#napowrio

[thatfriendlyanon]

Napowrimo, 8

day 8 was a long poem i wrote for a best friend, so i'll just share a bit of it:

send me a number 1-30 and i’ll share my corresponding napo poem click the image for better quality; poem text under cut:

4.8.23 (day 8) | portions of stanzas 2 & 3 to the friend i named star the girls we used to be have walked down golden hour sidewalks hand-in-hand and disappeared behind the bend in rainbow lake road and the women we are now might be unrecognizable to the girls we were back then, but i hope they would be proud to see all the ways we’ve both shaken off the dust of broken generations, broken free from systems that tried to claim the hurt they did was holy. i hope they’d be proud, wherever they are now, of the way you laugh so hard you start wheezing, of the way i stopped shaving my legs and erased all the lines i’d drawn, of the way we still fall at our father’s feet but our heads are bowed less in shame and more in wonder that all the things we thought were too good to be true are really too true to be lies. i do not know when i’ll see you again, but i know this: even through each year spent an only-increasing number of miles away, i have watched you become the woman you are now, and you have watched me become me––even when neither of us knows what being at home within womanhood even means––and i will stand on my beach to watch the rising sun at the same time you will stand on your beach to watch it set and maybe the sun in both its death and rebirth will reach us here and hold us both in its giant, gentle hands.

[writelikefools2021]

Cicada Symphony #2 - Joe Gallenstein - day 20

Cicada songs emerge in Spring But it don’t mean a thing If it ain’t that swing

The tire swing Or front porch swing Or a swing for the fences

Summer is in bloom But the cicadas sound Drowns out everything else

Early Summers sounds Of frogs, baseball, basketball, and cicadas create a cacophony that fills the air.

[ohjustletmewriteinpeace]

NaPoWriMo 2014: #19 Beware the Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

It is a most cunning creature lulling you into a sense of insecurity so as to weaken your self-esteem then ambush you with friendship and guilt and inferiority-complexes. There is no escape once entrapped in the mind-grasp of this dangerous hunter, it's warm and kind true nature once revealed will quickly overpower all resistance except through sheer determination to be rude insensitive small minded hypocritical bigot. A point of relief is that the animal is usually solitary, thus only one need be dealt with at each unfortunate encounter. The adept hunter selects its prey carefully, expending energy unwastefully only on potential successes, as the reaping process is exhausting. Once one has been targeted as a victim,  possible measures to ameliorate the situation are to employ either the very effective  Stockholm's Syndrome Self-hypnotism to become a willing captive (it sounds bad but once past the process is usually enjoyed), or, more dangerously, to attempt the conversion ritual to transform the creature into a human. The ritual has a large risk of backfire to also transform the invoker into another of the creature as sacrifice if the ritual is incorrectly performed. This ritual calls for continually being a supportive friend, unconditionally, as well as being proactive in caring for its welfare, calling out on well-hidden lies, insecurities, contradictions, idiosyncrasies. This last part of the process is the most risky, as the contagion that is to be cured is exposed and can spread at that moment. Take extra care to separate the self from the task at hand, an occupation in  hunting the hunter, fighting fire with water, being smart about it, evade empathy always. Beware the cunning deception of love, by the sheep in wolf's clothing.

[wordswithmypulse-blog]

15.

the birth of each day is resilient to the death of the previous

the lawns are drunk on callowness

and the sky is bright ready for those orange kiss traffic light red pink tiara puckered lemon lip rays to dance across your dry cracked lips

to speak to you in a language without words

only color

only color can tell you that you are new that you are also light

morning is renewal warm and wet and bright the paths have been swept by the bristles of moonlight

walk run dance but do not look back you will miss the first blush