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Neopoet Weekly 10/6/24 TO 10/12/24 Winner

 

 

Congratulations to This week’s winner Trail

 

DRIFTING CLOUDS

 

The sun rises a little earlier each day
And each day is brighter than the last
On evenings I walk out to see the sunset
And I walk back with a rested soul

I've tried to be more sincere with myself
To hold my own hand
As I walk through the darkness
To sing to myself once in a while
So that I can hear a voice
Of someone who loves me

It hasn't been an easy ride
But the clouds are coming back from the south now
And with each wave I get a feeling
That it's all going to be alright

I'm waiting for the first rains of the season
Hoping that just maybe
The heavy part of my soul
Will be washed clean
And I can smile again
Even if it's just for a while

I carry a weight in my heart
But when the breeze blows, I look up
I am stunned by the majesty of the clouds
And of the moon, and the stars
This, I think
Is how I survived for so long
A.Swantalala

Neopoet Weekly 09/29/24 to 10/05/24 Winner!

This Week’s winner is  Twizzle48

 

WHISPERING WOODS

 

WHISPERING WOODS

Perhaps the rustling leaves are telling the tree’s tale
Whispering, such that only those listening may hear
Only when it is in tune, may the message be clear
Yet unless easily understood, it will be of little avail

The breeze is a medium, but other connections too
To share, an underground root network also serves
It’s communication via a kind of complex of nerves
No myths or stories, as all that’s shared will be true

Summer is a competition for sunlight, as if in a duel
In autumn it is time for the farewell to falling leaves
Yet the first snow of winter is as an axe that cleaves
But next spring, it’s the buzz of growth and renewal

The style of the telling is not random, but planned
Facts the trees near and far, eventually get to know
But its sending and receipt is effective, even if slow
Nature’s sagas few of us will ever get to understand

September 2024 Contest Winners!

September 2024 Contest Winners

 

Congratulations to all our contest winners

 

The Winner of the What is Life? Is Alex Tanner

 

Life Is What You Are

 

There's a time to go back to live life again,
Let the boy who was fearless be reborn just the same;
Command the old man who grumbles and moans
Of the aches and the pains that torment his old bones.

Ride his bike one more time, no brakes, hands free,
Skate winter's froze pond where he knows not to be,
Go down to the river for frogs, newts, dragonfly,
Climb gnarled oaks so tall they caress azure sky.

Boot footballs, play rugby in fields full of mud.
Wash knees in ice water to clean off the blood
From kicks and from falls but never no pain
Just laughter as into the fray once again.

No laptops, no mobiles perhaps no tv,
But they were not wanted this boy he was free.
Free from an age of want yet to come
To go where he pleases till hungry then home.

From dawn until dusk he was out all around,
With his numerous pals no trouble was found,
Nor was it sought, just laughter and fun
Or maybe some girls as adolescence begun.

The old man sits straight and a smile lights his face
He'll do what he can and if he seems a disgrace?
A silly old sod who ought to know better,
By God! life's for living, he'll show he's no quitter.

 

The winner of the 09/24 The Bully is Tawny023

 

Encroach and Invade

 

Mold is an inconspicuous bully
Decomposes reds, yellows, oranges
Blues, and even lime greens
Does not matter its outer shape
Covets the wetness deep inside
Feeds and declares dominance
Nest and festers, spreads
Like vermin and vectors
Permeates and inhibits
Its host hold on to structure
While degrading its bonds
In order to have its way with
Just about any old living thing
A temperamental nuisance
But it’s grotesque mold juice
caught the eye of Dr. Fleming
Its usefulness is no other
Than the holy grail
called Penicillin
Which fights viruses that would
Otherwise make human’s
procreation unviable and
Their deaths excruciating

 

The winner of the 09/24 Bon Fire is RoseBlack

 

Bon Fire

 

Moon high; middle of the night.
Drums thumping; bumping in hypnotic flight.
Cloaked hoods fall to the ground,
scattered chants mix with the eerie sound.

Candle wax burns at the fingertips;
Hecate's breath embraces swaying hips.
Shadows dance amongst the flames,
linking spirits to our world without shame.

'Tis our season, witches take hold,
The magic runs hot and bold.
Our veil is thinning, hear the roar of the thunder,
when the living and the dead are no longer asunder.

 

The winner of the 09/24 Under the boardwalk is  Lavender

 

Along The Windy Shore

 

I remember you
and your lit-up smile
under the salty boardwalk.
You were seventeen
with your tousled hair
along the windy shore.

Such a time we had
'neath the summer sun
under the salty boardwalk.
With our hands entwined
we would race the waves
along the windy shore.

We never made promises
we couldn't keep.
No promises were broken.

So in the silver moonlight
there on the beach,
few words were ever spoken.

I remember soon
summer days grew short
under the salty boardwalk.
I was seventeen
when we said goodbye
along the windy shore.

Do you remember me
with my deep brown eyes
under the salty boardwalk?
Part of me remains
racing with the waves
along the windy shore.

I'm there along the shore.

 

The Winner of the 09/24 Homecoming is Tawny023

 

Did you know?

 

Golden Shovel after Victoria Chang’s, ‘Homecoming”

Pieces of us still exist from as far back
As diapers and Similac, even before bedtime stories.
Our DNA hangs around in their
Bloodstream like butterfly wings,
As if the contractions remember
Something of us swimming in nothing,
But a secret tunnel and we were and are
Umbilical cord joined until cut, but the bond is never
Broken— our Mother’s DNA still holds our knowledge

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neopoet Weekly 09/22/24 to 09/28/24 Winner!

   This Week’s winner is Jokerface82

 

THE WRATHFUL SEA

 

Her salted bludgeoning maw
swallowed vessels and galleys
with its green saline gullet of
ulcers
barnacles, and a throat full of oily
spots of acne sticky limpets

Treasures guarded by a circle
of sharks in an ocean restaurant
pinching crabs,
and swaying seaweed keeping naval
secrets.

A wave of wrathfulness, tossing
clubbing, floating ships, drowning
them into the abyss.
stripping seamen Into
skeletons with silent screams.

Supported by a howling killer
of a storm . Ripping, blowing holes
into arthritis wooden decks into oblivion
into the coldest dark depths.

         

 

                                                                     To leave an additional comment on the contest page click here

The stream (all workshops)

This is the stream - you can see all poems on Neopoet, live, as they are created.

 

Where Are They Now.

Is my Mother with the angels
in her heavenly seat.
And does she watch over me
with angels at her feet.

When I think of how she lived
I feel like I'm with her again.
Does she know all of my faults
and love me just the same.

I wonder where my Father is
does he stand at heaven’s door.
And does he know, I write poetry
just like he did before.

When my heart is in my poetry
it feels like I’m with him too.
Does his spirit help me to write
the way he’d want me to do.

Simply gifted

Simply gifted…

What gift would you give,
a man hungering to a death.
Would food be enough,
as he finally sucks breath.

And after its given,
proudly you’d stand tall.
Or can you consider,
that its not a gift at all.

To wet the lips of a child,
who’s dying of thirst.
May salve your conscience,
but you wont be the first.

Does that water wash
a single stain of guilt.
Truly we must avoid,
defence, so tardily built.

Speak To The Heart Of A Dying Man

Speak to the heart
Of a dying man
Corroded by the words
Said in gradual
Discourse.

In a strange hour
He will be freed.
The flask of his thoughts
Stained
And emptied.

GOODLUCK A NATION?

GOODLUCK A NATION?

Goodness marrying luck makes a name

So much power in it, made it fame

A name is not a game

Games wear many names

Distinct this yet appears as appeal

Behind the name, is a Jonathan

A dove, born into humility’s manger

A portrait speaking unending possibilities

Servant of all, the commander in chief

Beacon of hope, lightening a dark pained past

Shining star, all depressed gaze

Speak the truth, act the same

Promise all, keep the oath

Lead the way, our willingness will follow

She Walks Alone

She is a prisoner of herself.
Her dreams, she dreams are
Not her own. The tears she
Cries are scarlet in color. She
Is not a master of her domain.
No one to talk with, she feels
As though her gullibility has
Been betrayed.

She walks alone upon this earth.
It seems to be so lonely for her.
Clouds float wickedly above her.
The clouds are ready to burst into
Flames. The fiery furnace scorches
All her irony.

This Old Sweater

This old sweater,
White ribbed wool,
Heavy,
With times we’ve spent together,
The patterned puffs ,
And yarn stitched lines,
By myth I’m told.
But tell my friends as true,
Were first used as family signs,
So those Aron sailors
Washed ashore were known.

RECOLLECTIONS

Each time I leave my door I see
far mountain ridges taunting me
their deep valleys and steep hill sides
never again will feel my strides

For my story has way too much past
the years have caught me up at last
yet I still have my memories
of traipsing among tall spruce trees

And wading rivers and catching trout
where riffles murmur and rapids shout
walking far to set up camp
ignoring both the cold and damp

The Gift.

The house now stands empty
where the old folks used to be
waiting to be filled again
with the sounds of a family.

Maybe a child at play
on some afternoon
or just the sound of a radio
playing a well known tune.

I will always remember the old man
with his tales of long ago
of how he lived as a working man
and the folks he used to know.

And I’ll remember the old man’s wife
a little anxious, like she could be
but always happy to spend some time
sharing a laugh with me.

The Tilled Field

By three am's deepest light
I had a sudden strange insight
that nothing new inside my brain
could sit and fester and just might
be nothing at all.

I used to hear dull people query
"how'd he come up with that theory?",
"where do his ideas come from?"
but now I look around, eyes bleary,
and ask the same.

A huge blow to my rampant pride,
but now there's nowhere I can hide
I'm just an ordinary man
with nothing special deep inside.
That is the price.

The Political Pride Parade

The grateful cynics have the "house", now
toxicity levels are rather high;

but, most would choose to disregard
if all a group did was, sit and cry.

They did have quite a following
many agreed, and could also relate;

but, their numbers started rapidly falling
after losing each and every debate!

There's a revolution brewing
it's definately in the works,

popular political opinions help lead the charge
by identifying most of the biggest jerks!

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