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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.

 

role reversal

wake up, my love,
the sun is up,
you are yet asleep…
the sun-rays are waiting for thee
as you awake the glow of my face,
you will really see.

wake up my love,
the time has come to go…

how on this earth you wish to stay,
yet have your own way,
without the soul of life,
which as we all know is honey.
for that to beget,
a son we have not yet,

so my love, go to work
earn some money.
when you come home,
after your labor and toil,
i shall wait with open arms;

HUSHED MORNING 

HUSHED MORNING (25th December)

This morning when I woke,
was grey,
I thought the night had stolen day,
but no,
it was the snow that bore the light
so soon after Christmas night.

When even stars were hidden,
and clocks of white spun down
around our sleeping heads,
making softest sounds
in hushed quiet mounds.

............primi..ordinis........

catcher in the sun
the gleam like shells
falling

brass ignitions
like chinese lanterns
rising

falling wishs
like dead stars

drive about full
the gut tension
glassy
past decorated
houses

brilliant meadows
gathered on tests
beyond the thunder
of the periphery

like tracer sickness
pumping in veined
valleys
burning hot in Love

we need the taste
of heaven
not nicotine
and Zippo fuel

Constantinople

The Air Is Rife With Singing Bells

The air is rife with singing bells,
in this heart, there joy rings
yet in the deep is heard the knell
that weeps for passing things.

To ancient stories we must hold
to failing hope we cling,
believing all that we are told,
what joy this season brings!

The lion once lay with the lamb
digesting in his gut,
and to an end we must succumb
and pass this earthly rut.

Yet in this folly must we hold,
and to our faith, must cling,
believing all that we are told,
what joy this season brings!

that whimper we keep hearing about

schools are chained and padlocked
homes barred and latched up tight
dogs brought inside and hushed
even interstates snuffed of light

under blankets children hidden
slumped wives drivel drunk with fear
men despair in gibbered prayer
the unstoppable inevitably near

for the robots dance at midnight
till the bells all chime at dawn

law shut and shelved the books
clergy refuse to calm or collect
soldiers abandon silent generals
the front finds nothing to protect

Christmas Past

Christmas Past

Blinking lights,
blue, red and green
glowing dull under
golden angel hair
silver tinsel sparking
colors in refraction
tears of pine bleeding
through the air
Christmas time
When you all were there.

The Poet

 

His quill and ink are meant to heal and save.
His hearty words to fill the void and gaps.
His soul and mind have lived along to rave 
the manly pride and noble manners' lapse.

His secret love, a poem's sound, a guide
that tightly held the dreams that long have dwelt
into the humans' forts of time-inside
when time attacked and botched what they once built.

Ill advised button pressing

People press my buttons
I have so many I psychically resemble a Dalek

Unfortunately the response is similar
“Exterminate. Exteminate you fuckers”

Dream a Dream

Wishing my life away, dreaming a dream
buying a lotto ticket, not just me
Imagining a win, the cat got the cream
Ah, pay me mortgage, buy a wee mini
Doing whatever I want, be a scream
A few donations, sort out family
oh wow, my life will be heading upstream
If only reverie was reality
all my old sins, I atone and redeem
old friends out of woodwork , a mystery
Suddenly remembered me, it would seem
Basking in luck, revelling in glory
Ah well, may as well dream here as in bed
try getting into black and outta red

christmas

The near full moon
hangs
pregnant
bright
on this starry Christmas-eve night

I think of the young Mary
about to labour the pain of creation
and hold her new babe

oblivious
to future agony
.

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