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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

Nepoet Weekly 09/15/24 to 09/21/24 Winner!

                                                                                      This Week’s winner is Jokerface82

 

Grandiose Majestic Mountain

There stood a majestic
Craggy face with razor blade
Edges of a monstrous
time honoured mountain

Turning its rocky nose up
at anything below him, robust
Jagged and risky, high stabbing
armour with White shark tip
Cut throated fins.

Bald rugged with a silent manner
cold stone as white as marshmallow
steep and strong, bold and old
broad frosted shoulders

With powdered freckles and a storm grey
complexion it wore a white necklace
and a frosted crown, made
by heaven.

 

                                              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.

 

The Valedictorian

She was a sooner-cum-loudly,
the top of her class,
genuine guttural groans
when I'd smack on that ass

and like any boy scout
I was always prepared
when she wanted it done
no level was spared

I'd slow down the roll
like the rest of us should
so I wouldn't let go
till she was all good

... and with a sigh of relief
flipped my hat in the air
I graduated with honor
at the college of Claire.

L U C I D U M .. I N T E R V A L L U M

there are wafers of dust hope
clinging to the torn nylon pockets
Neon green bottles with milligram
trips

perfume amber sweet and mysterious
noxious serpent that winds and wends
its way about the nocturne night flesh
of your throat

dream constrictor
rush of headlamp hypnotic
tremble when the ash of
the hit settles like the grey
soot on our savaged ruins

footprints in silence
you lead me
turning back
with that brow
fallen

the wet spark
flickering in that
dark soul

GoinGoing,Gone

Going , Going, Gone

Going is the present
fading into the past

Going is the past
fading into the present

Thought rides the high winds
Being tossed and thrown into both

Gone is the future
It no longer lives

It's diabolical laughter
ringing through my fears

Gone the reality
of unending dream

Ghostly images paled by light
returning only in the dead of night

Taunting, haunting going on
tempting me to do what is wrong

going going going
Till I'm gone

My Sonny Days

It doesn't take a holiday,
or any special time of year;

in fact, nothing "external"
what I love, or my worst fear;

coerces me to "feel" this way
I see no "rainbows", or "chirping birds",

over my years of writing continuously
I still fail to find those words!

Every "t" I cross, or "i" I dot
fail in the "mechanics", as on I write;

but, because of you, I persevere;
I want you to know, with all my might!

Confess

Confess, my love
I swear I was always right
I held in my arms, the one and only source of light
You will, you will; be what’s always wrong with me
And I will, I will; change what I can see

Confess, my heart
Was torn all apart
In your hands you held, my one and only love
You will, you will; be the end of me
And I will, I will; break internally

And when your sky comes crashing on you
Will you reach for me, or one of your loves?
And I said, “I can love no one, but you”
Believe me, I am true…

A Swans Gannet..

A Swan’s Gannet…

Back then in a year called seventy four,
we just about knocked on heavens door.
Because heaven isn’t that bloody far away,
and it sure isn’t what the christians say.
No heaven is right here on this earth,
it’s a state of being it’s what you're worth.

I meant LOL

There was a silenced lull,
on the Neopoets site,
For a while,
my heart skipped many a beat
and how about yours
twas the teary eyes
of passers bys
who consoled me alright
that soon the site will again
be in sight
twas.

BLIND VISION

Gazing through a window without glass
envisioning reality
distorted.

Do I behold what's come to pass
or what has not yet come to be
perhaps aborted?

Some go through the looking glass.
Sometimes I step through what's not there
with eyes tightly closed.

The unglazed window of my mind
reveals what looking glass leapers
overlook.
Too preoccupied
..Too hurried
.....(Too worried?)
Too blind.

A ZOLA NOVEL : updated

INDIFFERENCE

my voice is still.
my words echo empty
and meaningless.
my heart has learned
indifference
my soul no longer cares
and I am lost
in my own wondering
of who I am.

Useless twists and turns
of the tongue
speaking my identity.
I am a Zola novel
my destiny like a clock
set genetically
I am what I was meant to be:
I am my mother's child.
I am my father's son.

From Green Mansions

From many green mansions
this old house,
the windows open

crossing a beam of light,
poet dust.

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