#napowrimo 2021 day 30

[prasannawrites]

patchwork.

how cruel of april? to barge in with anger in her chest, and you’re still there in the morning. with light, i almost think of april as a secret lover, i said her absence is no longer a shadow. maybe, you and the sun were one in the same.

we are an ouroboros, redden earth, fertilized with your blood.

i ask too much of you – it’s true, i wrongly thought of your clavicles as home.

you reside softly between pink clouds, this is vulnerability at its peak; the words escape me.

i only see you, lamenting the dying of light – i do not know how to balm this storm.

you are laden with light – you put on a show as you could’ve formed me in any likeness. i am profound in your palms only.

you smell of poetry again - you once said you were convinced i can neatly categorize my life before-you, maybe that’s why all my words beat a steady trail everywhere i go.

all i know, with any certainty – you trample me with your soft fingers.

in a different mirror, you are like the stirring waters of the sea – you embody love like no one can.

#cento #cento poem #cento poem using all the napowrimo poems i've wrote line 1 is from day 1 etc #poetry #poems #napowrimo #napowrimo 21 #napowrimo 2021 #napowrimo day 30 #napowrimo 2021 day 30 #poeticstories #writerscreed #love #love poems #love poetry #13cupsofteareblog #soft #yearning #poetryportal #poetselixir #poetryclub13 #writtenconsiderations #smitten by poetry #deadwatered #inspireamuse #bitsofstarglow #twc poetry #napowrimo 2021 again #my writing #prasannawrites

[disheveledfemme]

4/16

I just have to say,

that all of today

I’ve been feeling some way.

It’s been up and down,

I smile then frown,

I feel I could drown.

Perhaps it is time,

(when I finish this rhyme)

to let everything steep

and just go to sleep.

#poetry #spilled ink #napowrimo #prompt: write a skeltonic verse #it’s been A DAY #not really the day for a silly little rhyming poem but it works I guess #napowrimo 2021 #disheveledfemme writing #16/30

[terimariedegree]

Napkin dried tears

reheated restaurant bought Soul Food that was moved from styrofoam container to one of the good plates because today is still special the clank of spoon unheard because laughter from shared meals’ past envelopes what was meant to uplift seems to have mistakenly misstepped onto a memory mine hidden hidden like the loaf pan in the freezer door which is to say it is something someone unfamiliar could plainly see but for you it has become unseen scenery silver block frozen brick of meat prepared by Mom’s hands before she left a gift with a day like today in mind yet still it sits because if it should ever be cooked and eaten then there would be nothing left

#National Poetry Month #30 day challenge #30in30 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2021 #easter #pandemic holiday

[peaamlipoetrydoctor]

Getting Into The Grove/s

Today's prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 2 (02 April 2022) was to look for a word or words from Haggard Hawks on Twitter, an account specializing in writing about words that have become unusual, overlooked, obscure and out-of-current-use.

The account has a handy pinned tweet with their top 30 tweets of 2021 and the image at the start of this blog is a screen shot of one of these, listing out the old-fashioned names for tree-groves, where the name varies according to the particular species of tree growing there.

This brought to mind Joyce Kilmer's poem, "Trees" - and we set off from there!

Getting Into The Groves

Like Joyce*, I think I’ll never see

a poem as lovely as a tree.

What ode could match the treasure stored

by resting in a Birkenshaw?

The choicest rhyme would find it hard

to out-compete an Ossiard.

A sonnet simply cannot feed me

like wand’ring through an old Pomary.

Could any couplet fizz and thrum

like Farmer Joseph’s Myrtetum?

A Couldray offers food and shade –

the best haiku has been out-played!

I dream of syrup in a Sapbush.

No ballad serves this kind of rush…

And best of all, the mighty Darroch

out-vibes the verse of any epoch!

*Kilmer (whose poem, Trees, was published in 1913).

#napowrimo #poetry

[blackinkmess]

NaPoWriMo 2021 - Day 30

We are endlessly drawn to each other, this raw human connection. So many forces of nature can unite us, so many little moments can piece us back together. No matter how many times we lose our way, we always find people who bring us back remind us how to heal.

#writer #writing #poet #poetry #poem #poeticstories #writingthestorm #napowrimo #napowrimo2021 #spilledink

[lipstickonmugs]

Strange

To live with so many ghosts

Spilling from every drawer

Found in old coat pockets

Floating and present under the bed

Pushing hard against my lungs

Strange

To find ghosts

7 years old and exactly where I left them

Kept safe

Forgotten in plain sight

Some days I feel myself lift off the ground

Supported and drowning

In a fog of what was

Strange

To wonder when I'll be next

b.t.a. napowrimo 2021, 4/30

#oh boy #i seem to love my ocean floating suffocating themes??????????? #napowrimo #napowrimo 2021 #4/30 #mine

[thepoeming]

SIGN UP FOR THE SPRING POEMING 2021: STANZA OF THE LAMBS!

It’s time for another round of our NaPoWriMo Spring POEMING challenge! While our October events are structured around the entire catalog of a single author in and around the horror and mystery genres, in the spring we ask our participants to all work with one iconic spooky book. This April we are looking for participants to write and post 30 poems in 30 days using the horror classic THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS by Thomas Harris!  So how is this going to work? Participants will need a copy of the aforementioned novel (you should be able to get a new copy for under $10, and there is an ebook edition in print if you have accessibility needs) and a willingness to sign a blood oath. What we need from you is one poem for each day of the month of April, which you will post on your own tumblr blog to share with our Facebook group. (We know, we are VERY high tech.) You will be expected to write and post 30 poems during the month of April Your poems must be written using found poetry techniques, and the only source text you can use is your copy of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. Participants need not be experts in found poetry, or even poetry. We love newbies. In our Facebook group we like to share tips and tricks and encourage each other’s creativity as we all write weird and spooky poems together. So. Are you interested? Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Sign up here: https://forms.gle/d3vAFmpZUjGnWo6A6

#thesilenceofthelambs #the silence of the lambs #clarice starling #clarice #thomas harris #thomasharris #horror #thriller #mystery skulls animated #poetry #napowrimo #foundpoetry #thepoeming #Poems #the poeming #erasure #blackout #whiteout #cutup #cut-up #remix #collage #found poetry #poet #poets #amwriting #writing #experimental writing #experimental #3030

[enzymedevice]

I made it through NaPoWriMo 2021!

I know I’m uploading this in May, but I did write it yesterday. Day 30 - Cell:

The edifice rises from chasmic horizons

and, doing so, engineers chess on four levels

which legions of lords could not overthrow;

paradigm shifts are maintained in the overflow

and so the president rises agape from her throne

and her glittering fingernails point to the moon

and the hovering moonspawn cry shrill in atonement

and clinking gold whispers,

“It's over too soon,"

and despicably

Earth is a cosmic spittoon.

#my poem #poem #my poetry #poetry #napowrimo 2021 #napowrimo

[wordsitellmyselfatnight]

I applied by duskdream I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that what got me into this was sharing a story about poetry, transgender people and refugees, drag queens and identities. It’s full circle, and, at the same time, parabolic — riding a roller coaster as it rises gaining speed, after I had settled into something comfortable so quickly. But life isn’t built in the epiphany, the single moment that compels change. How could you trust anything? Life is in daily yeses and the noes. Once a day amounts to 365 in a blink. My first patient soon becomes the last one I ever want to see, healthy— sick— Until tomorrow. I had said, “Every patient is a new poem” to analyze and treat as unique. But people are no metaphor. They are no machine. Neither am I. For I am slow, to internalize and deliberate. Whether in white or donned a dusk dream, Can I take time with you? 30/30 A snapshot into the statement for my application So ends #NaPoWriMo 2021. I hope these #wordsitellmyselfatnight brought something to you as well. Keep up your imagination 📸 @tsuki_sm https://www.instagram.com/p/COT6LNhBY5l/?igshid=10etkcq9a4ond

#napowrimo #wordsitellmyselfatnight

[coloradomcpoeticslave]

NaPoWriMo 2021 Poem #1: Healing over and over

NaPoWriMo 2021 Poem #1: Healing over and over

By Daniel Paiz April is National Poetry Writing Month (or NaPoWriMo), and one of many challenges for this month is writing 30 poems in 30 days. Some follow prompts, others prepare various ideas and their own types of challenges. When it comes to this site, it is very free flowing, and tends to focus on being pieces of the times. Whatever is happening in the world around us will likely rear their…

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#2021 #healing #NaPoWriMo #Poetry #Rhymes

[awyldepoetry]

Canonic platonic sonnet

It was a long four years apart, so much befell us though I wasn’t keeping records or counting days I don’t know where one goes when lost, never-ending maze but through the toil and trial, so my love developed

So compelled, and we oft’ forget what will compel us to remember you in comedy, in fondness, with praise and ‘cause the anger’d gone, to tell you in so many ways that I loved and I missed you, without need to embellish

That late Friday night when you came to my mind I thought of our joyous laughter, so often fitful and how protective I felt - a sibling, or a mother

And I wished that I still could call you mine cherish our giggles, grab our jolly by the fistful savvy that a friend is a different kind of lover

A. Wylde

April 23rd, 2021 NaPoWriMo 22/30

#sonnet #poem #love poem #poems #poetry #national poetry writing month #napowrimo #napowrimo21 #spilled ink #National Poetry Month #Love #Philia #2202

[awyldepoetry]

My mother’s dreams

I only love the word “her” out of my mother’s mouth. Woman gave blood to me, gave love to me,  made the word “me” fit in my mouth.

“When I was fifteen, I dreamed of you!” She almost shouts, pointing at me from across the table in the half-hostile, half welcome hostility I have always known. The tears in her eyes offer sincerity she’s remiss to allow, and even my own inability to conjure tears is a subtle kind of understood in this one moment. I am different from her. I am separate from her. Yet I am hers.

I am my ancestors wildest dreams, ending with my mother, who dreamed me when she was fifteen. My mother who came here from Venezuela thinking that a pea was a vegetable, not understanding when the other kids at school told her that her clothes carried pee stains.

My mother is a white woman. Her father the polyglot spoke French and Portuguese and Italian and Spanish and German and Child and Worth and Learning and Love and when he spoke to my mother in her mother tongue he told her “you are enough.” Few are so lucky.

My mother the white woman is Venezuelan, y aunque ella nunca me habló en la lengua de su hogar, yo aprendí; and even though she never spoke to me in the language of her home, I learned. Para ser con, para, y de ella, and I am. I am hers.

It’s a special kind of lonely to be far from home, far from homeland, a whole other color than the people who you might find kin. A gringa. My Venezuelan mother’s daughter, with white skin.

Y tambien tengo acento cuando hablo, and I also have an accent when I speak; porque tenía que aprender en la escuela lo que esperé había ser planeado como regalo para mi, because I had to learn in school what I hoped had been planned as a gift for me. The ability to speak with my ancestors, to members of my family; the tool to find community.

These days with my mother, it’s tough. And even from her mouth, the word “her” starts to sting, and even being her “daughter” starts to bring up weird feelings. And that’s my stuff, that stuff is on me, because I haven’t and I can’t and I won’t ask her to call me by name. I can no longer stomach her rebuff. In being my biggest, I think I’ve lost here somewhere. I’ve been running towards my best self, she hasn’t kept up.

I sometimes wonder how well she dreamed me, how I measure up. I wonder if her dream me is what stands in the way of her being able to see me. Lengua. I’ve ached for my language, and with her I’ve learned to hold my tongue.

I think when I was young, it used to feel like me and mother had each other. It was us against the world. And now it feels like it’s just me against the world, sometimes even me against her, but always just me, alone.

A. Wylde

April 13th, 2021 NaPoWriMo 12/30

#poems #new poem #spilled ink #national poetry writing month #napowrimo #napowrimo21 #poem #poetry #slam poem #spoken word poetry #mom