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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.

 

A Friend in Need

in the corner of a crook
there is an orange headed beauty
that kicks about in her scullery
all the makings of a fine dinner

seated near there is a man
who was made a boy by a
departure and so hung on his
feelings like a coat to a rack

she bustled down home nostalgia
from the boiling pot and
chop chop chop of veggies
making quick dissipating patterns

All In Humility

Only great people
are humble like you
and I,

That's why along the sea beaches
we roll
and
the surfs pass by ...

But then some one looks back
and says
Wasn't he
He?
Yeah that's
All about life aint it.

Stormy, and Not a Cloud in the Sky

It matters not, how many times
a blatant falsehood is repeated
you can even tell it 'til your face turns blue;

it can never bring real comfort
in the long run, to any heart
because, of course; it never, ever will ring true.

On a cold day in october
'twas a truth I had to learn,
one so very stark, in it's own reality;

I couldn't help but let it "fester"
hurting the heart that is my own,
'twas relentless, and just wouldn't let me be.

Making a New Friend

She fell
through the spaces in time
she landed
in another world

adrift of reality
an army surplus coat
remnants of glory
adorn its lapels

from cigarette butt
to the next
she weaves unseen
under the crowd

rummaging bins
discovering uneaten burgers
cold French fries

I watched until …

we broke bread
under an iron steed
we drank from a tin
baked beans its last passenger

she still slips from dimensions
that hold her locked in delusions

Wasted Youth

Eat and be merry
A glass of wine with cherry
Sparkling in eyes
Of vibrant young

 
Nothing of concern
Is discerned
Staring in bottom
Of bottle of booze
 
Youthful fun
Faded memories
Looking back on
Wasteful youthfulness
 
Experience, knowledge
Deep rooted
Produced wisdom 
From bottom of the barrel
 

Saturday Night...

Shadows move in closer, and I cannot see
Blindfolded by fear of the unknown
Ice-water thoughts of horror, sunami behind my eyes

Hair standing on end, and cold gooseflesh
Thumping heart loud in my ears
Shaking hands, trembling legs that refuse to stand

I fall from bravery to limp coward
Terrorized beads of sweat drip from my chin
Throat constricted, my voice scared and hoarse

Bolting away from reality, my mind races
Chill wind caresses my soul like a love slave
A prisoner of phantoms

Iambic

My muse tells me the best of poets use iambic meter.
The really good expressions I have noticed in these styles,
as sonnets, nonets, quatrains - all those so-called 'perfect' verse -
will be accepted by a judge and win a comp by miles.

When rhythm streams across the page and rhyme is never missing,
a writer in ta dum vibration, song-like essence captures.
If lyrics off the tongue all roll in strolling, lilting fashion,
a master of this form will have an audience in raptures.

Ancient

I hear a whisper in the breeze,
Older than the seven seas,
A story of long ago,
When it began, I do not know.

A tale of the Elven race,
Who left this world without a trace,
A people once plenty,no longer here,
Gone forever, this much I fear.

They lived in peace, lovely and fair,
What riches they had, they would gladly share,
They loved this world, with all they had,
Which makes this story so terribly sad.

Tough guy

I wish I were a tough guy
The kind you meet in books
Made of rock hard muscle
With rugged hard man looks
A Raymond Chandler hero
Exuding macho charm
A super spy or villain
With a beauty on each arm

I’d love to be the kind of guy
That others see and fear
The bane of every coppers life
I'd look at them and sneer
I might fall for a sucker punch
Get beaten up or more, but
I’d meet them face to face
And then, I’d even up the score

CHERISHED BAOBAB TREE

My skin colour is stained
With an orange circle round my mouth
Each time I take a sip of Fanta drink
My skin colour is not buff
Neither crimson nor cerise but mixed
With a tint of blonde on my head

My skin colour is not difficult to tell
When I look at myself backward in the mirror
My father’s skin is made darker by the sun
Charcoal black when he sits by the fire
Then turned grey with dust of the season
Like the bark of our cherished baobab trees

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