#napowrimo vol.3

[env0writes]

NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.1.24 “A Sword-Of..."

By any rights there is a tip In which to puncture, pierce, or point To take direction, or which to lead Articulated as one would a joint From that tip, so sharp as to let blood drip Befalls a blade as sharp and shattered as battle let It serves its purpose in its own service bled To execute all direction, duty-pointed who have met From tip to blade to hefted-hafted handle Across from whom would so carefully guard Where upon I place my hand To carry this is not awfully hard With swift movement to darken nightlight’s candle This is not a heavy thing, yet burdensome to bear Pommeled steel hold all so tight; yet little goes as planned By my side with ease to wear From heft to hit a sword is held As civil shield or callous cutpurse; with it the world – be felled

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.23.24 “Super Man"

There was a time When to be super Meant to care That was the power, and that alone To be fair, It hides in us all For those moments inspired When life gets rewired Too fast for words So it requires a symbol There was a time When to care Meant to help To reach a hand down To the side and up To share from your cup Super wasn't so far off Only forgotten Scavenged by the homeless Through trash cans beneath something rotten There was a time Before ubermensch And serums to surpass humanity To become something more than we are To fulfill what were capable of We may never, on our own, save the world But that clasped hand held Pulling someone into the tram with us Out out the cold water below Down from the rooftops Their world was saved There was a time Reminded to us That super is great Not superior, not first and not late A symbol alight A spirit contained So when the morning rises And life calls out to you Will you answer the call?

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.28.24 “Sijo - Child of Labor"

The sun rises every day to begin laborious hikes Over valleys, hills, cities, and towns to hunt for work Green is the world awoken too; red is the evening to sleep

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.22.24 “Sibling Fued"

Oh, sister, I found you I made you anew From flesh of the same beast Very same that slew You Oh, sister, I found you After ghasts, ghouls, and geyser Learning deep secrets Yet, grown none the wiser Oh, sister, I found you What big eyes you have Big hands and teeth to hold me Oh, sister you would not believe it, not even half Oh, sister, our journey– Delicious yet desperate Why are you drooling? When at last we’ve found respite Oh, sister, this dungeon In which we’ve found each other Please regain yourself It is me– your only brother Oh, sister, don’t make me choose When the choice leaves you behind Oh, Falin I’m falling, I’m failing you Were only there magic to let us rewind Oh, sister, I’m sorry That you must die That after this ordeal Tomorrow, I’ll wake, alone–and try To continue without, you

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.15.24 “Stamps“

Let me pay the postman Who sends my s.w.a.k. away Let me pay with penance With pennants and reminders Remainders of my taxes Waxing moons and bent and broken spoons Let me pay the postman Who sends my parcel to partners With letters laced with love Doodles and daliance And not delays But in many many ways Let me pay the postman Who sends my love’s my love With scribbles and scrabbles Points both high and low With leaves and petals And victorious medals Please postman let me pay

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.27.24 “America's (Sonnet) On It"

Rhythm and flow and heave and go Rise to lies and outward cash flow Capitol C, the sought currency No matter the title or what I might be Be it a foreman at the grill or George themselves Building up each day bound in our very own cells Working nine to five, hours spent and cost for anything No yoke or shackle keeps me bound within that ring We’re stuck in this storm, in buckets to yachts Now we can see who hasn’t and who’s gots Yank the chain of progress Sound the bell on this mess Pull and pull and pull till pulling splinters and blisters Screwed up hands can’t grab at the world myster’ Ease your way through life at the top of this tower Money is time and time gives you power

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.20.24 “April Fool's"

Imagine, for a moment To be the first Fool of April To experience blunder and wonder Simultaneously On the breath between spring and summer That infinitesimally brief breath Almost a gasp Not quite a sigh Imagine, for that briefest of moments Finding yourself the jingling, dancing barn-yard ass Ass-end of the joke That moment of crass incredulity More disbelief than a repentant sinner To fall, tripped, face down on the floor What a gut-renching guffaw Take briefly that moment imagined To jab at your funny-boned friends Nagging and niggling and tickling too What an incredibly shock it must to be Transformed from a man To an ass As one so oddly did one midsummer

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.2.24 “Will I Remember This Time“

There were not enough moments Captured in sand-grain, steel-handed Red-light-digital-clocked moments To which I told you (all) I loved you Those moments, seconds, minutes, hours, days Passed At last, these days I never told you (all) I loved you Will I recall If you Recall To say to you (all) I love you Although you’re far and plenty few I try to say, to show, I love you

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.14.24 “What Good is "If" "

If I forget to do it If I do it because If not now then when If not me then who If not this then what? If I forget again, will you remind me If I fall will you help me up If everything repeats itself again If a stone becomes a club If a club chips to a spear If a spear is used to hunt If the hunt is used to kill If I keep going on and on If the world keeps spinning on and on If you forgot to breathe and I forgot to breathe If we gave peace a chance If we found way to agree on the what and the why If not the how If it gets done, it’s because of me If it doesn’t it is still because of me If you stay I will smile If you leave I will smile, after a long while If If is enough If is hope If is opportunity If I make it If I try If I work hard enough, be strong enough If If carries me on the wax-feathered wings If is somebody If is nobody If will leave me blinded and stranded on an island If is a journey of mind and body If I forget If you will be there at the end of it all

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.12.24 “Tall Tales"

He’s six foot and charming And does what he’s asked He’ll say please and thank you And he’ll do what is tasked To the music, he’s dancing Sanctimoniously Effortlessly romancing Unintentionally He’s uncertain with his sanity And isn’t sure if he’s real He’s doing what he can Which is everything; what’s his deal? To the moonrise he is staring Filled with gumption Filled with caring Constant are his thoughts, cautious in assumption He’s the author and writer and hides behinds words Sending out calls to the morning; he’s brained with the birds

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.5.24 “That Ain't Playing Phaoroh at the American Dream“

What’s a dollar Dollar bill Y’all? Lying? Trying? Dying? For this green? Grass and trees and leaves fall all the same Why play pretend with markets in the clouds What is a dollar, a buck, a doe? Although without I’m dying, trying, lying Asking why I’m not enough Dollar bill, y’all Survive on these slip Slip, slip, slippery slope Pink slip car loan Pink slip house loan –Reminder I’m a man– Can’t afford my home, my car, my life What’s a dollar An hour? How many? I’m spending my day working for so little When the bed I sleep in, in the house I weep in Will never be bought with that labor Who enjoys the fruits of these planted labors? What juice spills from distant lips?

What’s a dollar? Dollar bill Y’all aren’t all vying for more? Trying for more Dying for more? Why must we play pretend–passing ice-coins Wintered the weather about to maintain this illusion This song and dance Won at the tip of a lance Am I to die on the streets where I sleep After a hard days work Gunned down by a passerby whose offense is taken At my presence In my work, when offense is taken At my presence What sense does it make to not be seen Santa’s little helpers Slaving away So some other might gloat and tote Can I sleep on it? Wipe my weeping tears on it? Who will take what I have Leaving what little for tomorrow And tomorrow’s tomorrow Before I again have to borrow So that this cycle of green Of greed Of grasses–greener Perennially blooms; forebodes doom

Where is safe from this dollar? Dollar bill Y’all The grass is always greener The management always meaner The bankers always keener I am saving, graving, paving the way But not to walk upon but on I am the stone–ascended Who can afford to be single? Who can afford just one? In a market that’s rising–water levels Left to drown I can swim–only so long Tread water, dread water, fed water And drown Green stays afloat It is soluble, solution, able and capable Why must I live to work and not Live and work Where did the and’s go? Where did the green go? Barren and wearing no colors of life The suburbs and cities and folks are all white Washed and packaged for resale again No space is owned save the barony lords

What is a dollar? Dollar bill Y’all Learn all day To work all day ‘Til your dying day What is there to say? “He was a busy and dedicated man to his work” Will his work remember him Remembered for his work Who will grieve the cog replaced The seed replanted The crack that’s mended When the old days are waning The sunset soon fading I will keep working for that return of the green The average mean The stacks slapped in my hand To feed and afford what I can Because what use is a dollar That can never call her Back Buy my time Back Take it all Back What use is a dollar? That can’t buy back my time wasted in youth In adulthood so ruth-lessly sought

What is a dollar? Dollar bill Y’all Aren’t struggle to own any bit of your life Your car is on loan and your house and your wife At the slightest inconvenience The drop of margins Swoops the executive C On to elevate thee Claiming your purchases are just temporary They’ve licensed your time Your work and Your sight All that you own And all that you might Work for that dollar Plug and play on their game I’ll keep dreaming, Filling reem in -of paper And dream of my paper My dollar Dollar bill Y’all

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.13.24 “School's (Shoot) Out"

Crash! Flash! All’s quiet at last School is for shouts and cheers Cries and jeers Crash! Flash! All’s quiet at last Drumsteps ringing in my ears Metallic scrape – my fears Crash! Flash! All quiet at last Question-hand raised hair on my skin Sand slips twixt fingers as time’s growing thin Crash! Flash! All’s quiet at last Milquetoast manners Classmates red penned planners Crash! Flash! All���s quiet at last Efforts redoubled over, bubbled over Line down the hall, guidance counselor comfort Crash! Flash! All’s quiet at last You were the bomb, til pipe lockered, smoking If only, if only, we ever were joking Crash! Flash! All’s quiet at last Dust settles, minds too Finish the spring, alone, without you

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.18.24 “What It Must Be Like to Not Be Me"

Were I were a wealthy man I’d buy all that I wish For money is the genie green inside a pocket-card My life is plagued Red in the books as England was by the Black With doubt and dismay and dissident dreams How can any man abide The ill and misfortune Of peer and pauper unacquainted What antiquated notion Leads wealth into lordhood Even ancient lords did deny The Lord Even The Lord did deny The world Much as wealthy men did materially Spiritual currency spent and lent Loaned like the spirit Threaded in finer silks Were I a wealthy man Capable of such greatness I’d be So that I might remedy kith and kin To college and to leisure If it be their pleasure The bills and debts belayed From me, it’s all to be paid If I were a rich man I’d be a bitch, man Bit of a snitch, man Selfish in a pinch, man How different a life to lead Filled with nothing that made me, me Such lawn shavings will behead us all How does the green fall like leaves far from autumn Into the most contemptible of gardens?

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.26.24 “Crystal Clear"

Even when the evening Eases into the easel stained night Splattered with smattering of paint More bruised than bashed-in-blueberries alight I am left inundated, instigating inopportune moments Momentarily left mum, silence is the story Setting on the shelf, sun and done and book closed hence No deciduous decisions, sprouting tall and confident No starry moonlight night, alright? No night sky sigh Even as the eventide, bids good tidings Paint spilled on the patio and the portico High tide fog, forgetfully fading into dark hidings Even as it all allocates and advocated Smudged as a child’s drawing Vibrant and violently abdicated For the falsest of faeries reside within such painted worlds Constantly concerned with conscious calligraphy Brush strokes bothering the best and better Not less and lesser of folks that fiddle with paint That taint the canvas of life and skin and skim the fat from life Even in that evening Eased by every opportunity Each and every educated guess bereaving Leaving each lesson unlearned unblurred

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.24.24 “Speak My Name"

I am held together by strands of fading whispers Even now, they rattle through the house I call home Shaking shutters, like a summer’s evening breeze Sifting flesh from sinew and bone as a prospector’s sieve Whispers, that cling like chiffon to wet skin Billowing in the fading twilight that stitches day to night Fragile is the hour upon which I inhabit Anxious for the push or tug that divests me of this secret Every word a suture in the wound of my person Whilst wind still parts living lips – I – am immortal Only breath, gives me life Kiss me, blow me away, and I will soar as a dandelion tuft I am held together by so little a thing As fragile as a juvenile promise Sewn of a slew of them to see me standing It is my duty to see those fades return anew

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NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.9.24 “Bedtime Ode"

In my bed I’m in my head I’m to be wed To dreams In my bed I’m full of lead I’m guided to the carpet red On the words of stories, other’s said In my bed I am still awake I am waiting on the yard to rake Leave me alone with leaves to take Beneath sheets of autumn will I wake In my bed I am still dreaming Of a morning with some meaning Only seeming To be sleeping In my bed,oh bed, sweet bed of mine condemned Such restlessness to rest is stemmed How I hate you, how I love you late-night friend How I still forsake your presence that I might ascend Oh bed, that I am in Will your rest ensure my win

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