Official DUP NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017
Jesus Christ child who taught you to wear make-up
Your mother was a virgin
Mary, so why are you such a
whore...drop your clothes
at the wink of an eye
then wonder
when they hit the door
looking up
from under the pews
asking god for
just one more
was it a bible belt
they beat you with
or the brain washing
in the laundry mat
next to the liquor store
daddy gets a message
from an underage Asian
while your mommy eats
xanax to quiet
the demons that live
inside her skull
dressed so proper
sunday on her way to church
cries when the batteries
die out now who's
going to get her past first
base...life's a race
& it's all getting real
& so close to the end
dry your eyes my darling
it's not so bad
the end is where it all begins
close the chapter
leave the book
start all over
don't be the rook
wash it all off
your pretty face
starting
tomorrow
we can leave that race
04302017
Your mother was a virgin
Mary, so why are you such a
whore...drop your clothes
at the wink of an eye
then wonder
when they hit the door
looking up
from under the pews
asking god for
just one more
was it a bible belt
they beat you with
or the brain washing
in the laundry mat
next to the liquor store
daddy gets a message
from an underage Asian
while your mommy eats
xanax to quiet
the demons that live
inside her skull
dressed so proper
sunday on her way to church
cries when the batteries
die out now who's
going to get her past first
base...life's a race
& it's all getting real
& so close to the end
dry your eyes my darling
it's not so bad
the end is where it all begins
close the chapter
leave the book
start all over
don't be the rook
wash it all off
your pretty face
starting
tomorrow
we can leave that race
04302017
Ahavati said:Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your Words, your passion, challenging the composure of even the most demure of us Southern Belles ( phew! ), and your Honest Truth.
The Honest Truth is that I feel sad for the DUP members who won't be getting a trophy even though they have been submitting poems to their personal pages almost if not every day of April.
Except the ones who didn't participate because "Ahavati" and "Johnny Blaze" were hosts.
Because that's just fucking stupid.
The Honest Truth is that I feel sad for the DUP members who won't be getting a trophy even though they have been submitting poems to their personal pages almost if not every day of April.
Except the ones who didn't participate because "Ahavati" and "Johnny Blaze" were hosts.
Because that's just fucking stupid.
SUFI
Who is this with the huge green fan
Fanning the pilgrims as they come
To the Shrine
Coming to pray
Who is this with the mad raging eyes
Cooling the sun's rays and keeping
Off the beggars and flies
As I bow in prayer
And lift hands soaked in the offering of roses
It's petal scent the sweat of my pores
Who is this in the ragged homespun
Keeping us as the light falls
And the bells ring and lanterns are lit
Who is this who says no words
Teaching the holy books and axioms
His naked feet cleaned in the dust
That the wind has whirled
His skin charcoaled waiting for the wordless
Lend me your homespun
Let my feet be cleaned in the earth
Lend me the sun and fan
As I bow down to pray
Who is this with the huge green fan
Fanning the pilgrims as they come
To the Shrine
Coming to pray
Who is this with the mad raging eyes
Cooling the sun's rays and keeping
Off the beggars and flies
As I bow in prayer
And lift hands soaked in the offering of roses
It's petal scent the sweat of my pores
Who is this in the ragged homespun
Keeping us as the light falls
And the bells ring and lanterns are lit
Who is this who says no words
Teaching the holy books and axioms
His naked feet cleaned in the dust
That the wind has whirled
His skin charcoaled waiting for the wordless
Lend me your homespun
Let my feet be cleaned in the earth
Lend me the sun and fan
As I bow down to pray
CHILDREN IN COCOA FIELDS
Here amongst the cocoa
Laid out on bamboo leaves
The taste is the essence of the air
And the children sing
Crush it and make a paste
Waste not the husks
They'll keep the fire burning
And the brown boot man
Will give us another day
To pick plantation
And tend a plot of rice
And the brown boot man will pay
Who needs play
When we can sing and
Work all day
He will take the cocoa away
And stay
In the hut with the young girl
With hair like hay
Here amongst the cocoa
Laid out on bamboo leaves
The taste is the essence of the air
And the children sing
Crush it and make a paste
Waste not the husks
They'll keep the fire burning
And the brown boot man
Will give us another day
To pick plantation
And tend a plot of rice
And the brown boot man will pay
Who needs play
When we can sing and
Work all day
He will take the cocoa away
And stay
In the hut with the young girl
With hair like hay
whale said:the quality of wifi on the long fly was bye-bye my sister
the very opposite of the quality of the wonderful and consistent marathon you designed (imposed) with Mr.Blaze
A real journey!!!
No worries, my brother! We knew something happened when we couldn't reach you! CONGRATULATIONS! 🏆❤
And to all who made it!!
the very opposite of the quality of the wonderful and consistent marathon you designed (imposed) with Mr.Blaze
A real journey!!!
No worries, my brother! We knew something happened when we couldn't reach you! CONGRATULATIONS! 🏆❤
And to all who made it!!
I want to take the moment to say that without Ahavati, this "Official" DUP NaPoWriMo competition would have never been. She has gone above and beyond the call of duty in every respect - making it a reality, promoting it, acquiring unique trophies for it custom designed by the Webmiss, fielding a hundred or so panicked private messages regarding late entries, keeping on as many people as possible to follow the RULES and after all that - putting up some incredibly long entries in an ongoing series taken inspiration from the chapters of her personal life.
If anyone deserves congratulations on a job well done and multiple trophies, it's Ahavati.
If anyone deserves congratulations on a job well done and multiple trophies, it's Ahavati.
JohnnyBlaze said:
[...]
If anyone deserves congratulations on a job well done and multiple trophies, it's Ahavati.
Says Mr.150 Poems in one month. I'm catatonic off 30 something.
It's always a pleasure dancing with you, Johnny.
http://i1376.photobucket.com/albums/ah16/Ahavati1/6c67558f-591c-4712-b20e-d44b8efd0c17_zpsrgkipkkz.jpg
[...]
If anyone deserves congratulations on a job well done and multiple trophies, it's Ahavati.
Says Mr.150 Poems in one month. I'm catatonic off 30 something.
It's always a pleasure dancing with you, Johnny.
http://i1376.photobucket.com/albums/ah16/Ahavati1/6c67558f-591c-4712-b20e-d44b8efd0c17_zpsrgkipkkz.jpg
Hello all... I sought to write a cycle of sonnets beginning with an Invocation and ending with a Thanksgiving - as I added an out of cycle poem (40 Miles Out of Gallop) - I finish the cycle here:
May 1, 2017
CYCLE’S END
Beltane
As mid-Spring fires illume the forest night,
As maidens’ feet kick high on earthly floor,
The Goddess glows in horn’ed consort’s sight,
As vernal sprouts take form from winter’s hoar.
The frosted dark gives way before the dawn,
As Old Man gives himself to Easter’s want.
So fills the night ‘til lusts and raves are gone,
And gains fulfilled his rest in wooded haunts.
Just so, the Muse returned to lay with me,
And brought from barren dearth new fields of rhyme.
For thirty-days, She gave my verses lea,
That I might offer praise in poems sublime.
As She bestowed I tried best my recount,
I thank my hosts their time and grace: (Exeunt!)
May 1, 2017
CYCLE’S END
Beltane
As mid-Spring fires illume the forest night,
As maidens’ feet kick high on earthly floor,
The Goddess glows in horn’ed consort’s sight,
As vernal sprouts take form from winter’s hoar.
The frosted dark gives way before the dawn,
As Old Man gives himself to Easter’s want.
So fills the night ‘til lusts and raves are gone,
And gains fulfilled his rest in wooded haunts.
Just so, the Muse returned to lay with me,
And brought from barren dearth new fields of rhyme.
For thirty-days, She gave my verses lea,
That I might offer praise in poems sublime.
As She bestowed I tried best my recount,
I thank my hosts their time and grace: (Exeunt!)
I couldn't quit
damn man
my fingers have got the
adrenalin
and my mind is addicted
to the post
couldn't let go
so you had to have another
consider it
the poetry ghost
addiction infliction
words like birds
flutter
pages without wages
with
aliens in nations
and
stars like large cars
falling from
heavens
in caravans of love
our affection detection
is based on our craving
for time spent
dropping
phrases on pages
in undergrounds
writing challenge
thirty one
oh damn screw it
have another one!
-x-
