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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

Nepoet Weekly 09/15/24 to 09/21/24 Winner!

                                                                                      This Week’s winner is Jokerface82

 

Grandiose Majestic Mountain

There stood a majestic
Craggy face with razor blade
Edges of a monstrous
time honoured mountain

Turning its rocky nose up
at anything below him, robust
Jagged and risky, high stabbing
armour with White shark tip
Cut throated fins.

Bald rugged with a silent manner
cold stone as white as marshmallow
steep and strong, bold and old
broad frosted shoulders

With powdered freckles and a storm grey
complexion it wore a white necklace
and a frosted crown, made
by heaven.

 

                                              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.

 

The Key

Patience is the Key for seekers of knowledge
without it, nothing can be learnt
As it measures one's commitment...

Please me darling!

At times when
we want to please
all people
we make our lives
biggest mistake

we can't please each
and
every one of 7.5 billion,
if we can't please ourselves
who else

How Coffee Has Saved the World, Yet Again.

Yesterday I was looking at the sky
and deciding if life was worth living.
Not for me, of course, my life is stellar.
But for these poor sods I witness stumbling
through the day as they reach for misery;
time and time again lamenting their loss
of hope and dreams and every good thing they
might conceive through every fault of their own.
I wonder, should I do the world a service?
Should I end their suffering and my own
annoyance at having to wade through the
morass of desperation they scatter

Comfort in These Arms

All my life I have been seeking you
To walk with you in the ways of Christ;
After all the trials you have been through,
It is time you experience a life that is nice.

Comfort is near...

You have been done everything alone,
Or so you believed that you have done so,
But God was there to guide you home,
And made you a branch with leaves to grow.

Protection is here...

C r i n o l i n e r

hull shaped
for swift swirl

like the nights
falling thick beneath the
quiet clatter of the light

parking lot ball halls
transitory transitions
lucite from crystal

a cold week pierces
distress through fashionable
wear

angular sun on shadowed
muse faces and rugged ravaged
on the bus
oblivion in the ride
the beauty of the wild
and anonymity of suburbia

gloss skies from a jet
stream vacant and far
south

I'm Tired

I'm tired with these dopey eyes,
About things I have no control,
Weary teary why cry?
Kill me I'm losing my compose.

I'm taking sleeping meds feeling dope,
Trying to function with the rest of the family,
I fell short everytime, feeling like a loser with no hope,
I can't get it right no natter what I Inframe.

I feel sick with every heart skip,
I wanna cry, but tears cleanses nothing,
Tears won't quench the fire in my tits,
My kindness ain't for others to take for fronting.

HOMECOMING

Glory, country so they say
is why we go to war
so I'm here now far away.
I don't believe them anymore.

Every day just brings more death
and ear drums battered by the noise
as cordite burns with every breath...
bleeding bodies thrown like toys.

Until I feel....nothing
no fear, no love, not even hate;
no longer human, just a thing
caring nothing for my fate.

Broken (another version for revision)

Men’s lust and greed have taken you
My child I cry for your innocence
They have stripped you bare
No family’s arms to hold you

Servants of greed have taken you
Your life a nightmare of mindless pain
Filth in their trade of your young flesh
We can only hope, without fulfilment

Traders have destroyed your childhood needs
Shackled by incessant lust of crippled minds
Caging youth in destruction of slavery
Where broken wills, make children slaves

we all are actors

As we age and are about to leave the stage

do not rage… we all are simple actors on a small stage … times the platform ….we stand in just a corner…. as strangers all around …. so I have found a solution…. to lessen human mental aberration …. try and detach from all around… be a man simple and sound …. believe yourself to be a new passenger …about to board a train -----heaven bound… with no return… leaving all memories… for times galleries… some years hence ,someone may recall… we once too traveled…..lessen your human desired burden .. to be remembered.. by whom…..

In a Field, One Lost Day, With Birds

I find few things more annoying
than the overblown tendency
of poets who believe they are
dispensing great, subtle, wisdom
when they are simply muttering
sad words they feel are important
while the rest of us recognise
these are just inconsequential
half formed thoughts completely without
merit or radiant ideas.
It is like a gathering of
crows, each one shouting at the top
of their lungs that they are pretty.
Not me, of course, I am special.

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