsessed heart.
Maybe shelving the others away for another day.
(Unique words: 55.)
Word Crafting
I look at words
as tools and materials upon a bench
lifting and holding each
weighing it up in consideration,
testing out the ring
to see if it is sound,
knowing that in that short time
if I find it to my liking,
if it just fits,
then I will definitely use it
somehow;
cobbling others around it
satellites and limbs
for the obsessed heart.
Maybe shelving the others away for another day.
(Unique words: 55.)
29/30
Things on and Around my Bedside Table (my nest) –
A stack of books waiting to be read,
even though I pull old favorites from
the shelves (and stack on top of them)
to sooth my anxiety.
I know what happens in The Hobbit
and Harry Potter and e.e. cummings’ collected.
No need to be worried about them.
Chocolate from a lover who knows
I prefer it dark and robust and that
my boys won’t ask for a single piece.
A fan that encourages the room temperature
to lower and me to stay under the covers.
Earrings I forgot to take off before climbing
into bed.
My purple and pink reusable water bottle,
half full from last night. Apparently, I didn’t
drink my recommended ounces.
Watercolor pencils for when I need to
play. Sometimes I like to escape.
The journal that hears all my thoughts,
even when they don’t make sense.
Even when there aren’t any.
Even when they are scary.
A phone charger.
A laptop charger.
An apple watch charger.
An…uh…unmentionable charger.
Way too many chargers.
A fountain pen my dad gave me that makes
me feel all fancy. I use it for my journal,
but also to write letters and cards.
Basically, I can crawl into my bed
and live for the rest of my life with
everything I’ll ever need.
I’ll be here if you need me.
Things on and Around my Bedside Table (my nest) –
A stack of books waiting to be read,
even though I pull old favorites from
the shelves (and stack on top of them)
to sooth my anxiety.
I know what happens in The Hobbit
and Harry Potter and e.e. cummings’ collected.
No need to be worried about them.
Chocolate from a lover who knows
I prefer it dark and robust and that
my boys won’t ask for a single piece.
A fan that encourages the room temperature
to lower and me to stay under the covers.
Earrings I forgot to take off before climbing
into bed.
My purple and pink reusable water bottle,
half full from last night. Apparently, I didn’t
drink my recommended ounces.
Watercolor pencils for when I need to
play. Sometimes I like to escape.
The journal that hears all my thoughts,
even when they don’t make sense.
Even when there aren’t any.
Even when they are scary.
A phone charger.
A laptop charger.
An apple watch charger.
An…uh…unmentionable charger.
Way too many chargers.
A fountain pen my dad gave me that makes
me feel all fancy. I use it for my journal,
but also to write letters and cards.
Basically, I can crawl into my bed
and live for the rest of my life with
everything I’ll ever need.
I’ll be here if you need me.
29/30
calm
i looked out at the lights from my window
the stars duller for the hazy glow underneath
i still feel new here
even after two and a half years
having been through what feels like another
couple of my nine[ty] lives
counted today that i’ve lived
in twenty-four semi-permanent houses
that my life was moved twenty-four times
in about ten locations, seventeen towns
and i wonder if i’ll ever settle
because even though theory says i should
the wings i cut off of my ankles
seem to keep growing back in
calm
i looked out at the lights from my window
the stars duller for the hazy glow underneath
i still feel new here
even after two and a half years
having been through what feels like another
couple of my nine[ty] lives
counted today that i’ve lived
in twenty-four semi-permanent houses
that my life was moved twenty-four times
in about ten locations, seventeen towns
and i wonder if i’ll ever settle
because even though theory says i should
the wings i cut off of my ankles
seem to keep growing back in
30/30
The end of.......
The inscription has gone,
almost molten now,
my Witch King hand
severed from its pen,
30 days of bloody battles
have met their end.
Shelob's paralysis
has been and gone,
my poems wrapped
like orcs in her web.
You've made me
walked with trees,
shaved dwarfs and see
God in your daughters face,
sunk lower than a miners cage
shed razer sharp fangs and flaws
healed sun spots on my skin
followed your streams
as they rained over letters
you've fed me by your camp fires.
let me watch you burn desires
helped me feel pain
you came as you were
and I was myself
You passed me a piece of the barn
and talked about harm,
trash talked kittens
and a doll called Mable
used a box as a table.
smeared lambs blood
on my door.
A cactus in desert bloom
and all I can do is take one
last glance as the satellite
looks down from nowhere
and sees everything.
But now,
my Mother
is on the backdoor step
calling me in for dinner,
my childhood has run
home to feed on memory,
only pea's left on my plate.
The idea of summer
takes this time to
pour itself
another glass of wine.
A small celebration
has begun, I scraped
the barrels bottom
of NaPo twenty one.
Now all I can do is sleep
the sweet sleep
of a would be poet,
who fishes from the ledge
of a shared subconscious,
a fellowship of common causes
patiently waiting for another
muse to flash its silver scales.
The end of.......
The inscription has gone,
almost molten now,
my Witch King hand
severed from its pen,
30 days of bloody battles
have met their end.
Shelob's paralysis
has been and gone,
my poems wrapped
like orcs in her web.
You've made me
walked with trees,
shaved dwarfs and see
God in your daughters face,
sunk lower than a miners cage
shed razer sharp fangs and flaws
healed sun spots on my skin
followed your streams
as they rained over letters
you've fed me by your camp fires.
let me watch you burn desires
helped me feel pain
you came as you were
and I was myself
You passed me a piece of the barn
and talked about harm,
trash talked kittens
and a doll called Mable
used a box as a table.
smeared lambs blood
on my door.
A cactus in desert bloom
and all I can do is take one
last glance as the satellite
looks down from nowhere
and sees everything.
But now,
my Mother
is on the backdoor step
calling me in for dinner,
my childhood has run
home to feed on memory,
only pea's left on my plate.
The idea of summer
takes this time to
pour itself
another glass of wine.
A small celebration
has begun, I scraped
the barrels bottom
of NaPo twenty one.
Now all I can do is sleep
the sweet sleep
of a would be poet,
who fishes from the ledge
of a shared subconscious,
a fellowship of common causes
patiently waiting for another
muse to flash its silver scales.
