#NaPoWriMo

660 posts
  • manosrija 2h

    The ink in me wants to spill

    Gaining color since the impending dusk,
    Growing darker as sunlight shrinks,
    It ripened enough to be fetched,
    By the pen;
    I stand here before the brink,
    As the ink in me is ready to be spilled,
    I'm waiting for you to procure a page.

    @writersnetwork
    #napowrimo #inkinme #firstpost

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    The Ink In Me

    ©manosrija

  • niksjournal 10h

    I can tell you a thousand stories about your afterlife, dear.

    #poetry #poem #writersnetwork #mirakee #writing #napowrimo #love #life #fact #literature

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    Collab

    You have name and fame,
    fans and no shyness or shame,

    I have a pen,
    an ink counting to ten,

    Let's collab between life and death,
    Let's be aware of hell and wrath.
    ©niksjournal

  • niksjournal 10h

    Poets

    There aren't,
    There shall be not,
    any poet without tears,
    any poet without a pen,
    There hasn't been any poet
    who writes without tears
    blended in his ink.
    ©niksjournal

  • electric_infamy 15h

    Day 10 of #NaPoWriMo using a prompt from #kjldeprompts - the line "you're like that one song I never tire of listening to" written orginally by Kavya Janani.
    #poetry #poet #poem #writeeveryday #author #published #electricinfamy #neonsunrisepublishing

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    It's Brilliant in My Head

    It's a prickly sort of thing
    Balanced on the wings of providence
    And soaked in the vitality of possibility
    Catching us in the space between
    The friendship and the fear
    With me wanting to play things so cool
    But overthinking every angle
    Until I end up saying nothing at all
    When I just want to shout about
    How you're like that one song
    I never tire of listening to
    The pages and lines I recite
    the emotions I profess in rhyme
    You are the air in my lungs
    The first thought in my mind
    And it all passes in a blink
    Leaving us on the in between
    Stroking silent serenades
    On the fringe of might've been

    ©electric_infamy

  • electric_infamy 15h

    A Trade of Donuts for Dollars

    We are a study in contrast
    Painted scarlet in an ivory tomb
    Exposing truth in the heart of a lie
    Believing punctuated silences
    Fastened to the tail of a rhyme
    Learning all the best showtunes
    On the lips of a talkative mime
    Spinning manufactured outrage
    On the heels of vacancy sign
    Burning books just to read them
    Stealing time from a broken hourglass
    Shining darkness in the rising sun

    We are a paradox unimagined
    Existential and overrun

    ©electric_infamy

  • hamallaxmi 1d

    Day 10
    Who wouldn't love To be at
    the top of the mountain
    Starting will light bags
    Firm determination and heart
    Full of daring adventure.
    When taking turns in the curved
    Hills
    nothing
    Seemed peaceful than that exact
    Moment.
    Sun rises of the early morning
    Mountains covered with fog.
    The smell of an earthen soil
    Seemed freshly drained with the droplets of rain
    February has made me fall
    For you some more
    With your enumerated
    And charismatic seasonal beauty
    Every road every step I took
    It made me fall for you
    More than before
    And I just couldn't take my eyes of you.
    Ohh! What a Beauty you are?
    With every nook and corner
    I travelled in your search
    That deeply I was wondering
    How vast have you been
    With the flower like blooming,
    Shining bright, showering
    And yet stealing all the hearts away.
    .
    .
    .
    #napowrimo #napowrimo2021

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    Vast

    ©hamallaxmi

  • penletting 1d

    the summer splash

    the rays slipped -
    skipped a beat, almost
    as if a vanishing cloud hid his view;
    his perverse shafts
    raining down on
    your skin - hardened
    by years of labor;
    and the salt that you bathe in;

    the plastic that adorn
    your tender ears,
    are wet with his yearning;
    green marks the spot -
    where he lands his sharp bites,
    his almost earnest shot
    at wooing you to indulge,
    wooing the child of the sea!

    the water glides along
    the pecks on your midriff -
    running as rivulets,
    quenching you of his endless thirst;
    buds of tension cling around
    your waxy nipples,
    almost willing to let loose;
    to let go;
    for they've seen the world
    from your coveted vantage!

    the sand grains rustle
    through ravines and cracks,
    of your lithe frame;
    the secret lockets of pleasure -
    his forbidden desire;
    the ball of fire, he shines -
    raging in a lover's jealousy;
    as I do nothing but be
    be alongside you,
    and splash some playful water!

    #npm15 #napowrimo #poetrymonth #summer #summerpoetry #lustpoetry #pleasure #longing #love #desire #sea #splash #summersplash

    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    the summer splash

    the rays slipped -
    skipped a beat, almost
    as if a vanishing cloud hid his view;
    his perverse shafts
    raining down on
    your skin - hardened
    by years of labor;
    and the salt that you bathe in;

    the plastic that adorn
    your tender ears,
    are wet with his yearning;
    green marks the spot -
    where he lands his sharp bites,
    his almost earnest shot
    at wooing you to indulge,
    wooing the child of the sea!

    the water glides along
    the pecks on your midriff -
    running as rivulets,
    quenching you of his endless thirst;
    buds of tension cling around
    your waxy nipples,
    almost willing to let loose;
    to let go;
    for they've seen the world
    from your coveted vantage!

    the sand grains rustle
    through ravines and cracks,
    of your lithe frame;
    the secret lockets of pleasure -
    his forbidden desire;
    the ball of fire, he shines -
    raging in a lover's jealousy;
    as I do nothing but be
    be alongside you,
    and splash some playful water!

    ©penletting

  • penletting 1d

    men who died do not rest in peace

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    greater men of lesser values;
    taller men of principles, watered down!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    men celebrated, as messiahs, as princes;
    they that called the order,
    they that run the world - or seemingly believe to;
    toppling nations, and wreaking war -
    wars of disemberment, decay and hunger;
    wars of woes and wandering spirits!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    they that feed the fuels of the furnace;
    a cesspit of lesser men and women -
    a whorehouse, a funeral pyre;
    they that also feed the hungry mouths,
    from grains that they loot,
    and waters that they rule over!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    men looked up to, as ideals, as geniuses;
    they that formulate theories,
    they that call the order, among the classes;
    drawing lines, stretching apart -
    the continuum of lives, living and those who lived -
    the continuum of minds and their rightful dreams!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    lesser men of warped spirits;
    men; hallowed holograms of hollow apathy!

    @mirakee @writersnetwork

    #napowrimo #npm15 #poetrymonth #deadmen #restinpeace #rip #musings #humanpoetry #humanity #apathy #lives #living

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    men who died do not rest in peace

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    greater men of lesser values;
    taller men of principles, watered down!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    men celebrated, as messiahs, as princes;
    they that called the order,
    they that run the world - or seemingly believe to;
    toppling nations, and wreaking war -
    wars of disemberment, decay and hunger;
    wars of woes and wandering spirits!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    they that feed the fuels of the furnace;
    a cesspit of lesser men and women -
    a whorehouse, a funeral pyre;
    they that also feed the hungry mouths,
    from grains that they loot,
    and waters that they rule over!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    men looked up to, as ideals, as geniuses;
    they that formulate theories,
    they that call the order, among the classes;
    drawing lines, stretching apart -
    the continuum of lives, living and those who lived -
    the continuum of minds and their rightful dreams!

    men who died do not rest in peace -
    lesser men of warped spirits;
    men; hallowed holograms of hollow apathy!

    ©penletting

  • sidhubalkaran 1d

    Day 9 of #napowrimo
    The Imayo is another very interesting Japanese form, originally written to be sung. These poems originated as folk songs and over time were embraced by the royalty.
    An Imayo is a 4-line poem with 12 syllables in each line. There is a pause between the 7th syllable in each line (also known as a caesura in poetic terms). So every line in this poem is divided into a 7-5 syllable splits. These 7/5 syllable splits might remind you of similar patterns found in other Japanese forms like haiku, senryu and tanka. An Imayo can be written for any theme.
    Another interesting thing about this form is that if you separate all the 7 syllable parts and all the 5 syllable parts, you get two different poems.
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    #poetry #haiku #imayo #writersnetwork @writersnetwork #poetrycommunity #pod #poemoftheday #poemsporn #poetrylovers #napowrimo2021 #mirakee #mirakeewrites

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    I for Imayo

    I often struggle with words,
    they never find me
    Like poems and poets do,
    metaphors divine
    I crave for flawless syntax,
    prose of perfection
    Unmatched vocabulary,
    To write what I feel

  • chezeriel 1d

    I've reached the point where
    I memorized every single colour
    based on the texture of their voices.
    Mama used to say, yellow is like my big sister,
    her voice, her cackles as lovely as ever can
    brighten up every corner of your gloomy mood.

    White, that's my pretty little brother.
    Listen to his tiny innocent voice,
    whether he's crying or laughing,
    you can sense the pureness among the pure.

    My father, as serious as red,
    you can feel it from his hollow and rigid voice
    snaking on the epidermis of your skin.
    For my mama, she never said what colour she is,
    but sometimes I think she's blue,
    I can feel it in her so serene voice,
    but most of the time I know she's silver-grey.
    Especially when at times I become like
    a starving montivagant,
    wanting to know and explore here and there,
    her patience is as long and as expandable
    as her silver-grey hair.

    But, on days when I can't feel the hues in their voices
    and other people that surrounds me, I colour myself,
    concocting all of them to form a rainbow
    I've heard how beautiful but never really seen.

    ______________________________________________________

    Seeing colours in the perspective of a blind girl.


    ~~~~~~~
    Trying to write my very first poem on this poetry writing month.��

    #napowrimo #colours #mirakee #writersnetwork

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    | I colour myself |

    On days when I can't see the hues
    in their voices, I colour myself.



    ©chezeriel

  • hamallaxmi 1d

    Day 9
    /Elegy/

    Date: Jan 13' 2019
    Time: 9pm
    I get a call
    There was something a miss
    In the voice.
    A panick stricken voice.
    Phone gets disconnected.
    After few minutes I get the call
    Again
    Now the person on other side
    Was crying.
    40mintues later
    After numerous calls,
    We get to know something
    That actually shook
    Every one of us completely.

    One side people were mourning
    For the gruesome degree of loss.
    Other side people were struggling
    To get justice for that cruelsome
    Incident.

    People are Crying, screaming and mourning.
    Body soaked with blood
    Lay on the ground
    With the numerous flowers.
    Water on the side.
    Cottons on the nose.
    Whole in the right side of the face
    Near to head.
    Family fainted.
    People gathered for one last
    Goodbye.
    People were cherishing the works
    And good deeds
    About the person
    Who was no more in this world.

    Things were getting darker
    People talked about the every
    Possible thing that had happened
    The very same day.
    It is hard to
    Suffer like this
    In the very inch of time
    Things change drastically
    .
    #napowrimo #napowrimo2021 #elegy

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    Elegy

    ©hamallaxmi

  • penletting 2d

    tsuki (the moon)

    she burns bright,
    impassioned with
    worldly concerns.
    and in her passing,

    she has seen
    vivid shades
    of nature's discord, and
    heard recounting
    of dark tales of agreement;
    she has felt the world shifting,
    ever westward
    into the day's embrace.

    she walks;
    she touches
    every naked face,
    leaving cold blemishes,
    bearing witness to
    the deeds of the night.
    and as the day
    dawns upon the world,

    she walks through
    the white tower,
    gate to the yonder -
    as her silver robe sways
    in the night's quietus,
    her radiance weeping through
    the archways of the tower gates,

    she fades
    into the horizon,
    where the world's blue is
    sundered
    into the endlessly deep oceans
    and
    the limitlessly vast skies!

    #npm15 #poetrymonth #napowrimo #moon #tsuki #she #poetry #freestyle

    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    tsuki

    she burns bright,
    impassioned with
    worldly concerns.
    and in her passing,

    she has seen
    vivid shades
    of nature's discord, and
    heard recounting
    of dark tales of agreement;
    she has felt the world shifting,
    ever westward
    into the day's embrace.

    she walks;
    she touches
    every naked face,
    leaving cold blemishes,
    bearing witness to
    the deeds of the night.
    and as the day
    dawns upon the world,

    she walks through
    the white tower,
    gate to the yonder -
    as her silver robe sways
    in the night's quietus,
    her radiance weeping through
    the archways of the tower gates,

    she fades
    into the horizon,
    where the world's blue is
    sundered
    into the endlessly deep oceans
    and
    the limitlessly vast skies!

    ©penletting

  • penletting 2d

    hold me

    hold me,
    until the sun burns -
    the wicked reeds,
    amidst a thicket of gossips
    of our summer trespasses;
    until they are parched,
    for they let their
    lips run loose -
    through the day's passage!

    hold me,
    until the tips are singed -
    ever so slightly,
    like your reputation,
    my vanity;
    until the waters can revive
    no more, the lost vigor,
    the nonchalant chatter -
    our erased footprints!

    hold me,
    till the day veils -
    'cross the western horizon;
    as the grass dance,
    to the tunes of the wily wind;
    till they hiss -
    and tell on His reaches,
    His shafts burning through
    the lengths of their lives!

    hold me,
    till they greet His warmth,
    as the day breaks on the dew -
    a new day; a new trail -
    till we wade through
    the muddy waters, the tadpoles,
    the clingy leeches and the torpid snails;
    till we give more stories
    for the fresh reeds to feed on!

    ©penletting

  • roohi_writes 2d

    Her life

    a girl so timid,
    named April,
    heads out to see,
    a world full of lights and glee.

    she's simple and sweet,
    can't get the people's contempt,
    she fell in love,
    only to taste the bitterness.

    after all the scars and tears,
    she smiles and loves,
    for she only knows love,
    alone soul, yet Loving.

    ©roohi_writes

  • why_for_yash 2d

    On grief

    What you cannot move
    Or move away from
    Is grief
    Like how at times
    Even a detached limb
    Itches or aches
    What you cannot satiate
    Is grief
    You can turn a blind eye
    Or blind your eyes with flashes
    Fancies and drunkenness of the world
    What stays awake
    Is grief
    It becomes a part of you
    Like the food or smoke that moves
    And burns your body
    On the days you carry the lesser of the burden
    Burden nonetheless
    If it's in you
    Walk up to someone who is inert
    Help them push
    Maybe move
    Or wait
    ©why_for_yash

  • sidhubalkaran 2d

    Day 8 of #napowrimo
    Haiku is a Japanese form of Poetry which now has become widely popular, specially among the English poets. The traditional Japanese form is a 17 syllable poem which has three lines with the first and the last line each having 5 syllables and the 2nd line carrying 7 syllables.

    There has been a lot of debate on whether to follow the 5-7-5 structure in English Haikus or not. There are obviously inherent differences in both the languages (Japanese and English) and hence some poets label it as a ‘traditional misunderstanding’ to carry the 5-7-5 form in English. So, may be it is better to just work with the short, concise wording and a reference to nature; the elements of a traditional Haiku. Well, since poets are the only governing bodies of their poems, we can do pretty much what we want with our poems.
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    @mirakee @writersnetwork #writersnetwork #mirakee #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #writerscommunity #poetry #poems #haiku #haikupoem #poetrycommunity

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    H for Haiku

    A candle burnt bright
    vivacious night in fumes
    Morning dew is served

  • electric_infamy 2d

    Armchair Philosophy Acrobatics

    Mesmerized
    Gliding through hollow memories
    Tucked between the ticking seconds
    Watching the gilded watch swing
    Entranced in metronomic aspirations

    Hypnotized
    Tracing tiled tessellations
    in exponential sets
    Exploratory dance steps
    We follow by feel

    Galvanized
    Mortality in motion
    Exploding through pinholes
    Light-years from everywhere
    In the span of a single breath

    ©electric_infamy

  • electric_infamy 2d

    X-Ray Parables

    I can see the wheels turning
    The steam rising
    All the cheeky responses at the ready
    As the inquiry buds and blooms
    Against a tide of immaturity
    Yet it cannot be denied
    So we're gonna let it roll

    When's the last time you were naked?
    And I don't mean uncovered
    For cleansing or for pleasure
    Or any other reason you might imagine
    I mean naked
    Raw and vulnerable
    Exposed and laid bare
    Stripped of every erected facade
    In the hope of deepest intimacy

    Have you ever been truly naked?

    ©electric_infamy

  • hamallaxmi 2d

    Day 8
    Well how would you define love?
    Does love has any boundaries
    Definition and tessellation.
    Maybe it does
    Maybe it doesn't
    Every hour
    every minute
    Every second
    The love is showered around the world
    There maybe tessellation
    To love
    To have its own
    Mixture of pattern
    As being constructed
    In some unknown parts
    Of the world.
    Piling of love
    One upon another
    With the
    Constructive
    Behavioral
    To build a home
    Trying to fill each spaces with
    The love and
    Care
    And some one tries to
    Blemish that
    Isn't that the destruction
    Of
    Behavioral
    Home of love
    And there comes
    The tessellation
    Of agony.
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    .
    #napowrimo #napowrimo2021 #tessellation #letsescapril #love #pattern

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    Tessellation

    ©hamallaxmi

  • sidhubalkaran 3d

    The Golden Shovel form was created by Award winning US poet Terrance Hayes in 2010. ‘The Golden Shovel’ is actually a poem in his book Lighthead written to honour one of the most highly regarded, influential, and widely read poets of 20th-century and Pulitzer Prize winner, Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000). Terrance’s piece was based on Gwendolyn’s ‘We Real Cool’.
    The golden rule for the Golden Shovel poem is – Borrow a line (or multiple lines) from a poem (or the entire poem) you admire and use each of their words as the end-words in your poem. Make sure you keep them in order and make sure you credit the poet for the orignal line(s) of the base poem. The new poem doesn’t necessarily have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
    For my example, I am using the line “Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” from William Butler Yeats’, ‘Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven‘.
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    #mirakee #mirakeewrites #poetry #writersnetwork #writingcommunity #writersnetworkmirakee #napowrimo @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    G for Golden Shovel

    This pulp of desire I tread
    whispers to me softly
    Don’t open your eyes yet, because
    this joy of cinching her, you
    may never again tread.

    These rainbow soaked shadows shall live on
    And none shall fathom the depths of my
    opalescent dreams.