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April 2024 Contest Winners

Congratulations to our April 2024 contest winners!

Spring Fling  was won by Carrie with the poem Spring Fling

04/24 I Was An April Fool was won by Geezer with the poem Fooled Again...

04/24 Waiting In Line was won by  Mary Beth Magee  with the poem The Last Time

04/24 Are We There Yet?  Was won by Rula with the poem We're Almost There For It

04/24 My Favorite Cookie was won by Leslie with the poem After school treat!

Poetry Month 2024 Imagine Contest Vote

Vote for this month’s image prompt contest winner

Voting ends May 6th 2024.

Vote at the end of this newsletter.

 

Backwards

By: Carrie

G
All the things that I wanna write
C
Have been written
G
All the songs that I wanna sing
D
Have been sung,
G
All the things that I wanna say
C
Have been said before
D A Em G
All the things that I wanna do have been done.

G
I wanna fly a kite
A
At night instead of day,
C
I wanna drive a big old truck
D
The opposite way
G
I wanna laugh when I’m sad,
C
And cry when I’m happy and gay
D A
I wanna do what no one’s done
G
Any other day.

G
I wanna wear all my clothes
A
Wear em all inside out,

C
I wanna be real quiet,
D
When everybody else wants to shout
G
I wanna see the stars
C
When everybody else sees the sun
D
I want my day to end
C G
When everybody else’s has begun.

C D
Wouldn’t it be weird, wouldn’t it be funny and strange
A
If everyone thought like this,
G
Slightly deranged.

 

 

Lost Love

By: Alex Tanner

Should I recall those blissful times
When we like climbing flowers entwined;
Our blossoms scented evenings air
As Love and Lust forsook our cares.

Your laugh was soft and gentle,
A butterflies wings in spring,
Dancing on the sunbeams
Enough to make me sing.

Eyes so bright they sparkled
Diamonds on moonlit snow;
Flashing hither and thither
To make my pulse race so.

We held each other gentle
Yet tight so not to break,
Though deep, our love could never last,
Different paths our lives would take.

For fleeting months we tarried,
Each time we met we knew
This may be the last time
For lovers hours are few.

If I love ten thousand women
Tis you I will recall;
You gave yourself so willing,
For your passion I did fall.

On black nights as the wind howls,
As I lie in a bed so cold,
Your soft voice echoes 'cross the years
To warm my lonely soul.

                                                                                                                                         

Vote Here

Thank you for your participation.

This week the Neopoem is

 

 Whistle Stop Grove by Izzi Reinier

 

Let us congratulate Izzi Reinier on his first contest win as a neopoet member.

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Diwali 2011

May the darkness accept the light
and shadows cringe no more
may distance be surpassed and unsurpassed
by its own beauty breaking through
my heart to yours,
your heart entwining mine;
may we touch the embraceable
with its untouchable mystery
may we speak the language
of love in its ten thousand intonations,
may we use our time wisely
to join forces with the light no clever darkness
can escape,
may we always be children
in wonder of it all
dancing in the flame,

MISTAKEN FOR A MAD MAN

A middle aged man worked in the market
Doing a bob-a-job to make a living
He carried baskets of banana and beans
And collected stipends for body and soul

With wheel barrow, he rolled in the goods
From the road to the sellers’ stalls inside
In and out he ran to catch up with the day
While dirt covered him from head to toe

When evening came he packed his kit
And picked up his tattered umbrella
With pockets full of small bills and coins
He set his steps to meet his wife at home

THE GENTLE TOUCH OF GRACE -major rewrite

I felt something lingering near
terrifying and unforgiving
waiting somewhere.
The noise of living broke
into a silence, fading pale
and I fell into dreaming.

I dreamed of rivers flowing crimson red
fields of wheat burning black
flames ripping through raging skies
I saw angels with dark wings spread
singing unholy litanies
souls lost to Heaven on their knees
God was dead…

Yes the World Does

The world needs more
Positive poets and friends
like you and many

We all are just passersby
here today,
Tomorrow where will we be?
Who that can ever say

I am your friend
I say for just
Today…

Rhyming Workshop

This Workshop is a joy to employ
So don't be coy, consider your ploy
To profit from rhyme experience

Getting fatter has never been better
Filled with inner poetic meter
Bulging rhyme skills, bloating knowledge

The 2011 Oktoberfest Carolina Princess, happy
My pageant baby, excited, given a penny
She added to her calculate piggy's many

Just as, contented poets, delighted
Write great poetry, enlighten
By leaders more than excited

Declarations

My window is the world.

A patch of light illumines
the Autumn leaf,
shimmers its veins,
its seminal understanding
of life in its transitional story,
I had two raspberry eyes and ten mulberry
fingers as a child,
I grew until I weighed myself down;

I picked flowers.

One Too Many ,..Perhaps

I have composed countless poems

As you all know
Since I have no fixed mind ,
nor fixture of mind,
I am a unique entity...

No two poems of mine are alike,
as I believe in variety

Loved Style,
All my while .

I stand in no row or queue
of recognition ,
as I know twill never come,
when I am alive .

But then it will be too late
Posthumously
Which they will.

Fields of Wildflowers

Dance in the arms of the devil tonight
You’re lost in the shadows, kept out of sight
You followed him through the back door
Where I found you, looking for more

You sat on the cold concrete
You let his hands search and creep
You lay in his arms, he sings
“You could be everything…”

And oh, does god have a sound?
Like a child laughing loud,
Or the birds singing this morning
But no; everything means ‘everything’
And you wake up alone, discarded as nothing

The Felling of The King

For those who have read Çaço, Man of the Morning Star this poem is easily understood. For those who have not, it stands alone. One need not know the story to read this poem.

SKAVANGER

what is offered
the cast aside hearts
wounded like sleeping birds
dissaray feather
the wheels gather the day
spokes turning on the hub
the axis of plans emerging
from laneway shadows
like languid rooms and ghost
curtians leaning from tall
wooden frames

a mouth of extravanagance
a steady home of brick
hauled from the pits
kiln fired and set with
hands that rode open decks
for work

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