Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Home

Community News

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.

 

A Hopeless Romantic Daydreaming of Love

Sitting on the edge
of the railroad tracks
watching the trains
going by

Thinking about
the woman
I left behind

Closing my eyes
she is in my arms
I can feel
her shoulder length black hair
blowing in the wind
brushing against my chest

As the hem
Of the dress she wears
Flutters in the gusts
Created by the passing trains

This sweet perfume
of an aroma
emanates from her into my nostrils
bottling up inside my nose
so I can carry it with me
where ever I go

The Little Sparkle In Her Eye

The flickering light of fireflies
in the dark
are no match
for the sparkle
in her eyes

They are pools of water
of which I never
want to come out of
so cool and comforting

Two constellations in the sea
we call life
always calling and
leading me home

Beacons of light
in the darkest of times
leading me away from
the deadly rocks of disgust
keeping me in calmer seas

Unbound in the Deep

The rock on which I foundered
has rollen down the hill
to rest upon the Styx dark bank
where the waters yet run still

The coal-shell chain
that cloaked my face
lays shattered in the moss
gathered by my tortured hand
to pay the fare across

The silent sighs that echo
from the endless night below
strap themselves to my shame
as He begins to row

Hooded in a rosewood mist
from crown to rotten sole
he points a leaden finger
toward a swooping, lifeless crow

H A R D C H R O M E

soul handset
I hear the sigh and whisper
breath against my heart
as the day turns dark

you the hunter of the spark
the hardcore scrapes
the soul crash stark

when you smile you glitter
melting all the ferocious
fears
and claim your mark

Promise me

Yesterday was Tomorrow
Today will be Yesterday
My life will cease meaning,
after my last breath

Your pain won't restart my heart
Tears can't wash away death
Screams won't supply me air
I can't come back

Stop your sobs
Listen close
Tomorrow will soon be over
Today lost in time
Let me go
I'll be a forgotten memory

Survive
Live
Breathe
Love
Care
Cherish

Do what I can't
What I refused
Succeed Love...
Promise me

Babies that should have known loving

I wonder if you see my gifts most times
Cos you are lost - In the turmoil
Of your own drive to be enough
& I know how that feels
It’s a too common
Phenomenon
Of our deprivation
Babies that should have known
loving & nurturing
A solid belief in a life worth growing into
I had to teach myself these things
& you in your way
You learned to survive
& I love your integrity
& wish for you so much more
not just Moleskins & Birkenstocks
but faith in yourself

The Memorial of a Brighton Hero

On an island
on the intersection of
Washington Street and Comm Ave
sits a large square
stone monument

It is gated off from
the rest of the world
with black cast iron fencing

Grass and flowers
grow all around it
two American flags
waving in the wind
next to it
on both sides

PFC Stanley N. Kaplan
engraved into the stone
along with other symbols
and epitaphs on it

Patterns on the Wall

by: c.m. mattison
When first you awaken
to the patterns on the wall,
They'll take you down the back stairs,
they'll lead you through the hall.
Like Alice's "Wonderland"
falling down a hole;
Then back through the looking glass,
in search of your soul!
And who could tell by looking,
at those patterns on the wall
That it really never mattered,
no, it mattered not at all?

A poem for Obatala-Obalajii-Kimathe-Jetta

blowing strong winds
a Jersey City King of Kings
everything . . . to cast his spell
yo! papa Obatala touching tentacles
chance upon this poet on an open forum
inside Harlem Botanical shops
beating for her lost voodoo box
enshroud earth, Virgo oils and pearls
adorn the day happen on
present Oshun crystal mojo, Vodka, chicken wings and Russian suicide writers

© 2011 Lepadah

His White Marble Headstone

At my grandfather’s
final resting place
lays an oval shaped
white marble headstone
looking as if it belongs in
Arlington National Cemetery

This slab of carved stone
marks many of the things
that have happened
during my grandfather’s life
including his date of birth
as well as his death

Among other things
it marks his service
in World War II
with the Sea Bees
of the United States Army

His career as a
founder and owner
of his own newspaper
with the moniker of “Scoop”

Pages

(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.