NaPoWriMo Feature #4

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Sooo hi. Yes, I know it's been almost two whole months since NaPo ended, but I am lazy and irresponsible so there. Here is the final installment of the NaPo features, with, once again, three of my favorite NaPo poems from all of the winners. Enjoy!



:iconmedoriko:
Medoriko
No Refuge from MemoryForgetting is only half the battle, when the hands of time
only serve to help remember. Bones brittled and a heart, bittered
rests in my minds eye, deep. These memories replay like cinematic adventures;
every word hissed from your chapped lips sends me on the
verge of a new dawn. As the sun rises, so do I, with
every thorn in my back. But for every prick, I
remember to harden. And for that, I am all the wiser.
When in DoubtFeather soft and quiet as a whisper,
she tip toes around the sleeping beast.
They would lay together in the bed they made.
Rolling around in twisted sheets.
White walls and picket fences.
Surely they had it all?
HeatThe curvature of her body
kicked him into a frenzy.
Eyes that beckoned,
dizzied him up.
She was the habit
he couldn't quit;
long after she was gone.
Forever, she lingered.
Just so.





:iconsilver-ships-fly:
silver-ships-fly
:thumb363122504: :thumb365040563: :thumb368669584:



:iconthe-night-dreamer:
The-Night-Dreamer
owlsof the mist whispers and
soggy willow branches
above the werewolves and
jasmine flower blossoms-
niched to brown liquid
flowing in veins and
the half-smile of the moon;
dragonfly eyed and hickory
wings sailing the milky
way until the sun crack
lulls reality into
day
dreamsrainy days always rip sparrows out of his stringy cyan frays,
skinny cut survivors of sprays and downpours;
that boy hunts for spirits through a window gap of two dark curtains
shut blinds oozing possibility and longing-
and that boy would lift a digit on the misty window &
paint two swans lavish in gray-
crossing into a sole body
and his pail iris would hold strong
  scooping his only longings
    who would fly into the mournful world
who shut him out
         and would again think nothing of that boy sprawling in his windowsill
   cradling pin shards all had forgot,
 tombs grating wrists and jawline.
    Patching all rips in his pants
would not be a bountiful ransom for a soul
 of an outcast painting rainbows for a day only in his fantasy.
 
alliterisenan oceanic open panic
words with no being, a verbal titanic
sinking softly in a deep, umm,
certainty of a secret; dove's succumb,
maimed in claims of chaos
inside crossed iron curtains, lost
words who will never be billed true cost




:iconlionesserampant:
LionesseRampant
:thumb380931946: :thumb380932572: :thumb380932799:



:icongloryousglory:
GloryousGlory
:thumb364558755: :thumb366095892: :thumb368871240:



:iconneurotype-on-discord:
neurotype-on-discord
:thumb362816881:
PS. I wanted to put your actual poems, but sta.sh doesn't have thumbs :(



:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat
I do not write,I do not write, I bleed
schematics of synecdoches and similes  
and au courant, automatic mechanisms
scratching at my skin and
sprouting from my soul
leaving me a scabbed superlative
I do not write, I breathe
alliterations and allegories in
novel repetition as nifty
contradiction to common beliefs
I do not write, I believe
in non-sequitur sensibilities seeping
stirring once sleepy sanguine spirits
while borrowing words from different
vocabularies, maintaining macaronic
anarchy as I do what I please
to the vulture who thought himself a liondear lion-maned, limerick, done and overbearing, loony look of first love
  back then, way back when-
  thank you for teaching me all about the poetry
  of pushing dopamine and painting adrenaline
      this:
      i am kinesthetic inside a kaleidoscope world
         yours were the first arms that taught me
         the art of knees giving way
         yours was the first pair of lips  
         i longed to lick apart all day
         yours were the first foot-steps that formed
         a second dub-step to my own thump-a-thump-thump
         yours was the first hurt i fell-apart for
         my skipping stones kept sinking for sometime
dear lion-maned, blood and bile-laced, festering carcass of a first love
  and now, after everything-
  thank you for teaching me about thumb-tacked tar tongues
  and lead-filled lithium lungs
  -choking the puppy out of my loves
 
      that:
      even if i am bare while standing in front of love
      i remember to spare some of this for myself
rock bottom, ocean floorhalf-past a different kind of broken
on sadness, she wrote:
           
           blind fool in the umbra    
           bury yourself in me
           on the other side of lonely
           and by god, i love you
                (maybe i will be a landfill)
           
everyone i meet looks for a place to stay;
out of the woods, on wet roads
under wind, under rain
  -i'm so far away
no wonder it took him 1455 pages
waiting for her to come this way
tramps like us-
               in lieu of emptiness
               in absence of a poem
               wander, wander
                    (pour a little salt, we were never here)
your heart was a broken sailor
fishing for hearts with lace and not netting;
into the deep end of our story
i saw god leaving the shore




:icontheomegapoint:
TheOmegaPoint
The Omega Point          For reason or rhyme
        There is an end to time
      For everything and everyone:
   I have played        The decisions
  A fool too                We've made
 Long to                        Of late
Know or                          Are not
To Care                          Exactly
 Whether                        What we
  There ever                Had agreed
   Were reasons          On-I for one
To keep still 'til    Have taken my fill          I see
This time runs out
Bradycardia
I imagine what must be going wrong
Inside, how it should feel, what all besides
This dull life there is to know.  Am I strong
Enough for you?  Like the beat, I go on
In stride--pride in my heart does not reside,
But thinking rest makes me restless; slowing
Only reminds me of dying, and so I
Would be lying if I said that lying
Down with you seems like any less than fear.
And fear I face in the corner crying,
Alone--alone is how we die, I hear.
From my grave that is a bed, I gave up,
But found my soul was heavier than air.
Back on ground, I awoke, for the death cup
Had rejected my lips.  I sit these hips
On my throne that is a chair,
From there, my plots are planned
And like a drowsy emperor I yawn,
Dreaming the world apart,
With my whole hand
Thrown in for one girl's heart.
Time and love share the same arrow and both
Have passed through me, as if I were nothing
But tissue paper.  It has been so long
Since I could sleep without ever hearing
A single heartbeat.  N
The Certain Comfort of a Rare Thing
Art is not about beauty or
Truth--the truth is you're a dead horse
That didn't deserve to be whipped,
But was, because some morals slip.
No one will have to lie for you
Again--true, no one pities who
Loves vanity too much and pride
And comes before a fall in stride.
You never listen to reason,
Something deeper
Must be cut into you.  It stung,
Yes, to lose her?
You might think you will still stand strong,
When the act is done, like diamonds
Succumb to lapping in good time,
And, perhaps, as you hid your crime,
Maybe you will weather it long,
But damned if you resist this tongue.
Now, devil, out, out, taste my scourge,
Catch your breath for a gentle purge.
Paint peels in wet strips from the wall,
The iron bends, a pounding maul.
Spreading wetness on cobble stone,
A whimper echoes to a moan.
I have only helped your own slide
Into madness
Pain without end, what tattered hide
My hands caress.
Since you wanted it more than me,
I'll always oblige a lady,
Even if your sin cannot be
Tolerat




:iconfervvent:
fervvent



And now, onto those comments.....

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