#NaPoWriMo '23

[nateglogan]

NaPoWriMo #30: For the First Time

If you spend enough time at a beatnik cafe, a paper crown will appear on your head.

Sculptures of dad bods popping up on the town square.

There’s only so many things one can argue about the human condition.

So many times one can say, “Shut-up, Richard.”

Tragedy plus time equals comedy?

Air travel plus bags of peanuts equals lawsuit?

I’m embarrassed!

Don’t ask me about new patio furniture on a Monday.

If this is a spy story, it’s guaranteed not to end well.

No one knows who I am without glasses and a pretentious-ass mustache.

Songs that decrescendo and fade out on a record versus doing the complete opposite live.

The frozen thing always thaws out.

Recently bias.

Here’s a quote I’ve found that helps during these trying years.

“Clouds aren't as pretty as they used to be. That's a known fact.”

[theglycoprotein]

SUNFLOWERS

I am doom-scrolling. Again.

I would not call this pastime a "favourite"

of mine,

however the air miles run up by my fingers may

paint me a liar in this case.

Videos and memes flash like fireworks,

like stop signs, like the notifications from Fitbit

"it's time to get ready for bed"

that go swiftly ignored

when my attention is grabbed,

and my attention has been grabbed.

On my feed, a time lapse pops up.

It is of the life cycle of a sunflower;

seventy five days squashed into twenty three seconds

like ten heart beats can adequately capture the lifespan

of any living thing.

Seed placed in soil in perspex box gives perspective;

I realise that I've forgotten that everything that grows

grows down first: builds roots like roadways into the city

of their bodies - it's day 7 before the first signs of life

show above ground.

You have to get to day 50 before anything looks

remotely like a flower; before

head erupts from stem like a flag emerging, defiant,

from the battlefield -

I am here, I am.

Only recognisable between days 57 and 75 -

such a short space of time between the having become,

and the having been.

And I wonder, if at 29 years old, maybe I am still

just a seed, burrowing into warm soil.

Trying to find the right place to anchor the roots of me.

[torrentialmonsoon]

why isn't there a name for a feeling that isn't jealousy or hatred or envy, but describes this hole i have in my heart? - i wish it could have easy for me, too. grief is a thief.

[asthadwivedi]

[beautifleye]

It's me

Anticipating meeting a powerful person Attending as many functions as possible Placing myself at the right destination Fulfilling commitments with taking over the world as my intent Downward spiral of consent Unwavering thoughts of insignificance Dominating presence of spatial capacity Lowering expectations from disappointment Impacting the scene As my smile gleams Lupus on the lips of…

[secretsinthedarkthepodcast]

NaPoWriMo (2024) Day 6: What's right, what's left?

Today’s prompt asks us to talk about a weird advice we received. This is my take on it. Raise your right handAnd I'd plop my left one upAnd then look at my friendsCorrect my mistakeTill it became a running jokeWhat's right, what's left?Till my mom said,Raise the hand you'd eat fromThat's rightAnd so I trained for yearsFirst I brought the hand till my mouthDoes that feel right?Again the jokes,…

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

The Flats by the Playing Field

1. Too many stairs to the top floor, and yet I ran up them, brave and unafraid of falling, but more scared of the piss-scented lift that always stopped between floors. 2. If you bumped into a neighbour, leaping downstairs was easier, even on the way to the grocery store. it was an escape, the stairwell to freedom, and you didn’t need to take a breath between floors. 3. Accompanied by the…

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #23: A poem about someone who wishes to be something else

Prayer to the Creator

Sculptor of mountains Turn my stony heart to clay Let Your hand shape me Into a vessel pure and holy For the water of Your grace

Painter of sunrises Wash my soul with Light Strip away what's dull and gray Cover me with countless colors To blaze your Beauty in our blinded world

Maker of mosaics Shatter what I am Make of me a million shards of gold and glass Your hands can set in pleasing patterns To catch Your Light in Holy Fire

Keeper of the Garden Tend my tangled roots Prune away what's dead in me and Train me toward the Light So I may burst in brilliant bloom

Weaver of worlds Make my life a brilliant thread Vital to the masterpiece You've woven since the world's beginning, and will show us at the end of days.

Creator of all Make my life a work of art Refined always by Your master hand Until at last You deem me worthy To display in Your eternal hall.

[tookishcombeferre]

in mythology odin and i were blood brothers, thick as thieves, and almost co-dependent warrior siblings. marvel paints us father and son. you: his golden boy, long sought for. and i? his silver tongued stolen son.

you wear three faces: the one who is him, the one he wants to be, the one he seeks to replace him. i wear none.

yet, i still guide the path beneath your feet, teach you diplomacy, write your essays, hold your hands through heartache, biting down hard on my bleeding tongue, norns knowing this will end with poison in my eyes.

penmanship matters so little, now, in midnight hours, as truth’s snake venom runs its course heartbeat after heartbeat through me. monster, kill the monster, we used to play it. you used to … i used to … thunder has always followed you. just your face glancing around a doorway had everyone gushing clapping hands and rushing to greet you, joyous. little hammer raised in triumph and battle cry poised at the ready for all to admire.

silver tongue matters little when fists, and actions speak first. raised voices shake our halls, and walls no. there is no applause for poetry, and less for diplomacy, as seiðr fast fades from our veins. there is no place for me, thor. in asgard. ~ god of applause; and roars of thunder p.s. shuller written for NaPoWriMo (official) Day 23

[arseekh-kebab]

excerpt from my 21st poem of napowrimo '23, titled "Defeat".

[nateglogan]

NaPoWriMo #29: Poem

POOF

[rustbeltjessie]

Rust Belt Jessie’s NaPoWriMo 2023 Prompts: #23

“No time for poetry but exactly what is.” (after Jack Kerouac)

First, I would like to note that I am not asking you to write a poem in the style of Jack Kerouac*. God, no. I am a Kerouac stan (his writing not his personal life oh my god please don’t make me defend my love for Ti Jean for the one hundred thousandth time), and with a few exceptions, I think his poetry kinda sucks**. His prose is where it’s at, for me.

What I am asking you to do here is consider entry no. 10 from his “Belief & Technique for Modern Prose”:

No time for poetry but exactly what is***

Or, to quote Marie Howe from this On Being interview:

Just tell me what you saw this morning like in two lines. I saw a water glass on a brown tablecloth, and the light came through it in three places. No metaphor. And to resist metaphor is very difficult because you have to actually endure the thing itself, which hurts us for some reason.

I don’t think enduring the thing itself hurts me. I just think metaphor and simile are fun****. So, in that way, they are difficult for me to resist. And that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do for this exercise.

Write down what you are experiencing, sensorily, right now. (You could even use the 5-4-3-2-1 technique for coping with anxiety: list five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste.) Later, you can rearrange the wording to make your poem, as long as you continue to resist metaphor.

No time for poetry but exactly what is.

—

*I mean, unless you wanna.

**One notable exception being “Skid Row Wine.” That’s one of my all-time favorite poems by anyone, ever.

***For the purposes of this exercise, I am interpreting this as “There’s no time to add poetic language to yr raw experience of the world, just record it.” But I love that it could also mean “There’s no time for poetry. But what is poetry, anyway?” Aahhhhh. Fuck. God damn Kerouac, am I right?!

****I am realizing, as I edit this book, that I have overused the word ‘fun,’ when what I mean might be more aptly described by words like ‘entertaining,’ ‘interesting,’ or ‘engaging.’ But I am not going to go back and thesaurusize (new word I just made up! steal it if you feel it!) it all now, because we’re halfway through the month and I wanna finish this shit.

(This exercise is from my ebook of NaPoWriMo prompts, which can be found here.)

[blackinkmess]

NaPoWriMo 2023 - Day 23

Why must we live in a state of panic, why must we submit to a culture that hustles us from one thing to the next without allowing us to rest? Anxiety is an epidemic of our own creation. Impatience has become our permanent state of being. I refuse to be defined only by my productivity, by the success I achieve. The cost is too high to live such an unaware and chaotic life. Humans are not meant to live this way.

[guns-wanderingsoul]

Source: Remix from Page 22-23 of The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson.

#thepoeming#shirleyjackson#hauntingofhillhousepoems#found poetry#30 poems in 30 days#napowrimo

[asthadwivedi]

[random-lilly]

Prompt: "I am an arms dealer, filling you with weapons in the form of words"

every sentence is a match struck with you you're the clank in a lighter shutting a full-stop, unsatisfying, tension inducing you don't say what you mean you find it easier to point a finger pouring gasoline in a perfect little circle around me "I lied to you, I expect too much" disappointing isn't it? knowing you'll suffer forever you are enemy territory my love today could be the day you acknowledge me while yesterday you begged "Don't ignore me" why try saving face in front of others i'll always know. i'll always know. this war runs until you're dead to me. this ain't a scene babe, it's a goddamn arms race. and all is fair in war

( though nothing was fair in the way you spoke to me.)

________________________________________________

all is fair in love, napowrimo '23