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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.

 

A Quatern.. The Dauntless Heart

It's great to have a dauntless heart,
a one that's filled with lots of hopes,
it always gives your life a start,
when overcomes the crucial slopes.

As life sustains a running peril
It's great to have a dauntless heart
to bravely lash its dangers-feral
that is a pretty real art.

This life is quite the biggest mart,
to trade in good and bad forever.
It's great to have a dauntless heart,
and get the best purchases ever.

Family Tradition

After a year of ups and downs

Everyone with each other

It's something they look forward to

Together no matter the weather

 

Children's laughter filling the air

While babies cry over it all

Generations of family

Share traditions that are not small

 

Mother and Father love it so

Wouldn’t  have any other way

As they look at their children

Together on Christmas day

 

Father in his rocking chair

With all his sons, their sons too

Is proud of the men he raised

Remember Me

Remember me like the sun
That rises from the horizon
Like a paint of gold that spills
All over the dark sheet of the night
Like the fleeting clouds
Above a world that is still and unchanging
Remember me like waking from a slumber
Unable to recall a lovely dream
Like once a beautiful house
In time abandoned and forgotten
Remember me like the mist
That bathes the grasses with dew
Like the gust of wind
That blows but never comes back
Like a moving scenery

Speak Like Paradise

It would end with me
And I would be fine with it
For up ahead burns something
Not new,
But alive.
And I wait for this fire to burn brighter,
And I hear people talking of the past,
Yet they don’t understand,
They speak of keeping heritage alive
I refuse to live in song and dance.
I prefer to speak in poetry,
The way old Paradise did on that open road.
I prefer to stare the world in the face,
And not say a word.
I crave the silently loud noise of it all.
So yes,
It can end with me

two rosy poets

You said
Don't you dare
I composed
I dare

well you and I
are too ferocious a pair

you say don't
I say do,

you must be more positive
like me too

never give in to the machinations of human beings,
fight for your right …

yet when you are wrong,
just admit it

no one knows the real art of living,
only reduce stress
in whatever way you can
also make compassion
your norm

for there is nothing beyond love,
in the life's sweet and short sojourn

YOU ARE ERASED

The rain-
It cleanses all manner
of things
scouring the route
to redemption and
sorrow

Like tears-
they never fell
when I stood over
your still sullen shape

But now they do

Like torrents
trembling terrible
torments
washing the life
we had clean away

All stains are gone
You are erased
from our life
like lines of
laundered linen

Small Talk

Talk to myself, not much to say.
Radio on, headphones too,
as morning wraps the walls
in candy stripes of light on light.

Weather forecast, where and when.
‘Background briefing’,
news about news,
stitched like a ‘fiver’ to my hat.

Two conversations layer cake.
Breath, a true measure,
says goodbye to that.
‘Tipping the lid’, developing mannerisms...

Specious?... More scandals;
make a gesture, feel the veins,
tense tendons,
like Mime at the anvil, start to work.

Plump Hurrah

needle hanging by its thread
the light of a moon
upon a bed

cups with worry buttons
in its ocean of dust
the bright cascade
of snow
and the broken trusts

sickle smile
cut the mile
a bootheels grind
sharpens an eye

worry hurry come
the eve
where the ghosts
come to sit

and never leave

Killer's Roadside Picnic...

The engine of his motorbike drones on in sympathy
Killer’s mind is numb, there’s nothing here to see
Hunger strikes his stomach, like a sharpened knife
There has to be some bad-guys here; brighten Killer’s life

Now on the dark horizon, there is a distant light
It flickers, flares and beckons, calling through the night
A campfire in the desert, reflecting chrome and leather
Biker-men and broads, enjoying party weather

Come Away, Come Away

Come away, come away
As I lazily lay
It was the last day in the month of May,
When it said come away, come away

Still I sit, never flit, out of wit
In my chair in the middle of nowhere
To go anywhere, I surely do care
But still I sit there, in the middle of nowhere

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