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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.

 

IF FLOWERS STILL BLOOM IN BEIRUT

IF FLOWERS STILL BLOOM IN BEIRUT

A chill cuts through my valley,
There's whispers on the wind,
The air is rife with rumours:
Tonight more boys are coming in!

Silently, in pairs or single:
Some are men, some hardly boys.
Some, with money in their pockets,
Some, with bullets in their toys.

Too young to understand their orders,
But the children living there
Know death comes across the borders:
Fear hangs heavy in the air…

BREAK OF LINES

I broke the break
the bond
this weakness

youve flooded
me where I dwell
but I can swim

and well

and My Mermaid
guide will smile

so I set you down
with the greatest respect
you glittering phrase
your thick upset

and bravely weakly
find my strengths
in surrendering

GOOD SILENCE

In days of youth and out to eat
each full of jokes and words and tales
we enjoyed this little weekly treat
while watching an old gray couple

They hardly say a thing at all
amid the restaurant noise and bustle
she's kind of short, he's not too tall
sitting in their booth cocoon

A near table erupts with raucous song
someone's birthday celebration
she nudges him, they smile, not long
turn attention back to one another

Pool

swimming with the sharks
or splashing in the pool
olympic in size or not

the idea is to get the feet wet
look,
there's a poem wiggling
(it's not a toe)
don't let it get away!

Good luck, splash, olympic and shark poolers, have fun and let's learn something. I admit I know little of the logistics about creating poetry; hopefully I can up my game to the next level.

AM I TOO TAME

"AM I TOO TAME"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 15th May 2011.

Am I too tame, too sentimental, too sweet,
told that I was sweet last week,
I reacted thinking, is that ALL.

Do I want to be sweet,
and what does that really mean anyway.

I also wish to be bold
and take a challenge in the blood-stained world
of the young
with their horror-loving minds aglow
with dirt and splendour.

Or do I.

Imperfect Future

Imperfect Future

Now, I fear, my age I show
By being fat and bald and slow.
I have no way to combat time
But hope to please you with this rhyme.

I dream about those years gone by,
When you and I were young and spry,
My memories still warm and clear,
Exciting times with you, my dear.

My student days, that grubby flat,
The swinging sixties, we cool cats
The night we met, our lives entwined,
These treasures kept fresh in my mind.

SURPRISING WINGS

There are snails in my aquarium,
they eat and inch along the glass.
Fish don't harass or bother them
nor watch them as they slowly pass.

They slink along and slide about
within their mobile homes of shell,
creep like a bent old man with gout.
Yet they seem to do just swell.

But every once in a great while
these plodding, plain and mundane snails
turn loose and stretch and maybe smile?
and through the water they set sail!

In The Meantime

here
hear
phantom photons
plunk and bounce
across a skull
made of space
and a small reflective buzz
looking for something to do

deciding to entitize
...to become something
a mouse, a snake,
or a poet
come what may

Too white, too dark, just eggs (Shark Pool Submission)

The light in many houses is
not a child's toy
(do angels play
with the brightness?)
my body too weary to
carry their strength;
a taste of Eve's apple and
nibbling at the root of the world,
past eyes became arrows
under strangely-familiar music,
language fingered hungry wolves:
a Dutch farm in circular embrace.

I milked sky in children's bones,
inside a tulip's belly; mud was my nickname
dirt-confused anger on grasses too gentle ---
'till pigeons nestle on the hillside.

BOOK OF PROSE

BOOK OF PROSE
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

There’s people out there peeping through the window,
There’s people out there listening at the door-
So, grab your Book of Prose
And don’t you curl up close:
Can’t you see that someone’s coming across the floor…

Your Mama might float in through the curtained window,
Your Papa might walk in through that bolted door:
Then, no point my studious frown
When the book I’m holding is upside down:
Don’t think my heart can take this anymore…

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