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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.

 

Larking in the library

Time to hang the coat on the hook
obey the curator's chiding look
and stare at the roaring darkness till dawn.

A sleepless night of hourly chimes:
Aubade is worth two lifetimes
of rummaging for a philosophy of death.

Here is the Poetry, left on the shelf
by the fast generation, weary of wealth
rushing ever nearer, to the unexamined end.

Where all days collide and darkness brims;
He gladly sucked through thickest rims
to the ever decreasing circle of his eye.

s t i n g c i s t e r n

broker heel
bent the inspection
the crisp hinge
we slush coated
our hearts
and jumped
into the mad rush

plunged into
velveteen jags
with the papers
struck with wind
their disease of
gossip
lapping up the rain

and through the
peephole
the drops
were sopped
while a soundtrack
framed
sequential
touchs
falling off
the feather boa
knowns
and shiny
shelter

flung it back
slow motion
like a run down
exotica zine

Autumn Dreams 'with audio'

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1CDwQMLJs6QM1pvc1p1Uk5Ha1k/edit?usp=doc...

In Autumn dreams
Whistling wind chords sing
And leaves whirl wildly
Falling from tall oaks

Yellow, red, orange blade-like petals
Travels in the cool breeze
As I peer from my chair
On folded arm my chin rested

The last sojourn… your journey

The last sojourn… your journey

First attempt at Dactylic - bottom line workshop

Beautiful, bountiful, beleaguered princesses,
tortured and tormented, exhibit tolerance.
Patiently, presenting amazing fortitude.                           
Constantly forgiving horrible attitudes.

Workshop: 

Last Call

I would like so much more from you
As we reach that fork in the trail
You have to go right and me to the left
There is no point in looking back
As we travel on, before we cannot see
So leave something great of you, for me.

.
Let me think a while, what that can be.
Some of your writing, not just for me
I need a part of you that will live on
As this winters cold grips us both so hard
Then I can say, and let others read your card.
That your spoken words are what we should know.

s a r a t u s k a

borne crest
above the sigh
dark softness

the dew plains
the dark nostril
dare

catch me
the darkening
a tinted stare

crescent cascade
oceans
of a crush

oil me up
this jacked
up phase
creaking
in the leatherette
break in

pristine mint
is scarred
with mottled
histories

annointed
at the ankle
curvatures

shadows
capture
beneath
the light

candy rouge
spearmint
glean

My Mother

Oh yes, my mother! You are an age-old ragged banner,
fluttering in the stormy winds of beastly corruption,
over the broken highways and footpaths of hopeless hope,
trodden with the spiky jackboots of nasty politics.

Yet we are the tough strings, tightly holding your upper ends,
and tying tight to withering branches of ‘conomy;
Yet we are the unbreakable pieces of heavy stone,
hanging like heavy medals from your crippling lower ends.

Frost, a Perspective

I stopped by Frost's stone house today
To see what that old house would say
About a poet long revered
Who owned this lovely bit of clay

Trimmed and cut the yard stood bare
Of old and rusted farming gear
No hoe or rake or plow was seen
Sharon France not a Rockwell scene

Old Frost must  feel quite annoyed
To see his life work so employed
His home was a working farm
His family and his friends enjoyed

Writer's block!

we all at sometime or the other
experience a writer’s block ….we feel so much inferior…to our selves then ….as one reads another …we feel their vibrations
and in tune commence to vibrate ….our mind once again commences to oscillate ….rotate …as heart palpitates ….

then we like dogs let loose our tongues …. some turmoil …some emotion has well begun …
the writer’s block does erase …
how it does one amaze
out pours glow …like the rivers flow
words come out as you know …from nowhere…

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