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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.

 

Deeply Suppressing

I'm really sad
Fighting getting mad
About what I can't have

I don't wanna talk
So I'll go for a walk
And sit in a park

I'm seeing doubles
Guess, I'll blow bubbles
To mask my troubles

I'm sick at heart
My belly starts
To expand with farts

It's kinda funny
I'm feeling hungry
Can't eat or function

Deeply suppressing
My depressions
About life successes

I can't fit in
Cause, I'm too broken
To make any sense

SPRING SUCKER FISH

It is mid spring as I drive by
this clear and tumbling foot hills creek
and stop before the bridge so high
dismount my truck to take a peek

This stream which many call a river
runs to white descending waters
as if it is afraid to dither
on its way to final resting quarters

Now is the time which in riffles run
above the heads of quiet pools
white sucker fish spawning in the sun
they lay stacked up like utter fools

I Paged the Gods Because I Am Stuck on that Page !

I spied a dainty bruise
powdered away, by a vacant stare,
another pair of pale white elephants
get to prove that they're not there.

Empathy, is probably
that word I'm searcing for,
heros never get the chance to leave
except in times of war.

Great, are my expectations!
Overly zealous, are my dreams!
Do the rest get off scott-free?
Should be a law, or so it seems.

Moon Spun

I dance to melodies both bright and swift
diminished only by the rising sun
and yet, within the swirl where chances sift
I struggle with my smile when song's begun.
I stumble when my dreams and heaven meet,
as "fancy free" and quicker dancing feet
will join the dark to scribe my written word,
and blend its voice to song of mocking bird.

HOST

welcome with the rush of words
echo down the hall
the carpet dark
walls deep red

I remember when the moon
rose red
the August heat thick
in its swelter
the stars were sweating
and falling like feiry
persperation

you leaned forward
the serious face
examing me

never sure if I was high
or imbibing

Tarpaulin (eddy styx)

Tarpaulin

Let me be
your human canvas
carve me like
you would on stone
my fingers bleed
words upon the page
yet I am only
flesh and bone
pacing my steps
upon the stage
only mortal man
who writes his soul
crying out
to the thin air
I beg of you
to treat me fairly
look down upon me
if you dare
but don't ignore me
with your silence
for I would be
your human canvas...

~we come together

and like the tender glint
of a thousand august stars
that tangle in darkness

I travel over you

my breath
the nameless wind of sky
exhaling
between peaks of mountain breasts

my sweat
of summer salted seas
falls
in a gentle shower
as if to moisten the mound
of your fertile flesh

you wash against me
like waves over smooth stone
and I swallow the warmth
of your flooding stream

for you

for you, I'd go through one hundred thirty six realms of hell
my eyes burning with poems,
place the red leaf of it in your hands,

I would breathe into your mouth
your Venus on a half-shell,
newly emerged from your
vision of her solitary confinement....

her brilliant hair flowing around your ankles
the pleasure of your love
plucked from Aegean Seas
and etched into the pale blue brocade
of sky between your need
and your holy desire

her star falling
into your body

A "Who-Done-It"

a semi-rude awakening
uncalled for

who opened the blinds
who let the sunshine in
where is my identity
it was right here last night
where did this one
come from
I hate new things

well, it seems I used to
now having second thoughts
I really do like it
this new sense suits me fine

"off with the old, on with the new"

who said that
was someone here
I thought was a dream

no, really, what happened
I am smiling before noon

invention of questions

this could be our
documentary
soundtrack would be
the tv you leave on
how every night
the orphan of us
grows lonelier
inside its shadow

here, clothes
remain in suitcases
we fear hanging
preferring bruised
from travel

the manager
tells us
previously
she was beautiful
before the hammer struck
before the man
smashed open her head
and broke it apart
as you undress me
i observe
the brushstrokes of blood

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