NaPoWriMo Project Survey, 4/30/2016, Deon Mumple
It’s the last day of April and NaPoWriMo
Thank God that it’s over, discipline, you know
Sometimes difficult for someone random like me.
And writing does not always come so easily
After reading these, honestly, what do you think?
Am I nuts or normal, did you see me sink
In my fucking depression and connected rage
While we increased exactly one month in age?
I’d love to read your comments, know what your thought is
Tell me, doctors, what is your diagnosis?
(You know more about this from gut experience
Than the doctors, some of whom can be quite dense)
Did you watch my wave crest and crash to the shore?
Did you like what you read? Why? Should I write some more?
Not sure if it matters or not, since I write
What I feel, therapeutic, good, bad, wrong or right
I hope you enjoy, I plan to continue,
May not be any good, but at least it’s all true.
Mumple-Stein, 4/29/2016, Deon Mumple
I’m a patchwork man, made of bits and stitches,
Cast into the world, full of rants and bitches,
Andy’s got nothing on me, I’m raggedy,
And it’s just about knocked the stuffing from me,
I’ve lost my smile, and my candy heart is gone,
Ripped out of my chest by a world that’s all wrong,
Childhood innocence replaced by emptiness,
Left to feel nothing and somehow try to bless:
Be a friend, inspire others who feel like this,
But when I talk it comes out a growl and hiss,
I’m not full of anything but bitterness,
Spiked stud, cuddly plush monster, truth, love, hate, stress.
On the day before yesterday,
I felt like total crap.
Stumbled and failed on my way,
Wished I could take a nap
So yesterday I decided
It was all in my head.
Positive thinking without dread
Would steer how time was led.
I read that prayer and believing
Would insure my success!
I just knew I’d start receiving
Relief from any stress.
Then yesterday wasn’t better:
I tried to be happy,
I tried to be a go-getter,
And failed miserably.
Today, success books and web links
Went straight into the trash.
Got my Bible and a stiff drink,
Read Psalms and sipped sour mash.
The psalmist confirmed suspicions:
God’s on His own schedule,
Answers yes to some petitions,
And not all as a rule.
I read God will sometimes surprise
I just hate to say it.
All you motivation wise guys:
Your “wisdom’s” pure bullshit.
Love-Coloured Glasses, 4/27/2016, Deon Mumple
In my daydreams you look at me like I look at you,
Like I looked at you when we were younger,
All I see now is disappointment, I’m blue,
You’re busy wishing I was wiser, stronger,
I wish I could be the perfect guy too,
All I wish is that when you looked, you saw in me
The same admiring, the way that I admire you,
I do love you and I’m trying, why can’t you see?
And when I look without the love-coloured glasses,
I get to see you honestly, tired, changing and aging,
You’re failing at granting my hopes, my dream smashes
You leave me alone, lonely, let down, and raging,
After asking me to do something nice for you.
Let me put those glasses back on, it’s a better view.
Purgato Domum, 4/27/2016, Deon Mumple
I worked as swiftly as I could, entering the location,
Feeling energies that seemed to bloom,
I lit my candle, cleansed the room, and spoke the incantation:
“Mundus bene facit domum suam.*”
And thusly moved, feeling delight, each victory, elation,
Humming a tune I went from room to room.
When finished all, I stood up tall, and poured a cold libation,
Then put away sprays, towels and vacuum.
(*A clean home makes a happy wife (when her husband cleans it).)
Barbed Wire Strings, 4/26/2016, Deon Mumple
I write about grit, life’s hard knocks and things,
An unknown country singer, I’m keepin’ rock rolling,
I’m not high enough to know why all the dumb birds sing,
‘Cause I play a guitar with barbed wire strings.
I have to play with care, my fingers hit the frets,
I learned a hard way to play, but that’s what I get,
I need a talent agent, but they haven’t found me yet,
I can’t pick up bad habits, drinking or cigarettes.
There’s a lot of things in life I can’t afford,
I seem to barely get by, I guess I’ll thank the Lord,
I’m not high enough to fly where all the dumb birds sing,
‘Cause I play a guitar with barbed wire strings.
It might be nice to get a guitar that doesn’t scratch,
If I hit the frets wrong, the chords are hard to catch,
It’s hard to get a gig, or a girl who’s a good match,
There’s no place to play where there’s no strings attached.
I can’t get high enough to fly where all the dumb birds sing,
My life’s like playing a guitar with barbed wire strings.
Pieces, 4/25/2016, Deon Mumple
The treasure shattered hopelessly.
I still wanted it all,
So I picked up pieces, cutting me-
Crazy? Maybe, but tough to call.
I loved the treasure, wanted to restore
The best way that I could,
Found another piece, and then one more,
Each sliced, hurt, and felt good.
I washed the pieces carefully,
I bled with every shard.
I put them in place, painfully,
Who knew love was so hard?
When those pieces all fit in place,
So beautiful, I cried,
The treasure knew love, reflected from my face,
But I bled until I died.
(Ephesians 5:25, I John 4:9-10 )
Inspired by Bailey here: https://lovealwaysbailey.wordpress.com/2016/02/11/piece-by-piece/
Passive Vindictive, 4/25/2016, Deon Mumple
He contemplated killing the dog that shat
In the yard he had to mow,
With some cocoa powder or some chocolate
But he knew he couldn’t. No.
It was not the dog which was culpable
For the droppings in the yard
It was the owner, dishonorable,
So he couldn’t be thusly hard.
He contemplated killing the one who let
Their dumb dog shit in his yard,
Rejecting that idea just as the pet,
Jail would not be in his cards,
Not to mention how to prove just who it was,
As he didn’t stay all the time
Without the funds for surveillance cameras,
Or the fire to commit the crime.
But he smiled while removing shit from his shoes
As he thought of all of this,
Imagining which fantasy he might choose-
He had quite an amusing list.
silent, 4/23/2016, Deon Mumple
Everything is nothingness, the void is palpable,
Waiting for the sunrise, if the sun’s still capable,
Darkness is never ending, the light is just a show,
The light a great pretender, to make us think we know.
All I hear is crying, the screams quietly faded.
No one heard me anyway, love, how I was hated.
Now I hear the silence, in between the ticking clock,
Left without a winding, even that finally stopped,
And that deafening pounding drumbeat softly going,
Fading out in the distance, it’s my heartbeat slowing,
Everything I believed reveals what it truly meant.
Nothing is left, everything is finally silent.
The Special One, 4/22/2016, Deon Mumple
Everyone wants to be the special one,
To get extra consideration,
Like free sprinkles on that ice cream cone,
Or your own private parking zone,
Everyone wants to drive how they want to,
Admit it, that driver is you,
In your own special lane above the common zoo,
With “go” lights that are blue.
Everyone wants to be treated different,
Better than everyone else’s treatment
Special? Everyone wants to be.
I’m sorry, but that’s only me.