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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.

 

Tin.....

I put all ideas and treasures unto thee
special siver coins
photographs of precious muses\
stubs from special events
a condom just in case
a set of ideals and some
broken bent principles
a twig from a walk
Ive forgotten

I see its cedar

a stone from the tracik
in the fall
and a letter printed from
an old lover
It is very short

my life is at its end
my cigarette box
is impety

of impetus

I have nothing more

i am empty

i have become a nothing
man

You're Too Forgetful. (spoken word with recording)

when looking at old pictures don’t forget to look forward.
look forward and think, i will find that smile again think
i am no longer a child. i am a person now and soon the world will understand it.

when looking forward don’t forget to breathe
it’s hard to do this when you are approaching an ocean of doubt
but i promise it’s not so hard to walk with the rocks on the bottom once you get used to it.

The Rise Of Boadica (Rula WS)

This day the Roman pigs have come to me
I feel the wind of fate has brought me ill.
They're thieves who strip all men of strength of will,
the slaves of sin of greed, they're known to be

For now, a storm has raged across the sea
My rights denied, they're coming set to kill
and add the stain of shame, my soul to chill
they whipped my back to break the heart that's free

of reality Kind edit

'''was'''... means gone----

''let old bitters be washed away----- and honey across memory ....do spray

Pragmatic ::::::no Posthumously

Very pragmatic view
that's why
Nobel is given to those living
and
those since had gone....
need no Posthumous
they need only to be remembered
even that they will know not

brains have been left in ashes
of that is there still
in any minds
a lingering doubt?

Maelstrom

Maelstrom

Transcendental soldiers riding
steeds of mindless steel
clad in trappings suitable for war
patriotic slogans hiding
what they really feel
knowing they have done it all before

The Mask

I'm great, fine, spectacular. In a way
I relish every night, and I live every day.
I live, I laugh, I write, I sing,
I wonder what the new days will bring.

Then I get home, and I take off the mask.
The day, and almost impossible task,
Is finally over, and so I lie Down,
and wait patiently for the day that I die.

I cry, I scream, I bawl, and sleep,
even though I have promises to keep.
I wait, and wonder, and cry some more,
And I ache and burn from my very core.

Dreaming - The Siren Gale

It is morning, I hear the sky tearing
Itself apart, cloud limb from limb in gales.
No longer early and I wake to start
On clattering bailiff windows, so alert

I reach for reasons that are known, yet scrawl
Them down for comforts sake, before the dawn.
Brings snarling chainsaw, stripping thickened trunks
Straddling giants, that deem us fit for air

That sings through palings, sallies down the stair
Audible in its vociferous bawl
It fills the heads of those inside with fear
Trembling as the shimmer on the shore

a page

would succumb to the whale
of his memoirs wrath
and wither by the gale
of the writer's breath

the aversion he tasted
through the years of woe
and the anguish wasted
allow him his wickedness sow

the long gone dead
and their castrate journals
allow a tear to be shed
on old, offensive portals

would lay prostrate and still
reciting the jots of ink;
a wench to his wicked will
the page his passion drink

Self Portrait

he’s quick to the quick, an alarmist
so easy to slip on his arm rest
the dogs all start barking
when foam he is harking
he never was known as the calmest

Plovers for Nightingales

Plovers for Nightingales.
I
I hear them, behind the soft glow windows scene
Of girthing brick suburbs, encircling the green

You know, the lonely tappers singing
Along the lines of the lovers, listening

They hear its imploring screeching in the dark
As a pouring forth, a protective heart

The defining nocturne sound, in the southern night
The night song of the plover’s birthright

By day, deemed guilty by proximity,
They spear my sight, swooping desperately

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