NaPoWriMo 2015

Dear readers,

I would just like you to know that my NaPoWriMo 2015 participation will be hosted on another site, 1st Non-manuscript. It’s also my blog. Actually, it’s my original blog. It’s around 3-years-old.

That doesn’t mean I’ll be leaving WordPress, though. Even though Story in the Making was created by accident, it has become of sentimental value to me. So I’m keeping it. I’ll still be posting here once in every month.

Thank you for reading and I hope to get back to you soon! Have a prosperous April!


Kind of an ‘About Me’ Post

Dear readers,

How are you? I see some of you checking the “About” page of this blog from time to time, but that page has been empty. It seems that you are looking for an introduction.

My name is Charlene Delfin, author of “An Unknown Narrator.” My website is currently not updated on my works ranging from November 2013 to the present, but it presents my works prior to those dates. For now, you may get to know 75% of me on that website. I will add the other 25% when I get some free time.

I started this blog because my blog on Blogger wouldn’t load and NaPoWriMo was already starting; I had to post as soon as possible. This blog was created in an emergency. This blog can be about anything, but it will focus mainly on writing.

I successfully finished NaPoWriMo and these are the 30 poems that I wrote within the 30 days of April:

  1. The Past and the Future in a Jar
  2. Among Us
  3. Just Another James
  4. What to Do
  5. Pom, Pom, Pom, Pom
  6. To Hell with ‘Em
  7. Devil on a Leash
  8. Wireless
  9. High-risk
  10. From My Army Brothers
  11. Fiery
  12. The Other Cheek
  13. Crocodile
  14. Twirling Exclamation Point
  15. From Poet to Poet
  16. Look into the Mirror
  17. From Morning to Evening
  18. Circle
  19. Poetic Sleepiness
  20. Cold Air that You Feel
  21. My god Apollo
  22. Shobenuamasimern
  23. Secret Love
  24. Mightier than the Sword
  25. Round and Round
  26. The Reader
  27. To Die for You
  28. Writer’s Block
  29. Thriller Dreams
  30. Third Eye Testimony


I also won in Camp NaNoWriMo and this is my winner’s certificate:


I will be gone from WordPress for a while because I need to focus on studying. Hopefully, I can get back here before the end of 2014.

I’ll be putting my poems on Bubblews. Bubblews is a website where users get to post about a wide range of topics. Posts that are less than 400 characters are not allowed. Users also earn revenue with every view, like, comment and even dislike. I spend time on Bubblews because it does not take too much of my time and they have a friendly community.

See you again soon,

Third Eye Testimony

A man of many names;
He came to me today.
Said he flew from the Thames
Thinking like Faraday,
But here, he will be free
To be a nobody.

He once lived in your own land,
Fetching water for him
And driving the unmanned.
He wasn’t who he seemed;
He got away with it.
He’s one man they can’t beat.

He is here and he’s there,
Day and night in somewhere
His pair of feet may care.

He was in their country
To declare their own fight.
If you think like a tree,
He had used their own might
And he left them for dead.
He’s from the Thames, he said.

Thriller Dreams

When you’re bored, then you sleep,
In your dreams, you will write
About mountaints so steep.
You will find Mr. Right
And he will make you jump,
Not over a low ramp …

Jump over the ravine.
Don’t you ever look down.
It’s what I really mean.
Jump, despite all the frown
That they’re giving you two;
They might wanna jump, too.

And there comes the sunrise,
Wake up and be so wise.
Today, write something nice.

At your desk, you will write
About mountains so steep.
She will find Mr. Right,
But you will make him slip
To make a good story;
For readers love worry.

Writer’s Block

He’s like an empty desert,
Straight and without features.
He’s like a rock concert
Where the band ain’t so sure
Whether music shall roam,
Or they will just go home.

He’s like a night of clouds,
No more beautiful stars.
He’s like a big, big crowd,
Faceless and source of SARS.
I wonder how he lives,
But she will surely leave.

He’s the being she can see
When she can’t write any;
There’s no future in he.

Unless she says goodbye
Like a sudden sunrise.
Her life will not pass by
With no words of the wise
When infatuation
Goes to inspiration.

To Die for You

Very orange and smooth.
You are quiet and sweet,
And the flavor is good.
In this garden, we meet,
But I’ve chosen to stay;
We’re beginning today.

Fresh, green leaves, they surround,
Making the air smell cool.
They make musical sound
As they don’t make fine food.
Dancing in the breezes,
Though sweet taste each misses.

Let’s sit together, dear,
As the silence we hear
When nature is so near.

To be on this hard bench,
It’s white in day and night.
Cover yourself from stench.
Soon enough, I turn white.
I’m with you forever
And leaving you never.

Note: This poem is in response to the NaPoWriMo post titled, “Day 27.” We are given four photographs. We can choose one and we are to write a poem from it. We are allowed to use our own photo, but the first thing that I can think of is the famous 1961 photo of East German soldier Conrad Schumann deflecting into West Germany by jumping over the Berlin Wall (it was still a barbed wire fence at that time). The only problem is that I’ve spent a majority of this month creating poems about war and conflict and I would like to try out other themes. So I just chose the last photo among the four.

It’s the photo of a skeleton who is sitting next to a pumpkin on a white bench in a garden. I found the photo funny as soon as I saw it and it made me think up a story in which someone chose to be the the companion of the pumpkin in the garden forever until he starved to death, rotted and turned into a skeleton. That’s what inspired “To Die for You.” Please pardon my sense of humor.

You can view the photo here.

The Reader

Taken into a world of might and songs,
Long robes that glide on floor, wealthy with grace,
Olden moments that bring image so strong

Horses and men with swords of king who longs
For peace, flowers in fields and pretty face.
A world’s nature that still removes the wrong.

A work by you, delight of words, octaves,
Measure and lines inspire this mind so well.
An art so bright as day and sweet as wine.

You bring my soul into lovely, lil’ raves;
A book fine.

Note: The poem above is in response to the NaPoWriMo post titled, “Day 26.” The optional poetry prompt for us today is to create a curtal sonnet. We are allowed to create poems that don’t rhyme and go outside of iambic pentameter, but I tried to stay within the original rules.

The articles on Wikipedia about this topic are not very complete as of posting this, so I just guessed the missing details. For example, even though a curtal sonnet begins with a sestet, I wrote the sestet of my curtal sonnet in the manner of the octave of a Petrarchan sonnet. Also, Wikipedia doesn’t provide a specific rhyming scheme for the quatrain of a curtal sonnet, so I just copied the rhyming scheme of “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins (which I read as ABCA).
I hope that I didn’t confuse the whole thing.

Round and Round

He is there in the east.
He is there, he’s rising.
He is there in the mist;
He is there, appearing.
He is there on the roof;
He is there, not aloof.

He is there, overhead.
He is there in the rain,
He is there as we wed;
He is there, shines on grain.
He is there, warming us.
He is there, with the mass.

He is there in their hearts.
He is there in my art.
He is there since the start.

He is there in the sea,
He is there in the waves,
He is there in my dreams,
He is there and he saves.
He is there, everywhere.
He is there, he ain’t there.



Note: The poem above is in response to the post in the NaPoWriMo website titled, “Day 25.” The optional poetry prompt for us is to write a poem that uses anaphora. I did not try to learn how far it can go as suggested in the NaPoWriMo website, but it reached the usual length of my poetry.

Mightier than the Sword

These concrete, they cover
The real structure around.
Bricks, layer-by-layer,
Built to protect the sound;
Do they really protect
As their walls stand erect?

Blocking my dear freedom
Of movement, physical,
But the makers are dumb,
For no walls are mental;
They cannot halt thinking
Of a poet’s dreaming.

They’re forever written
As the villains of men,
Men who write great poems.

Sing, poet in me,
Sing beyond these cold bars
As they make me not free!
Stand up for a real war.
Roosters be awakened;
Words written by my pen.



Note: The poem above is in response to the post on the NaPoWriMo website titled, “Day 24.” The optional prompt for us today is to “write a poem that features walls, bricks, stones, arches, or the like.”

Secret Love

It’s all the grated cheese
For the optimum bets.
Reclusive guardian’s miss
Is the cat from Tibet.
Let him hear her purr, purr,
Like the small, great helper.

Simonet has datum.
It’s like a floral dress
Of Sol, the cute mermaid;
It is omnipresent,
But it’s about my tryst
In the cedar cellar.

Spread something else, darling.
Like Reddit, news spreading.
Or else, I’m receding.

He thinks he is Hermes,
Make me like Evita,
The hated, little miss
While he munched on Fita.
Don’t let Simonet say
The love of all my days.

Note: The poem above is in response to the post on the NaPoWriMo website titled, “Day 23.” The optional prompt for us today is make a homophonic translation. I chose these ten lines from a poem by the German composer Carl Orff.

Ecce gratum
et optatum
Ver reducit gaudia.
floret pratum.
Sol serenat omnia.
iamiam cedant tristia!
Aestas redit,
nunc recedit
Hiemis saevitia.

From these lines, I made my homophonic translation to English.

It’s the grated
Bet optimum
Very reclusive guardian
Purr purr
Floral Simonet datum
Sol mermaid omnipresent
Imma cedar tryst
Just as Reddit
Noun receding
Hermes, Evita.

And then I created “Secret Love” out of my homophonic translation. Personally speaking, I think that it’s hilarious.