The Reigning of Spring: June's NaPo Thread

This is my first year attempting NaPo, and I have absolutely no idea if I'll make it through April with 30 poems =D.


Disclaimer: I do not take responsibility for any IQ, brain cell, or memory loss that may occur while reading my poems.

4 - 1 - 09

This Time Tomorrow

The sun is casting his late-day-rays,
On the barren fields of hope.
What happened to the promises,
That were meant to flourish here?

Instead of turning them lush and verdant,
The sun has burnt them all;
but tell me, can we revive the dreams,
by this time tomorrow?

There’s traces of pain, and traces of sorrow,
On the frayed edges of today;
But, on the wispy, cloud-like hopes of tomorrow,
We’ll make this yesterday.

Fingerpaint

In red,
the fingerprints of lineage
march across the canvas;
and orange-friendship-sworls
fill in the spots between; with
yellow surrounding both,
with joy like summer days.
Green tickles the still-blank-spots,
with promises and hope;
while blue and purple
fill the holes with grief and mistakes.
In black, the imprints of regret
overlap the former.

And the spots we have yet to fill
remain white.

4-3-09


Tomorrow,
I’ll take a minute
to tell you
how I feel.

Reveal all that I’ve hidden
and tell you all I’ve been through.

Then, I’ll ask you,
to talk to me.
Tell me stories
I’ve never heard.

And when you’re done
I’ll tell you how much
you mean to me.

The only problem is:
tomorrow never comes.

I really enjoy the way you do the lines and the rhyme scheme in your first poem, June!

march across the canvas;
and orange-friendship-sworls

I question this though. XD

And your last poem is so sweet. <3

4-4-09

I feel I've been robbed of my childhood,
made to live in a prison they call home,
with fancy walls uglier than the dirtiest of cells,
and invisible chains more restrictive than iron.

June!

Your first poem is simply breathtaking. The rhyming was executed beautifully.

Keep writing,

~Angel

Horrible quality below:



4 - 5 - 09

It is easier for me,
to converse in words
that are typed on a word processor.

I prefer handwriting,
but if you read closely,
you can tell if I had been crying,
by the shaky look of the letters;
and you can tell if I was angry,
by how deep I have engraved them.

I like speaking,
but you can hear the emotion
in my voice, even when
we are not speaking
face-to-face;

But, the benefit of speech is,
the words are gone
as soon as they are said.

There's no time to search
over the words, as you could do
with a letter.

Actually, I quote like the concept of that last one, you just need to make it a bit clearer - tie the first and last verses together more clearly. All of your poetry is pretty good, actually

Peanut is in the thread!

This Time Tomorrow

There’s traces of pain, and traces of sorrow,

In poetry, I am not a huge fan of conjunctions. I would say, change the "there's" into "there are"... I like that much better and it seems to flow a little more.

Yay! Nothing else to change!

Finger Paint

and orange-friendship-sworls

"Sworls" should be "swirls", June

fill in the spots between; with
yellow surrounding both,

Hmm... that line break seems a little funky...

Green tickles the still-blank-spots,

Instead of "still-blank-spots" it should be "still- blank spots". No third dash is needed

Nice job!

4-3-09

Reveal all that I’ve hidden
and tell you all I’ve been through.

Judging by the style of your first stanza, I say that these lines could become;
"Reveal
all that I've hidden;
and tell you
all I have been through."

See the changes? That stanza could be four lines to match the other one!

4-4-09

Hmm... this poem seems a bit short. Were you in a rush?

4-5-09

There's no time to search
over the words, as you could do
with a letter.

In the second line, where the comma is, I think you can bump that down to a whole new line, like so;

"There is no time to search
over the words,
as you could do,
with a letter."

See?

I see you only go to 4-5-09 ... does that mean you aren't doing NaPo anymore? Or have you just been saving them up? I sure hope you continue, because all of your poetry is pretty good!

Keep on pushing through! We can make it!

I adore your first two poems!

The sun is casting his late-day-rays,
On the barren fields of hope.
What happened to the promises,
That were meant to flourish here?

Delicious!


and this one here:

I feel I've been robbed of my childhood,
made to live in a prison they call home,
with fancy walls uglier than the dirtiest of cells,
and invisible chains more restrictive than iron.

Oh. Oh. Oh. I absolutely love this one because it echoes the emotions of a character of mine so well. I feel as if I've gotten to know her even better now.

Lovely poetry.

-Zehra

Okay, I had totally forgotten about posting my poetry, so I have a lot to catch up on, it seems!


Let us begin - 4/6/09

we sit,
awkwardly placed
atop rigid pieces
of furnish, like birds
perched on a powerline,
roasting in the suns heat;
the pressure to speak
too intimidating, but--
the unspoken "NO" that
looms on the tongues of the elders
trap our words in the
choked parts
of our throats
so that we
cannot speak
or breathe
and we can barely hear.

Dedicated to my two older sisters.

This winter - 4/7/09


This winter won't have the warmth,
from the hearth of love's fireplace,
the close-knit feeling that
has carried us through the years.

These ties have relaxed their precious hold,
spacing us loosely, further apart--
yet, we will insist, that we are closer than ever before.

This winter, these pretty little birds would have
long since, spread their wings, taken flight
to fly the flight of life for themselves.

This winter just won't be the same.

4-8-09

in the early hours of the morning,
when men and suns're sleep,
a quiet descends upon the world
that no words can describe.

the twinkle of the moon,
and the shining of the stars,
continue faithfully until the first
waking-man's breath touches
the still air and declares it time
for the sun to rise.

Very cheesy, I know, but I had to show someone what I was writing and didn't feel like putting much effort in.

4-9-09 - Storm

the clouds are smoky piles of cotton,
hanging angrily above the world,
heavy with rage, regret and sorrow,
waiting to spill down, cascading along
mountainsides to wash the earth clean
of the filth that litters it so.


and the sky is violently torn apart tonight,
by a blinding flash of lightning, again and again
accompanied by the furious cry of thunder until
the sky ceases to be angry and
all lies peaceful in the world again.

4-10-09

Everynight, I touch my pen to my page,
in the hopes of writing something inspiring,
something that others will read, and enjoy;
something that I can be remembered by.

And everynight,


I fail.