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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 time forged in ash

"if not winter, when?"
they are not words i wrote
i have borrowed their beauty
from sadness the poetess gave them
entwined in my own
subtle twists to tales
an ebb and flow that
makes women sigh and
men raise arms to fight

a past season when
snow gave landscape depth
no horizon

an unclear path
hidden until spring

THE HORNBEAMS

"THE HORNBEAMS"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 19th May 2011.

The hornbeams turn green
a grey green so slowly
where others they sprout in a rush with a shout
the oaks come out first
if the ash makes the dash for the post
then we're in for a thirst
and a splash

OLD FARTS CLUB

I remember childhood days
sitting in a country store
hearing tales told by the score
amid tobacco's acrid haze
around a wood stove's warming blaze

Old guys talking of their past
often laughing at the time
when a soft drink cost a dime
whether Kennedy would last
and how the years fled by so fast

And there sat this wide eyed child
grinning at being let within
this "club" of older wiser men
whose language was not always mild
but, really, didn't get too wild

Splatter of Holes

Open minds are hungry woodpeckers
knocking for sustenance;
I try to dull mine in Grey Goose and lime
only teasing the insatiable thirst,
staid in no reference to time
except the knocking aging minutes.

Age has no concern with gender or creed,
I suppose it's lucky to reach the time of
less than able.

Luck painfully tearing at tendons and joints,
tingling limbs and head rush sensations;
fucking blood,
finds holes it wants to now.

My reflection

The day was very special when
your arrival was announced.
The doctor came smiling to me
soon you would be around.
Oh my God! Was it really true?
Inside me somewhere- You.

You occupied my thoughts
I was often found daydreaming
I already had your face in mind
your tiny limbs and lovely eyes
And I started talking to you
trust me that’s no lie.

My Love is Like The Cereus

My love for you is like a night blooming Cereus -

Beautiful, rare and ephemeral.

It blooms once in a lifetime while bearing the meaning of farewell.

Though Cereus is a fleeting flower, once it blooms under the moonlight,

it glows towards heaven.

But if you cannot fathom the reason of its existence in my heart,

Warped

Love of God
became clenched fear
when a man
first humbled down
on knocking knees
to kiss the ground
The Almighty claimed to own.

Sacred Wisdom
turned to vileness
the first time someone
held hot irons
to another's feet
and called the
anguished agony
the Will Of God.

Sacrament
became new mortal sin
when a man first
called procreation wrong
and the pleasures of
a woman's body evil

Flowers In The Night Sky

I dry my tears in my eyes

and throw my wish lists away

the flowers dazzling with brilliance

brighten up the dull sky...

Gold chrysanthemum, red spider-lilies

and even stardust!

They bloom and dazzle, and then fade

and-oh! They bloom again

Just like the flowers of the earth!

I wonder why they have to be so beautiful

And yet, short-lived.

If they could only bloom much longer,

Maybe they will shame the meaning of life's happiness...

Speak To Me

The sound of my name upon your lips
is a beguiling caress
there is a warm invitation
in the way you speak to me.

I feel an intimate familiarity
that spans the physical distance
to but an arms reach

When you speak to me
I am enveloped in an embrace
that steals my resolve

Through the darkness of a late night
you speak to me and send my heart
racing with excited stirrings

I hold my breath in anticipation
of the magic your words weave
You have but to speak to me

Patches along the Road

He remembers auburn hair,
like the color flickering before him
along Hwy 261.

Thoughts of yesterday
fill his mind —
on his journeys.

Roan Mountain fades
as he steadies the wheel
along a stream of white hyphens.

Flashes of her
blend into the mountains
and trees, when he travels.

Their daughter has ringlets
bright as the autumn patches
among the forest display.

He dwells on her
and their daughter —
when he’s driving.

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