NaPoWriMo 2017


This April, I’m participating in NaPoWriMo – or National Poetry Writing Month. Similar to NaNoWriMo, this month is about writing one poem every day.
Each day, I’ll be updating this page and sharing my newest poem for you guys to read. 🙂

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Spring’s Return

The leaves fall
And fade away
Into chilly air
And flakes of snow.
And once again, it’s Winter’s turn
To toy with the world below.

And after Winter’s had his fun,
Spring comes forth
To bring the sun
And melt away
The ice and snow
And call the children out to play.

While Winter was cold and cross,
Lady Spring is gentle and kind,
Bringing sunshine, flowery fragrance,
And new life after death.

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Splashes of black and pink
Cinnamon buns perched on heads
Wafting smells of sweat and leather
Murmuring voices and deep-sucked breaths.

Faces concentrated on their work
The music guiding them along
Their bodies bend and move in rhythm
Singing their own special song.

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Sometimes I wonder
How future generations
Will look back on us.

Will they see a strong, stable nation,
Or a country crumbling from inside out?

Will our lives today
Seem as bliss to theirs?
Or will they pity us and wonder
How we ever made it there?

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Bundled up all warm and snug,
From Dad a wave, from Mom a hug.
Grabbing coats long-since hung,
Catching snowflakes on our tongue.

Running outside to the glistening-white world,
Forming angels and kicking up snow as we twirl.
Laughing together as comrades and chums,
Catching snowflakes on our tongue.

The crystals sail down from the sky,
Hitting us cold and making us cry.
Noses, cheeks, and fingers numb,
Catching snowflakes on our tongue.

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A Poem in my Pocket

There’s a poem
In my pocket
Its words only for me,


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The Key

There’s a story
Locked inside me
Waiting to be set free
The trouble is
That I have managed
To misplace the key.

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The Bend in the Road

Sometimes in life
Our path takes a curve
And we can’t see
What’s beyond.
And when that happens,
We can choose
To camp alongside the road
Abandoning the old path
And creating a new one.
Or trusting God
And His plan
And forge ahead
Into the great

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Fingers brush the hard-bound volumes,
A title is plucked from the shelf.
Excited hands examine the cover,
And open the magic-sprinkled pages.
Eyes scan the page,
Taking in the story.
The world around us dissolves
And instantly,
The story comes
To life.

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Why do we feel that
We must police this world
Without first
Examining ourselves?

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Don’t ever forget
That the future of our world
Is in our control.

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Every leaf
Every tree
Every flower
Every bee
Tell of His
Wonderful handiwork
His gift of life
And the beautiful world
That we call home.

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When things are down
And there seems nothing
You can
Count on
Never forget
That no matter how far you’ve fallen
No matter how hopeless it seems
You can always rely
On hope
And the One who comes with it.

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My Prayer

Dear Lord
Help me cope
Help me trust
Help me know
That You are with me
That You have a plan for me
And that this will pass.

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i’m drowning
no way up
no way out
walls closing in
from all directions.
how do I escape?
where do I look?
who will save me?
i’ve fallen so deep
it seems i’ll
never make it back
i try to have faith
to trust in Him
but i’m scared
afraid of failing
afraid of drowning
afraid of there being
no way out.

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His Resurrection

Why do you look
For the living
Among the dead?
Jesus Christ has defeated death
And eternal life
Is ours.

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His Love

How is it
That despite our sins and fallings-short
We could be
So loved?
How is it
That even though we stumble and fall
We are always picked back up
And placed back on our feet?
How is it
When our sins
Are too great to count
He offers us
Eternal life?

Only a love
Such as this
Will take our place
Wipe away our sins
And never cease in loving us.

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His Sacrifice

On this day
So many years ago
The first step
To our salvation
Was complete.
Our former sins
And separation with God
Were washed away.
God’s amazing plan
For the world and for His son
Were coming to
A close
And moving on to a better age
And life with Him.
No longer would death
Have power over life
But instead we were promised life
Eternally with Him.

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Baby sister
So small and soft
So fresh and new
So much love and joy.
Soft, chubby cheeks
Bright eyes taking everything in
Small, tightly wound curls,
Little hands with littler fingers
The babbling language
All her own.
And a smile showing
What we mean to her
And what she means
To us.

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In Between

I am stuck
In a world in between
Imagination and
Half of me is holding fast to the real world
While the other is running wild and free.
And I can’t help but wonder
Which world is right
For me.

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Filled with
Wonder, love
And excitement
No worries or insecurities
No burdens of school, jobs,
Money or relationships.
Life consists
Of playing outside,
Watching movies,
Eating pancakes on weekends,
Playing with siblings and friends.
But now we have stepped
Onto the bridge
That burns as we cross it
And never can we go back
To our childhood.

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Mama –
Always thinking of others
Before herself.
Always making us a warm, filling breakfast
Spending time
Explaining math,
Even if
I get upset.
Tending to us tirelessly
When we’re sick.
Forgetting sometimes
To get dressed,
And spending the day
In a bathrobe.
Working hard
To but clothes, food, and possessions.
Loving us,
Nurturing us,
Always at our side,
Sacrificing her life
For us.
Mama is always there –
From teaching us about life
To providing a shoulder
To cry on,
She is what makes our life
An enjoyable, wonderful place
To be.

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At the Zoo

animals behind bars and glass
scents of cooking oil, sunscreen, and popcorn waft through the air
chirps, shouts, cries and clanks reach my ears

gobbling candy while it lasts
gazing through the cages at lions, monkeys, and bears
little children’s eyes are bright as the point and peer

running along the trails and paths
animals covered in scales, spikes and hair
visiting animals from everywhere

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Homeward Bound

Seatbelts are buckled
Luggage is squished together,
The engine starts up
Homeward bound.

MP3 cords are connected,
The radio is flipped on,
Earbuds are popped in
Homeward bound.

When the car comes to a halt,
Legs are stretched and woken up,
Trips to the bathroom are made,
Pokemon are chased and found
Homeward bound.

The baby’s crying seems endless,
Complaints rattle the air,
Heads are stuffed into pillows
Homeward bound.

Then at last, the car comes to a final stop.
Doors are thrown open,
Luggage removed,
Hearts content
Homeward bound.

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God’s Love

Our human eyes
Greens, blues,
Browns, grays
Can only see
So much.
But there is One
Who sees what we
While we only see
What reaches our eyes,
He sees far
Beneath the surface,
And loves us
No matter what
We’ve done.

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see that girl
sitting there
mascara tears run down her face
her shoulders slump and sag
her eyes are ever brimmed with tears
and her lips always quiver.
she feels lost,
with no one to turn to
nowhere to go.
her home is corrupt with fighting,
at school she only tries to disappear.
but little does she know
how loved she is,
how much He cares,
and the gift of Life that is hers.

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The Beach

Soft, slippery sand,
Burning the bottoms of feet.
The crash of salty waves.
Shrieks of delighted children,
Running through the surf.
Gulls shrieking and diving for food.
Parents tanning on beach towels.
Coolers and pool chairs set up.
Castles carved from sand.
Balls be tossed by parents.
Surfers and swimmers.
Imaginations running free.

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Collection Time

A hooded figure stands
Hidden in the
Shadows of the night,
Surveying the sleeping town.
His eyes take in
The scene around him –
The darkened streets
And tall buildings,
An occasional light seen through a window.
The sound of bugs and alley cats,
The midnight sky above.
Then he moves swiftly away.
Collection time has arrived.
He glides throughout
The streets,
Stopping from house to house
And soon his work his done
And he returns,
With more than he
Arrived with.

Who is the “hooded figure” in this poem? Guess in the comments!

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Every summer
When the rains of spring faded,
Replaced by sunshine and warmth,
Was when I made my annual visit
To Grandpa’s.

Grandpa lived in the New York countryside,
Surrounded by forests,
And grazing deer.

Grandpa himself was old in age,
With whitened hair and wrinkled hands,
But in spirit,
Grandpa was still a boy.

His walks were always brisk and bouncy,
Bringing joy everywhere he skipped.
His smile wrinkles never made him look old,
And his eyes always twinkled.
Every morning, when he saw me,
He chortle and bellow,
“Let’s go fishin’, Sarah.”
And so we would.

He’d lead me to the dock,
Whistling as he went.
There we’d fish ’till Gran called us in,
His calloused hands guiding
My gentle ones.
And at nights, we’d sit,
Swinging on the porch
Legs bare and tanned,
Husking beans or making daisy chains,
Listening to the music of the night.

Grandpa’s was my place of comfort,
Free of judgement and gossip,
Free of mom and dad’s constant fighting,
Free of late, lonely nights.

Each summer I went,
And returned home refreshed
Until now.

This year, Grandpa is gone.
His laughter has fades,
Instead filling the streets
Of Heaven.
And I –
I am left

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Baking Day

Off comes the box lid
Baking time’s arrived,
You and me standing
Side by side.

Shuffling through the recipe cards
From when Dad was a boy,
Stopping when we find one
That we both enjoy.

Gather the ingredients
Quickly now!
Flour, eggs, sugar, spices
And milk from the cow.

Plop go the ingredients
To mix the batter for cake,
Stir them well, then slide ’em in
To the oven to bake.

Ding! goes the oven
The cake is ready,
Now slide it out
And hold it steady.

Set the table
It’s time to eat!
Slice and serve, then take a bite
And enjoy our baking treat.

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The Fox

The fox
Creeps through
The evening forest
The sky
A brilliant blue.
It wanders
Here and there
Going somR+–eplace
No one knows where.
Not a sound
It makes
As it
Creeps about
Its secret space.
Or seen
At all
By men
Who fall
Onto its
Hiding place.

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Showtime – the magic of theater, the hot, lights; bright costumes; the nerves all askew.
Buns are tightly wound and pinned, doused in hairspray. Stage makeup plasters faces. Dance sit close together, bags piled around them. Murmurs from others drift through the air, and the excitement and nerves linger. Books are placed on laps, phones shine their blue lights on faces, occupying the dancers until the music begins.
And when it does, a rush of excitement is shared by all. Showtime has arrived.

Books and phones on laps
Dancers squished tight together
Showtime has arrived.

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POEMS COPYRIGHT © Grace Thomas via The Girl Upstairs
All rights reserved. These poems were written by me, belong to me, and are not to be used or copied in any form.

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