NaPoWriMo – Day Nine

cold rain pelting
piercing daggers of liquid ice
lashing winds howl
crashing gumnuts onto the tin roof
miniature wooden torpedoes
the house shakes and groans grievously
winter sets in
though Autumn has not yet bid farewell
injecting a bitterness
as mother nature unfurls her lamenting torment

© Dawn Whitehand 2017

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NaPoWriMo – Day Four

gently you lay against me
breathing rhythmically
in
out
heart beat

an occasional utterance
as a dream escapes
breaking the nights monotony
a fluttering of eyes
then sleep again

gently you lay against me

© Dawn Whitehand 2017

NaPoWriMo – Day Three

the day grew long
as we sat
legs dangling
huddling closely
sun coated backs
warming our cool bodies
deep dark shadows protruding
brazenly invading space
gloomily long
ever growing
casting ghostly angles
while a lazy sun
beckoning the night
slowly sets

Pastel on Handmade Paper

©Dawn Whitehand 2017

NaPoWriMo – Day Two

just beyond my pleading grasp
it lay
tempting my blank memory
ever elusive
I had seen it before
awareness
at that heightened moment
bewteen pain
and
giving life
the meaning of existence
revealed
only to instantly fade
a vague notion
hovering
on the periphery of my soul

the existential truth

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2017

I Remember – Day 29 NaPoWriMo

I remember the first time I saw poverty
a shrivelled old woman sitting hoveled, I remember

I remember the first time I felt hungry
a calculator in hand at the supermarket, I remember

I remember the first time I saw powerlessness
a faceless person in a mindless queue, I remember

I remember the first time I felt passion
a niggling feeling slowly awakening, I remember

I remember the first time I saw needless suffering
a forlorn mother cradling her child, I remember

I remember the first time I felt outraged
a life changing epiphany, I remember

Pastel on Handmade Paper

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016

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Today’s prompt www.napowrimo.net – to write a poem based on things you remember.

Day 28 – NaPoWriMo : A Poem Written Backwards

transforming a peaceful existence to one of ultimate hell
the phone rang loudly bearing tragic news of untimely black death
a comfortable house nestled amongst freshly mown green grass
the eager twitter of tiny birds flitting from branch to branch
warm yellow summer sun rising in a mellow sky
it was supposed to be the best day of my life

Pastel on Handmade Paper

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016

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Prompt from www.napowrimo.net – to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning.

Day 27 – NaPoWriMo Seventeen Syllables!

the slippery grass was a glossy green on the east side of the hill
where the golden sun sparkled happily in the early morning dew
casting rainbow reflections upward and outward toward a blue sky

but the west was shadow ridden and forlorn, dismally bleak and dry
a desolate landscape blighted by greyness within a warped quagmire
of slimy bog and smelly sludge, relentlessly encroaching forward

the microcosm of a world fuelled by mindless ideology

increasingly doomed, forever bent on terminal self destruction

Pastel on Handmade Paper

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016

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Todays prompt form http://www.napowrimo.net
The Irish poet Ciaran Carson increasingly writes using very long lines. Carson has stated that his lines are (partly) based on the seventeen syllables of the haiku, and that he strives to achieve the clarity of the haiku in each line. So today’s challenge is to write a poem with very long lines.
I have taken on board the seventeen syllables and used that as a starting point.

Dying

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no blues skies
upon opening my eyes,
only the dismal grey
of wretched despair.

no warm sun
caressing my smooth skin,
only the  searing frost
of love thwarted.

no cool grass
tickling my naked toes,
only brown damp dirt
of premature graves.

Pastel on Handmade Paper

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016

Lucid Lost

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the thin line floated
precariously
fading hazier

that rigid dividing line
between
stark reality
and
safe fantasy

the ever present line
differentiating
yesterday from today
today from tomorrow
me from you
happy from sad
sanity from lunacy
life from death

the increasingly elusive line
is gone…

Pastel on Handmade Paper

Pastel on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016