2025 Official NaPoWriMo Registration Thread
The Woman Who is With Me
I should draw breath
of fire into lungs,
a chanting ritual built
upon drum beat and smoke.
Her soft tanned, leather dress
flows with many hands of making,
her hair a flutter of feathers.
Upon my cold, shivering body
laid deep into the earth
she covers me with a blanket
old as death itself.
Knelt at my crown she whispers
as tiny bells in the trees—
This is your season of listening.
of fire into lungs,
a chanting ritual built
upon drum beat and smoke.
Her soft tanned, leather dress
flows with many hands of making,
her hair a flutter of feathers.
Upon my cold, shivering body
laid deep into the earth
she covers me with a blanket
old as death itself.
Knelt at my crown she whispers
as tiny bells in the trees—
This is your season of listening.
Written by Eerie
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Eerie's final poem, The Woman Who Is With Me, is a metaphor of acceptance and depiction of both our Mother Earth and the Shamanism so prevalent in ancient rituals of medicine. Into the Mother's arms are we laid for our season of listening, a brilliant metaphor for dreams and the prophetic messages within the sleep-stage of her transitory Death.
The imagery of the tanned hide indicative of indigenous clothing made with "many hands" paints a portrait of primordial artisan crafting. Her hair "a flutter of feathers" is revered among natives and symbolize honor, power, wisdom, trust, strength, and freedom. Aboriginal tribes believed that feathers carry messages from their ancestors in the form of guidance and inspiration for life.
The smoke, the drums, the ritual itself represents the liberation of her Spirit from its gilded cage of bones. Death is not merely an end but a transition, a sacred corridor between doorways of change from the season of speaking to one of listening.
Every post I have made about Eerie engulfs me in her Spirit. I feel her presence so strongly that I cannot help by cry and rejoice at the same time. I believe with everything that she is letting us know that she is with us, loves us, and is proud of us all for carrying on in honor of her.
And if you open your heart when reading her poetry, you will feel her too, like the vibration of tiny bells in the trees. . .
Through the Kaleidoscope
Acknowledge the darkness
but do not dwell on it —
months or years from now
with the clarity of hindsight,
you will see how it combines
with every colour of the rainbow
to create an image of great beauty.
Constantly changing; dynamic and vibrant,
YOUR life is a masterpiece.
Do you see it yet?
but do not dwell on it —
months or years from now
with the clarity of hindsight,
you will see how it combines
with every colour of the rainbow
to create an image of great beauty.
Constantly changing; dynamic and vibrant,
YOUR life is a masterpiece.
Do you see it yet?
Written by Wafflenose
(Ellie)
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This is the final poem from my second book, Kaleidoscope. The poems in the book are grouped by mood and colour, and encompass many difficult emotions including anger, jealousy and fear, as well as the beauty and joy that life can bring. The book's final section, Synthesis, aims to show how everything we go through forms part of our life's rich tapestry. I feel inspired whenever one of my poems gives somebody hope in any way.
We're opening her up!
As this is the final DU NaPoWriMo, Team NaPo'25 has opted to open up our sister comp, The Stomp the Prompt Comp, to anyone on DU who wishes to join NaPo. Historically, the Stomp the Prompt Comp was restricted to registrants of the official challenge; however, this year we'll be relaxing the rules somewhat so that anyone can join that comp in the spirit of NaPo and Poetry.
It's difficult to get excited about this because of the imminent demise of the site; however, this is our final farewell to DU, and possibly each other, so we encourage to you participate!
The Secrets of Summer
during the summer of ?87,
my grandmother gifted stories
over a 5-gallon bucket,
shelling fat, waxy green beans
picked fresh from her garden;
I?d yet to understand the lessons
she?d packed within the soil;
curiosity was wound tightly inside
each of my waking moments,
and I asked her again and again
to give to me all her secrets -
of quiet and gentle wisdom,
and of loud and bold intuition;
it would be years later I?d realize
she already had
*My grandmother was a steadfast presence during a turbulent childhood and I’m thankful every day for her patience with my incessant questions and her wisdom, passed down in stories that I now tell my children.*
during the summer of ?87,
my grandmother gifted stories
over a 5-gallon bucket,
shelling fat, waxy green beans
picked fresh from her garden;
I?d yet to understand the lessons
she?d packed within the soil;
curiosity was wound tightly inside
each of my waking moments,
and I asked her again and again
to give to me all her secrets -
of quiet and gentle wisdom,
and of loud and bold intuition;
it would be years later I?d realize
she already had
*My grandmother was a steadfast presence during a turbulent childhood and I’m thankful every day for her patience with my incessant questions and her wisdom, passed down in stories that I now tell my children.*
Such is a Poem
Writing cathartic
emotions explored
written account
of memories stored
Illustrated words
bled onto a page
volumes of emotions
be them love or rage
No limit exists
on what is expressed
how you are cursed
or ways you are blessed
Such is a poem
no matter the form
art made of letters
words for your storm
This is what poetry is for me. I write from the heart about my experiences and emotions. This poem is a tribute to all poets here. Regardless of how or why you write, your words are your craft and no matter what, keep writing.
Writing cathartic
emotions explored
written account
of memories stored
Illustrated words
bled onto a page
volumes of emotions
be them love or rage
No limit exists
on what is expressed
how you are cursed
or ways you are blessed
Such is a poem
no matter the form
art made of letters
words for your storm
This is what poetry is for me. I write from the heart about my experiences and emotions. This poem is a tribute to all poets here. Regardless of how or why you write, your words are your craft and no matter what, keep writing.
Just Give Me a Moment
It’s not that I don’t want to write today,
but clouds are floating gently in the sky
and that green bug has bowed its head to pray
and later lightning bugs will spark nearby.
Just let me laze and soak up all the sun
and stress about my Art some other time.
Right now, I need to have a little fun,
forget about pentameter and rhyme.
It’s quite the task to poem every day
when all of life feels fast and days are short.
My job, my kids, and every old cliche
keeps butting in and offers no support.
So, let me have this moment in the sun…
There! Now you see I have a poem done.
NaPoWriMo can be a challenge. It can be hard to write a poem every day, but just stick to it. It sharpens your skills and helps build routine and momentum. If it turns into a polished poem sometime later, fantastic! But sometimes a poem may never go any further than what you post for NaPo because you think it’s crap. That’s fine, too. It very well could be crap, but it’s not worthless! Every write, every scrawled idea and phrase, is practice. You won’t get better without practice!
Go forth and write your next masterpiece! Or your next flop! JUST WRITE!
It’s not that I don’t want to write today,
but clouds are floating gently in the sky
and that green bug has bowed its head to pray
and later lightning bugs will spark nearby.
Just let me laze and soak up all the sun
and stress about my Art some other time.
Right now, I need to have a little fun,
forget about pentameter and rhyme.
It’s quite the task to poem every day
when all of life feels fast and days are short.
My job, my kids, and every old cliche
keeps butting in and offers no support.
So, let me have this moment in the sun…
There! Now you see I have a poem done.
NaPoWriMo can be a challenge. It can be hard to write a poem every day, but just stick to it. It sharpens your skills and helps build routine and momentum. If it turns into a polished poem sometime later, fantastic! But sometimes a poem may never go any further than what you post for NaPo because you think it’s crap. That’s fine, too. It very well could be crap, but it’s not worthless! Every write, every scrawled idea and phrase, is practice. You won’t get better without practice!
Go forth and write your next masterpiece! Or your next flop! JUST WRITE!
