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Neopoet Weekly 10/13/24 to 10/19/24 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.

 

insight (sonnet WS)

some say we’re just a freak of nature’s growth
that sentience is solely due to this
and rational, scientific brains are loath
to even contemplate a future bliss

they say that when we die we’re finished, past
from dust we come and so to dust return
there’s nothing in this world that’s made to last
and truth beyond, we simply can't discern

although, it’s true, from here has gone his spark
while sat in tranquil introspective thought
his love has borne me down that tunnel dark
and peaceful, blest illumination brought

Love me O Dawn

Love me O Dawn
My Love
In the moonlight I see your sparkling face
I recollect yours such a charming smile
where can anyone love so tender ever trace
except in your romance all my while
The candle light flickers tonight
all fire burns me out like a forest
But still I will keep it aright
when I think of you being so modest
Champagne we shall have so free
All will also enjoy some water of coconut
Candy will be served along with tea
For those who love to have salted peanut
Love and my heart shall rejoice

Conceited (Elizabethan Sonnet for Rula WS)

What lies beneath an angel's smile and grace?
A devil hides to plant his seed of greed,
deceiving you with words and gentle face,
the mental games he plays to make you bleed

A charlatan, the crook disguised as friend
A mastermind who'll break and crush your heart.
He plays you like a toy until the end
before he dumps you like a broken art.

He has no peace of mind like you and me,
devoid of guilt and shame that makes a man
The imp in mortal flesh he likes to be
he hides, he runs, no hope for better plan

resigned (Sonnet WS)

your light’s no longer part of Earthly play
since many years, you woke beyond the cloak
my inmost centre misses every day
a smile from you, a hug, a wink, a joke

if only life could be reversed in time
I’d somehow, someway, journey back to then
to where, my son, your cosmos merged with mine
your smile, your voice and touch enjoy again

but cheating seconds, minutes, even hours
a parting yet once more would be our fate
the pain to bear anew... the moment sours
at thought of that, it does my hunger sate

Tha Bug Italian Sonnet WS

A ghast|ly win|ter bug |now has| me cross
I wish| this drip| py nose| to end| its race
To ease| this brok|en tooth| and swol|len face
My fleet|ing week|end plans| derailed| is lost

A tooth| thus far| havocked| inside| my mouth
My pa|rotid| glands is swol|len eat|ing candy| that's tart
Before| I be|gin throw|ing ver|bal darts
To stop| the pain| and swell|ing ra|veging| my life

Fear Me Not

I was not born a killer
but I have known Death
as a friend
off to soldier a war with himself
as an unborn
laid to rest by his maiden
each wandering my mind hand-in-hand
In the sixty seven dark days of Barrow

I was not born a killer
but I have tasted Death
at first the shiver of vinegar
now the sweet palate of fine wine
followed by a chocolate dipped berry
each filling the belly of my soul
with a hunger for more

SELF, APPEARANCE, AND DECEPTION

In the mirror there's a guy
who isn't in the stale reflection
unseen no matter how I try
the image is only a distraction.

But that distraction's looking back;
it sees skin and eyes and hair grown thin
clothes and muscles turning slack.
It's blind to all that lies within.

That inner person sees itself
through memories edited through years
like touched up photos on a shelf
air brushed of foibles, fears and tears.

KLUE

hallway with its barren bulb
a purse with its tourniquet
holster band
on a painted curled hooked
showing brass like
a smiling fang

We lived it up
for its worth like a bang

eating feuilletee
while the radiator sang
like angels
and the poignant
chimney vents
climbed like souls
in the crystalline
vision of a tall
single window view

a broken moon
clung to the heir
of its throne
shone white
like sandblown
stone

Writing (sonnet workshop)

I write, my fingers bleed, I write some more.
A strange chartreusian charm it blends and spills.
The marks are mad as if I fuck a whore
and soon I break another lifeless quill.

But what it is I write, there lay the rub,
for I am clueless as to all this fuss.
My fingers, hand with which I write I stub
and tear the quills and drain the ink and cuss.

Blessed, what I write is in my teeming mind
if not upon the black, blood stainéd page:
of love and need beyond this life to find
and how I reek of illness and of age.

The Awkward Angle

The Awkward Angle

Circumnavigation of a mind in hibernation
leads to exploration of the whole
and causes one to ponder certain reasons why we wander
the universe of yonder for our soul

there is no rhyme or reason for the sentimental treason
that blossoms every season in the heart
nor does it really matter that our dreams are born to shatter
as all our secrets scatter far apart

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