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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.

 

SEVENTY-TWO

AT SEVENTY-TWO

The days are flashing by
like strikes of blinding sunlight.
The past comes to me in vignettes
of sixteen millimeterr
slow motion in black and white
surreal
ghosts frozen in time.
and I agonize
with the years passing.

Driving Me Insane

Night easing closer to midnight
stars twinkling in soft diffused light
like moon beams gushing through the blinds
my gentle caresses rouse your sighs

Nuzzling nose in nook of your neck
greeted with a murmured plaint
tightening grip on our clasping hands
'midst quickening of hastened breath

Scents of jasmine fill my breath
rousing passions 'neath naked hide
whispered nothings fill the air
hurried 'tween our lip locked rides

Keke Beach

Sand; soft beach-
front. Back side-
walk runs
borderline between
wayward worlds.
Cubic diamonds,
coarse grains attractive; untractive.

Carved castles crumble.
Piercing pieces of
shelled shells, sheltered;
hidden openly.
Camouflaged karma…

walk with we.

Different skins same sins

Different skins same sins

We’re men of different skins,
fighting for a coloured flag.
In the end no one ever wins,
all that sin for nothing, a drag.

Does it matter who fires the first shot,
I wonder what the bibles say.
If they fight for what you’ve got,
isn’t that coveting on display.

Covet a very comfortable word,
in a book of ready made excuses.
To say it borders on the absurd,
only ever helps hide it’s abuses.

A Study In Pink SECTION 12

Closing time at the tavern, Guy French is about.
Questioning Anabel Lee, she saw something, no doubt.
"How do you know Fitzroy," He thundered, as she cleaned up the bar.
Rolling her eyes, Anabel smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

A Study in Pink (Section Eleven)

"Bring on all the suspects now and haste,
ordered Maure, we have no much time to waste."
" We've already some valid clues, and
I've got reports 'bout a wife's abuse!!"

Now Macwill couldn't find his wife, his fears grow,
and thought she could give his business-life a blow.

"If cops find out what's going in the bed
they sure would charge me of Fitzory's head."

A Study in Pink: section ten

Mackwill paces rapidly about his cold boudoir.
He’s found a thing tucked deep inside his oak and steel armoire.
How it got there he can’t guess spite knowing what it is.
Now he has a problem more pronounced than just his biz.

‘Her thoughts race absorbing facts found near the crime scene.’

“Guy, I want the girl, the barmaid seen, you know of whom I speak.
She saw a thing I want to know and know before she leaks
the secrets to the press and all, but here’s the other pain:
the trail of blood in the hotel come in from out the rain”

Olive Twig

He thought her a poem last Sunday
He thought it and parlayed it where she lay
Commanding the verses and words in array
He thought her a poem last Sunday
He thought it and then he went away

~You cannot control me now;~
~You can’t rule me.~
~You cannot control me now;~
~You got rid of me.~

He caught her a cloud the other day
He caught it and nestled it where she lay
So amazing, yet so full of empty dismay
He caught her a cloud the other day
He caught it and then he went away

Scribblers piece for No 7 A Study in Pink

I'm here
Limited time to post so here goes:-

Mog floats the night, mist filled and dead
savouring *Jack's last fulsome taste
seeking someone to fill Jack's stead.
Mog drifts slowly, there is no haste.
Nearby it hears a scream and gurgle
decides to waft toward the scene
(did someone die in midst of burgle?)
The "taste” of fear is coloured green.

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