NaPoWriMo AJ Style!

As the magazine does its thing at the printers, Alligator Juniper staff have decided to delight in the April celebration of NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month.

Yes, we know it’s already day three of April. This is not an excuse, but we’ve seriously been working night and day to format and bring to you—our writing family, fans, and loyal subscribers—the 18th issue of the magazine! So exciting, but we all need to just take a breather, sit back, read, and write poetry as we wait it’s arrival. To calm the nerves, you know.

On a rotating basis, the AJ office staff will be posting our own raw, uncooked, unrevised poetry. These are first drafts, y’all; that’s what it’s all about! We encourage all writers, no matter what your genre preferences, to give this NaPoWriMo a go. We would also like to invite our readers to post original poems in the comments. We will feature select poems along with our own throughout the month.

Keep connected: follow our blog and we’ll exchange the favor. Let’s generate some drafts for the National Writing Contest next fall…or just play, because spring, especially, is conducive to that!

Love, AJ Staff

2 Comments on “NaPoWriMo AJ Style!”

  1. Elizabeth Schwartz says:

    Tom Harris
    Every morning he woke to his ceiling
    briefly losing himself in its white heaven,
    empty, quiet, comforting.

    Like the wrinkles on his face,
    the cracks appeared
    growing from the corners of the ceiling,
    deepening, and creaking in its’ old age
    it began to collapse and gave way on top of him.

    Eyes shut tight,
    returning to life as he inhaled,
    he exhaled out of bed.

    Tom lived in a fourth story apartment
    with a balcony that bathed in sunsets and sun rises.
    Most days he stood a distance away from the railing,
    there were few days where he had the courage
    to stand close or place his hands on it.

    When he did,
    Like the decaying bones of a corpse
    The rail would crumble apart
    And he would fall over the edge.

    His limbs dislocating,
    his heart convulsing,
    his body hugging the pavement
    As he hit the ground.

    He stumbled backwards into his living room
    And locked the balcony door.
    After breakfast he went to work.

    Upon entering his car he would die once more,
    A head on collision.
    He watched the steering wheel crush his stomach
    Watched his windshield shatter
    as his whole body rattled within
    The pulverized vehicle.

    Looking at himself in his rear-view mirror
    He starts his engine and continues his day.

    No one knew how the unpredictable
    fate of mortality haunted him
    So much so that living meant
    to die a new death every day.
    Every night he drank tea before bed
    But this night, as he slept,
    The gas from his stove crawled about his home,
    poisoning his lungs.

    When he awoke to white heaven,
    it didn’t creek or crack.
    But simply remained blissful.

  2. sof says:

    A Nomadic Existence

    Like our ancestors
    We were once nomadic.
    We lived off Wonderbread, sunflower seeds and cigarettes.
    Nights sleeping in parking lots
    when the moon looked
    fuller in the light polluted sky.
    The impulsive nature
    of change,
    the static
    radio hush or the ebb and
    flow of ocean waves,
    the clumsiness of
    cicadas or rattling leaves.

    We were dreaming
    Or lost,
    when the hours swan by and
    days felt no different.

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