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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.

 

Desolation in the face of wealth

Pity the pope
in his pointy pontification.....

The Catholic Church hoarders
of antiquity treasures lay not
yours on fallow fields.
Let not the sperm fly in your face,
with the faces of the unwanted like
the castaways of the filthy rich:

'Let them eat cake once they're born.
I wash my hands .'

There is no birth control for deviant minds if sex
is disallowed personal gratification, if it doesn't create
slaves of worship for the empire.

Camels rarely go through St. Peter's square.

Solomon splits in two

If Billy Maher wrote religious poetry,
I'd be crushed by an audience of laughter.

(The thinker, there, exposed.)

Did that get your attention, darling?
Now take me away from this mundane
field of stars where Rumi throws
his seeds of sperm--words I must taste to remember why
it is the sunlight that grows every shadow.

In your hands I am a soliloquy of prayer.
Recite me. Let me read your lips.
Take me to that forever place
in your heart that is pure, love that can
never be reconciled.

No one sees

I fight in a smile,
cry in a laugh
I love in sorrow,
care in hatred

I'll hold you up
if I wish you to fall
I'll let you drown
if I wish you to swim

I'll crone I love you
when I can no longer
stand your breathing
I'll scream I hate you
when my heart can't
stand your absence

My head will rest on your chest
when I wish it to stop moving
My words will bring your blood
when I wish you'd hold me

Fire and Claw Cadenza

Fire and claw
the devil's dancing out

tonight
under the bushes
low winds howl

the bowels of the earth
have opened wide,
they spew the latent odours
from their guts
and roam secretly
about below the huts of man,

stirring the brew
of fogs legs
and toads slippers
to a pulp
among the rotting fungi

a smile a mile across
as the gape of the earth parts
swallows the woods

politicians, pundits, puppets and poets, oh my!

Your hand reaching across
the table with a nomad's empty book,
you tried to write poems once
but used too many words. Do
you remember your puppet feet
dangling in mid-sentence? Your
face frozen with false smiles?

What happened to this country, my
oh my?
And why didn't anyone say the truth,
is it now too late?
Was no one listening in the winter
of our silence?
Did Moses not lead us
to the Promised Land?
Was it not here? Is it there?

~

the flakes are falling
soft in purpose
like the sky turning
announcing her
mystic shine
beyond the fond
blank manner

how many blanket layers
cover the distant autumn
the summer laugh of
joyous balsam dancing
in he wind and the livid
skies aflame in rays
reaching

the streetlights are coming
on along the shores
and the dark green
waters hold their calm

I want a night of dreamless
realm
dark headiness
and sprinkler ghosts
rushing wet damp
pavement

Beneath the Crashing Waves

Beneath the crashing waves
I am weightless.
Flowing with the circular current,
The sun shines through the crystal surface,
Refracting endless colors all around me.

My bodies six feet higher,
The waves crash into my chest.
Looking up to see God, so blue above me,
I hear the ocean moan.

You are perhaps

You are perhaps
The cynosure of many eyes
despite your blue eyes,
you are the poet of five decades
that’s not old yet
the age is of no significance
time and the water
that has flown down Mississippi
or Thames,
may be Nile or Ganges combined
doesn't show or give off my age.
I care but tuppence
as my mind is young,
a teen’s
and
as an actor of poetry ,
as it seems
I’ m just an adolescent
and
upcoming in many a poets dream,
Albeit
perhaps, it’s too late,

LAUREL CREEK

* I still recall that little creek
tucked in between the mountain ridges
only seen by those who'd seek
escape from the workday week
on a waterway which had no bridges.
..................................
The cold mist of a waterfall
beads my old wool coat and skin
as I answer winter's call
easing down this small stream's hall
on a sylvan stroll again.

Two poems on poetry

1)

"A POEM IS LIKE A GEM"
20th September 2010.

A poem is like a gem, the saturation of a text,
so complete, and being shorter than prose text,
beautiful as such.

In the readers mind, while reading,
it dances in unison with his own thoughts,
his gathered knowledge, his word associations,
his joys and sorrows,

Pages

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