Official DUP NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017
Thirty Days - The Saint Michael Files
There comes a time
silence becomes noise
Rehabilitated clear minds
no longer yearn
chemically induced
insanity
late nights
or dancing lights
But clarity
knowledge
understanding
and abilities of
forgiveness
There comes a time
when the cold concrete
prison cell
floor
is no longer metaphorical
and the carpet that covers it
"just aint shaggy enough"
In dedication to
the year past
Confessions of a woman
the challenge presented
rehabilitation and release
I present
"The Saint Michael Files"
Journeys continue as we
celebrate freedom
In this the first instalment;
I leave you with a quotation.
"Sometimes good people, do bad things and I am no exception!"
Pierre The Mad.
[!]
01-04-2017 - Written for the 2017 - NaPoWriMo - Challenge
30 Days of ReVoLuTe letters to GOD.
Anonymous
unsent letters to Ggod ~ {iv}
words rest twixt
the umbrageous spaces
of my vertebrae,
pressed between
spine & skin
evading the lure of
breath praying to
birth syllables into
the aether ~
... three years unsaid
curl into your back
[a sighed kiss
against your nape,
my mute apology]
bones wrapped tight
around your own
darling, brother
mine ...
the same sweet sin
slumbers
as tho time paused,
never rousing
our forms from where
they last lay before
we rolled apart
& our blood cooled
to frozen in our veins
*
i walked away
like my heart
did not remain
a bleeding, pulpy
offering to
self-destruction,
caught under
fleeing feet
so the footprints
could lead me home
//
words rest twixt
the umbrageous spaces
of my vertebrae,
pressed between
spine & skin
evading the lure of
breath praying to
birth syllables into
the aether ~
... three years unsaid
curl into your back
[a sighed kiss
against your nape,
my mute apology]
bones wrapped tight
around your own
darling, brother
mine ...
the same sweet sin
slumbers
as tho time paused,
never rousing
our forms from where
they last lay before
we rolled apart
& our blood cooled
to frozen in our veins
*
i walked away
like my heart
did not remain
a bleeding, pulpy
offering to
self-destruction,
caught under
fleeing feet
so the footprints
could lead me home
//
April 1 (NaPoWriMo 2017)
Vampir
To be most anywhere
The afternoon is warm
Swirling clouds of bees swarm
With balm of breezes' care
Before a summer storm
The trees lean into harm
Yet as for this my fate
The hush of breeze is naught
And I shall soon be caught
And stillness cold's berate
The strobe of gasping stark
From time of day grown dark
A darkness of myself
Within a crevice deep
Where heaven cannot reach
To wear the scent of you
Embedded in my sleep
And never lets me weep
Forbidden in this need
Exacting to a fault
Despite the rub of salt
In planting of the seed
To undo slumber's halt
To break free of its vault
And sounds of tidal breath
In mind the ebb and flow
To make me let it go
While hovered over death
The tapered ghosted psalm
That travels to my soul
Without the bless of grace
To pool in open palm
The blood from lover's kiss
That makes a heart to race
Awaits for your return
For nothing more than this.
Vampir
To be most anywhere
The afternoon is warm
Swirling clouds of bees swarm
With balm of breezes' care
Before a summer storm
The trees lean into harm
Yet as for this my fate
The hush of breeze is naught
And I shall soon be caught
And stillness cold's berate
The strobe of gasping stark
From time of day grown dark
A darkness of myself
Within a crevice deep
Where heaven cannot reach
To wear the scent of you
Embedded in my sleep
And never lets me weep
Forbidden in this need
Exacting to a fault
Despite the rub of salt
In planting of the seed
To undo slumber's halt
To break free of its vault
And sounds of tidal breath
In mind the ebb and flow
To make me let it go
While hovered over death
The tapered ghosted psalm
That travels to my soul
Without the bless of grace
To pool in open palm
The blood from lover's kiss
That makes a heart to race
Awaits for your return
For nothing more than this.
April 1, 2017
Invocation
The time has come again to raise the dead,
We cast our souls upon your waters’ fire.
That smoke from burning rocks on winds are fled,
And words are born from ash of funeral pyre.
Your tresses hang on fervent mothers’ breast,
Your wings expand to cover all that’s seen.
Now shower milk of verse for our success,
And show the heart’s inspire from all that’s been.
Are Poets lost without your honeyed gifts,
And flounder with the words you won’t beguile.
But with a single breath, your graces lift
And echo songs that free our hearts’ exile.
Oh, honored Muse, we humble bow to you,
That with your touch, you equal honor do.
(my aim is to complete a cycle of sonnets: the invocation, 4 cycles of 7 each, and a thanksgiving... here we go!)
Invocation
The time has come again to raise the dead,
We cast our souls upon your waters’ fire.
That smoke from burning rocks on winds are fled,
And words are born from ash of funeral pyre.
Your tresses hang on fervent mothers’ breast,
Your wings expand to cover all that’s seen.
Now shower milk of verse for our success,
And show the heart’s inspire from all that’s been.
Are Poets lost without your honeyed gifts,
And flounder with the words you won’t beguile.
But with a single breath, your graces lift
And echo songs that free our hearts’ exile.
Oh, honored Muse, we humble bow to you,
That with your touch, you equal honor do.
(my aim is to complete a cycle of sonnets: the invocation, 4 cycles of 7 each, and a thanksgiving... here we go!)
Anonymous
I say only this
what is this madness
sinking teeth into our flesh
gnawing and tearing
at our very strength
day by day depleting
our precious essence
until we no longer fear death
that welcome silence
of sleep without agony
no bones of lead dragging
no blood slowly seeping
poisoned by life
(or its demise)
when existence is torture
and tomorrow seems a jest
sarcastic laughter
in the face of our hopes
when all we want is peace
a moment without pain
thought without stress
where the pills and the liquid
are not needed to simply exist
to breathe without burning
without curling in fetal
just waiting for it to end
release us from its grip
there are no words
to properly express
and so I say only this
cancer…fuck you very much
what is this madness
sinking teeth into our flesh
gnawing and tearing
at our very strength
day by day depleting
our precious essence
until we no longer fear death
that welcome silence
of sleep without agony
no bones of lead dragging
no blood slowly seeping
poisoned by life
(or its demise)
when existence is torture
and tomorrow seems a jest
sarcastic laughter
in the face of our hopes
when all we want is peace
a moment without pain
thought without stress
where the pills and the liquid
are not needed to simply exist
to breathe without burning
without curling in fetal
just waiting for it to end
release us from its grip
there are no words
to properly express
and so I say only this
cancer…fuck you very much
Pho3nix19xx said:Do the poems have to be new ones and if so what constitutes a "new" poem thanks
Yes; all writes must be written the day you post them. A new write in NaPoWriMo terms means writing a new poem every day for 30 days in April. Therefore, anything written prior to today cannot be posted - the same for each subsequent day in April.
The purpose of Napo challenge is to discipline writers to write each day without worrying about spelling or grammar. Everything can be revisited and edited after the challenge.
HOWEVER - The Oracle of Johnny has smiled upon you (and everyone else) today, and prophesied the following:
We know that life can get in the way sometimes.
For example, your boss makes you work a double shift, throwing your whole schedule for the day out the window. Or you know you will be spending most of a day behind the steering wheel of a car.
So, write yourself an extra poem and keep it handy in case you have one of those days in which God throws you a curve ball.
All hail the Oracle. And remember, "there's no crying in baseball".
Yes; all writes must be written the day you post them. A new write in NaPoWriMo terms means writing a new poem every day for 30 days in April. Therefore, anything written prior to today cannot be posted - the same for each subsequent day in April.
The purpose of Napo challenge is to discipline writers to write each day without worrying about spelling or grammar. Everything can be revisited and edited after the challenge.
HOWEVER - The Oracle of Johnny has smiled upon you (and everyone else) today, and prophesied the following:
We know that life can get in the way sometimes.
For example, your boss makes you work a double shift, throwing your whole schedule for the day out the window. Or you know you will be spending most of a day behind the steering wheel of a car.
So, write yourself an extra poem and keep it handy in case you have one of those days in which God throws you a curve ball.
All hail the Oracle. And remember, "there's no crying in baseball".
Millenniums without Doors
I. Ruminations
Perhaps it is befitting upon suffering
to return to our chosen conception,
rewind the poem to our humble beginning
the origin of our writhing birth from seed.
The instance of warm pod rupturing
its own ocean of submerged Life-form,
constricting to spill forth the contents
from its sonar depths of gestation.
Caught by the fumbling gravity of sterility
flailing arms and dissipating memory,
absorbed by a harsh light of welcoming
into the bloody fold of humanity
...
I. Ruminations
Perhaps it is befitting upon suffering
to return to our chosen conception,
rewind the poem to our humble beginning
the origin of our writhing birth from seed.
The instance of warm pod rupturing
its own ocean of submerged Life-form,
constricting to spill forth the contents
from its sonar depths of gestation.
Caught by the fumbling gravity of sterility
flailing arms and dissipating memory,
absorbed by a harsh light of welcoming
into the bloody fold of humanity
...
Anonymous
Can You Handle IT
It has begun
but can it be done?
Thirty poems in thirty days
It sure doesn't sound like fun
But, what the heck
you only live once
Time to put on that
thinking cap, Dunce
Warm up that brain
Let process of association
be flowing water to a
storm drain where IT
resides, telling you lies
as imagination and fear
collides to paint
the many faces of
Pennywise
Oh, hell no!
I gots to go
This thing known as
Napowrimo
sounds more horrifying
than a Stephen King novel
So, why even bother trying?
inspired by the NaPoWriMo and Stephen King's IT
It has begun
but can it be done?
Thirty poems in thirty days
It sure doesn't sound like fun
But, what the heck
you only live once
Time to put on that
thinking cap, Dunce
Warm up that brain
Let process of association
be flowing water to a
storm drain where IT
resides, telling you lies
as imagination and fear
collides to paint
the many faces of
Pennywise
Oh, hell no!
I gots to go
This thing known as
Napowrimo
sounds more horrifying
than a Stephen King novel
So, why even bother trying?
inspired by the NaPoWriMo and Stephen King's IT
Anonymous
Here is an online word counter that can also tell you how many times you have used a word.
https://wordcounter.net/
https://wordcounter.net/
