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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.

 

Rebirth apocalypse 2

Dark side of the universe
Abandoned soul survives alone
except for his dog.

Travels the wastelands in search 
Of another soul
In manic desperation for the human touch

Decades pass and all that arrives
Is mother nature
The earth becomes a verdant green

Opposite side of the of the earths' rebirth 
She waits by the graveside of her last link
To the time before the big bang.

Two stripped down strung out
Survivors barely holding onto sanity
Each oblivious to the other.   

 

rain is running

wind jumps
and drips
darknening
rain
takes the light
into dark
shinning
from pretty lights
the tall and soaring
heights

and im damp
and dreaming
watching plate glass
scenerys

Skeleton Parade

Ten little Skeletons marching in a line,
One got lost in the pumpkin patch,
Now there'e only nine.

Nine little skeletons dancing out the gate,
One tripped over a sleek black cat,
Now there's only eight.

Eight little skeletons, lead by one named Kevin,
He went on a date with a pretty witch,
Now there's only seven.

Seven little skeletons ready for treats and tricks,
One flew away on a giant bat,
Now there's only six.

Bundle of joy

Doesn’t he look like his mother
And the nose, it’s his fathers you know
Look at his grin and the shape of his chin
He’s the image of your brother Joe
The hair, there’s so much, it’s amazing
It’s like granddads before it fell out
His lungs are so strong, well it won’t be too long
He’ll be screaming and running about
Oh bless him he’s smiling, he’s lovely
He’s so cute you could eat him for tea
His eyes, well, they’re certainly grandma’s
Pick him up, pass him over to me
He must be an absolute treasure

if it bleeds it leads

if it bleeds it leads
is the lead-in story
for Alternet, an alternate
syndication to a means of
skillful assessment with and
without
disambiguation;

Sojourn Weaver

After my morning's dawn surprise
the shadows whispered my name, aloud;
my mind had no way to process
because my memories began to crowd.

Then, I became as one of them
replaying over in my head,
all of the ones that brought me joy
but, the sad ones stayed instead;

and as I floated ever upward
my view increased ten fold,
I saw all my friends, and family
and they all appeared so old.

Transformation

I saw no spectrum of colors
at the end of every day,
there was nothing but dark shadows
all different shades of grey.

There was a deafening silence
that eerily vacuumed up air,
there existed not one lullaby
with a sweet melody, so fair.

I knew only of pure sorrow
my smile would not deploy,
I wrestled with my heartaches
as there was no word for, joy.

But, all that changed forever
when I saw inside your eyes,
my sadness turned to retribution
and my smile I can't disguise!

Apocalypse One.

Born on a dead and lonely planet
She opens her eyes to witness a stark new day.
All she has is her mother's grave.
Aftermath of apocalypse 
will her world re-populate?

Walks the earth imagination working
where did the human race go?
Will they return, or is she destined 
go mad on this godforsaken world?

Echoes From a human voice reverberate.
But it is only a recording,
a masculine tone she can not fathom.
The words he speaks, afford some solace.

what I heard when you eavesdropped

I'm trying to have an intimate discussion
but the bastard keeps repeating himself
and I just know I'm going to be late.

"Haven't you learned anything?" the wind
seems to say, patting me on the shoulder
so that I turn around and wonder who.

Now, i don't know which way to go for the
rest of this poem, and I'll be damned if a horned
owl can penetrate my deepest concern.

Get Out Here Right Now!...

Wee hours of the morning, I writhe as I write
My soul is tortured, and I'm drawing blanks
There is something here in the deepest of night
Will my muse appear, if I drop and give thanks?

Black shadow of perspective, hidden from me
I know you lurk there in the back
I stand on tip-toe, trying to see
Looking through a small jagged crack

I hear whispers of presence, I know you are there
There is horror in this unsleeping room
The empty halls don't lead anywhere
I stumble, flail away to my doom

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