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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.

 

Numbers Can Tire You Out In Kindergarden

Characters
>>>kid five year old home from school
Grandad, Grandma, and Mommy<<<

>>> Getting ready to call his grandma<<<
Ø Kid>
School is out for the weekend
I called grandma to pick me up,
exhausted from adding numbers all day
I could barely make the call.

>>>Phone ringing>>>
I dial her number
She didn't answer
I hung up the phone and
called granddad....

she cried

Even the thought that
A mother would send their child off to a
New life, suggests something dismal afloat

She cried, there were three
One gone, the second pray watch over his brother

Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras
These are the three

Bound to be on the buses

This is my land, of milk and honey
Giving a shout out about the Trinity

She cried, ‘we have a right
To protect ourselves’

Illegal, alien children in my sleepy town
It’s been shoved down our throat

is this dramatic

too much goes above my silly head

oh my dear why are you so silly

coz I understand fuck all of what here goes on

ah I see the nuances of dramatic and dramatic take it as a
a verb or adjective as snowman says it

yeah yeah you got it

you said you were silly

yes but did you mean I said it

of course not Mr silly twas for here

who are willy nilly?

hahahaa who is silly

not you, you are willy nilly

well now shut up all will come to know who is

what my dear

silly!

Will this do Mr,

A Storyteller Is Born Dramatic Verse Workshop

I watched in wonderment
as she talks about writing dramatic poetry
she sits here on her iPad lost in another world.
I called her name
to break the spell she seems to be under.
soliloquy a new word for me
and apparently for her too.

She rambles on a lot
causing me to tune her out
her enthusiasm for this subject
has caught my attention.

WHAT IF.......

If I'd never fished I'd not have seen
ducks flaring to a beaver pond
with heads and sometimes wings of green.
I'd wave my hand and they'd respond
by landing much farther away.

I once saw a fish eat a snake there,
a sudden splash and it was gone.
With now passed brother I would share
stumbling on logs just after dawn
while watching beavers slap and spray.

Euphrates

He lays along the banks
Of the Euphrates
Among the dead and dying reeds
Centuries look among cities of stone

Down from heaven
Blackened wings envelope
Misery and retribution

His talons curve into the river clay
Displaying his hold on the earth
And its dying declaration

Shadows on the river converge
Conspiring amongst themselves

I reckon that you've heard of me
because I get around a lot
and seen things that you'll seldom see
while traveling from spot to spot.

I meet new people every day
and come across them everywhere,
sometimes at work, sometimes at play.
They never see me till I'm there.

I acquaint myself with every one
but seldom do they call me friend.
Nobody thinks that I'm much fun,
I'll be a loner till my end.

Wronged Moms of Wars (Storytelling in Verse WS) Part I

Today I'm weeping like never before,
the merit, my virtue, and some few more.
I'm weeping a bleeding, my motherhood's, tossed,
together with many in wars are lost.

I'm weeping and pillows shall never dry
for they alone can hear my nightly cry.
I'm weeping today what never before,
the merit, my virtue and some few more.

I'm weeping myself, a once decent mother,
who always wanted her kids the better,
till once the war showed its filthy game,
and changed my virtue, my middle name.

You, yes you..story telling SOLILOQUY

SOLILOQUY

You, yes you

You stand there
at the helm of affairs
self appointed king of poets,
nay, critiques,
nay condemner of those
who dare create,
just to over awe them
with your weight,
as at times you mask your guilt,
in disbelief....

Hark! Man step down
now there is born another one,
no clown he,

Death is but a shadow of hallucination
mental contamination
aberration of mind and body
and what you continue to call
as soul...

Carmel, Carmel – how I love your dells and swells
your wild unkempt rambles and shambles.
How beautiful you are – when the sun ambles,
yawning a morning of glitter, bright, light
on the misty fresh crèche' of spring green
where new growth is seen – Bluebells and garlic
idle their waft, reeling a ceiling of pungent perfumes
and Ah! the blooms, the blooms!
Those glossy leafed bowers
and hawthorn flowers
dewy and gemmed
by warm summer showers.

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