Bleary-eyed, puffy cheeked,
Half-awake, the other asleep
A war is waged, the neutral zone
No Man’s Land, you’re all alone.
Thoughts are made, and then are lost
Like smoke rings.
Or rain drops.
Time is a sieve that deceives,
A second is an hour.
The countenance turns dour,
Under the unwavering line that lies ahead
Lying in wait, but the lolling head
Lolls around, searching for a pillow,
Drops of drool shine under the glow
Of lights that burn for eternity,
As if sailors lost in the crashing waves
Would be saved by the all-encompassing sight
The Eye of Civilization, resplendent in its might-
Blink, back to reality
The eyes close on their own now.
All-nighters lead to insanity
Unless you have the real know-how.
The key is to avoid it at all costs,
No matter what they say
For ’tis simply a measure against time already lost
A last-ditch effort, better than to pray.
There he stands,
Feet planted firmly in the soft snow
The snow that never melts,
That glitters and glows.
His body as stiff as that of a stiff
Or of a member of the British Royal Guard
His eyes unblinking, unwavering
Gazing into infinity and beyond.
The snow stole his twinkling Irish features
And left him with the dullness of old age
A beard as white as the flakes around it
Seemingly borrowed from the wisest sage.
At times his placid life is turned upside down
By the shakes and jerks of the giants outside
Showering him with confetti that usually adorn his feet
Nothing can move him, oh yes they’ve tried.
His pots of gold are now gone
So have his friends too
The Leprechaun stands alone
In his plastic prison, not about to be let out anytime soon.
As the tiny sprites take flight
Beautiful, swift and bright!
Gliding across the dreamy moon
Wishing they don’t come back soon
These sprites, when they take flight
Beautiful, swift and bright!
Hardly anyone notices them tonight
They’re so small, they’re out of sight
Those pinpricks of lights you see
Out of the corner of your eye
Are those sprites, see them flee!
Across the glowing night sky.
These sprites are like bees spreading fairy dust
Balancing the universe, a necessity
The mysteries of Life that can’t be explained
Are the sprites’ responsibility.
On this night, they glide over a meadow
Only for their glow to be muffled by a shadow
Of a perilous monster that lurks in the dark
Waiting in the grass like a bloodthirsty shark
One of the sprites catches his lousy attempt to hide
And shouts, “Oh My God!”, that perfect bromide.
As the yellow dots fly faster, the predator gives chase
Bounding on all fours, blinded by rage,
The earth quakes, it’s a shaky stage
The sprites fomented a primal desire
To eliminate the dots in a tornado of fire.
The monster blows fire, swats the air,
Attacks the sprites without remorse or care
The sprites duck, weave, dodge through trees
Shifting streams through the howling breeze.
With his talons, he crushes stray sprites, all the same
As swiftly as he tramples the soil beneath
As each sprite dies, magic dust burst in flames
The monster plays a fatal game.
The sprites that remained,
They were wise to take flight (and ne’er look back)
For when scary monsters meet nice sprites
It leads to sprite blood being stained
A tragic and melancholic sight
Beautiful, swift, and bright.
I started NaPoWriMo by accident: I think I found it through Twitter on April 2nd. Flustered because I was late, I immediately jumped in without thinking twice about it (not that there was much to think about), and I’m glad I did.
Since I started a day later, my first poem was titled NaPoWriMo 2013 #2. I’d like to bring things full circle, and call this one NaPoWriMo 2013 #1, thereby completing the goal of writing 30 poems in 30 days.
To paraphrase Orson Welles,
“Without limits there cannot be art.”
Well, with thirty poems in thirty days,
I dipped my toes in that misty haze
With intensity, the perfect start
To writing Poetry. And under her spell
I am a poet now, when previously ’twas not so.
Several nights of half dozing in front of a blank white screen
Trying to get the perfect rhyme (or something close)
Getting in touch with that part of me unseen
That part which usually emerged with prose
Caution and doubt thrown to the wind
Only words and images entertained
If one didn’t work, it didn’t matter at all
What only mattered was continuing the chain.
Poetry is a universal language
Regardless of what one actually speaks
See: Found In Translation
Which is basically Flemish with English tweaks
The novice poet that I am, only 30 days of age
I was elevated to a joyful state
Upon being highlighted on the NaPoWriMo Official Page
For a poem I didn’t even think was great.
A lesson I’ve learnt,
Not just about poems, but generally
Is that art is a tricky thing,
You never know what people will like
What you might, they might not
They might even like a blob of snot
On a background of soothing black
So why worry about their opinions? They’re not facts.
Writers don’t write to please and for praise
Although the latter helps, a lot.
So thank you NaPoWriMo,
You’ve blasted open a door
Blazed a new path for me to tread
Provided a novel creative bread
I hope to gobble for eons and eons more.
Will I see you again? Oh, most definitely
It’s the least I can do, for a love of poetry
Is a love for epiphany
A love for straightforward brevity
For wordplay and levity
And imagination and creativity
And everything else in between.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
When I gave NaPoWriMo a sincere try,
And that has made all the difference.