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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.

 

My Teachers

Step by step,

I walk heedfully

across the patchy lawn

muddy here

barren there

unkept, unattended.

Pleading blades of grass

with drops of hope reflecting

morning’s sunlight

become my teachers

as they reach out

to grow.

Fresh spring spouts

extol me

to find a place

where barefoot soles

gather joy

with each flex of toe

into the ground.

The Comet ride

I have ridden on a hell bent comet
Its fire plumes burning the bridges
I left behind,

The asteroids, which followed behind
Had the names of Gods bringing the karma
Of things not so kind

A star of redemption came out of the sky
Shining bright with a truth, my icy cold eyes
Could not recognize

A path laid with lies
Would not be easily rectified
With truth and light

Star of the icy cold
Can you burn away all I know
which was forged upon the burning coals

I Love Your Face

I love your face

When you smile
I feel life in my bones

When you gaze into the night
I wonder about the universe

How big it is
How small we are

When a tear runs down your cheek
My heart aches a deep ache

When I touch your satin skin with my finger tips
All of my worries melt away

I love your face

Meat (Re-written)

Meat

He expects her not to feel, 
believes that she is simply humanoid.
Shock fills his eyes, 
When reality emerges from his dilusion.

She is the sum of childhood vulnerabilities
an amalgamation of experiences.
Has the ability to love unconditionally,
even has a brain.

He is able to separate heart from his groin 
In the pursuit of an erection.
Disengage intellect and feeling,
To receive satisfaction.

MESSENGER BEECH

There still grows a tree upon a bluff
above the river which it guards
and watches over course's plain
which floods whenever torrents reign.

And it grows far off the beaten path,
this ancient beech I chanced upon,
with nearly white smooth bleached bark
never touched by saw or wild fire's spark.

By its size I know that it was here
many years before I came to be
its bark by initials compromised
by lovers' pocket knives I surmised.

SAFFRON SPICE

a garden of saffron
irrigated parched land
flowers picked at dawn
before midday sun wither.

fresh spice exotic delight
purple petals cups its
essence till harvest picks
plucks its stigmas trice.

inhale its wealthy odour
pure indulgence
powered deep red
natures seasoned aroma.

shipped abroad
since wooden gallows
eastern promise
saffron spice.

Grl

a craving
like a hungry day
emerging bright
and brittle

gleaming
this want
running thick
and deep

Ive been buried
beneath
the crash

and youve walked
me in debris trail
desire

kisses so I cant
look back
scent of sweet
warm breath
so I cant see
the sky
pain scattered
and falling

im dying
as each
layer
is revealed

as my ghost becomes
richer
as you reach me
as you seek me

TO WALK BENEATH ASPENS

I always thought I'd go out west
during the early weeks of fall
and roam Rocky Mountains in a quest
for antelope, mule deer, elk and all.

But I must wait 'till school is done
my priorities were clear and set.
There's no hunting under summer's sun.
My time to go was not here yet.

And still I dreamed of aspen's gold
but there was work that must be done
building a business, truth be told
along with marriage and first son.

CHANCE MEETING

CHANCE MEETING

He is my universe full of stars
as distant and as far,
he is the moon,
and when I smile
I see him glow for me,
this man I know
these three long years.

A man of integrity,
full of fears
of death,
and when I held my breath
to caress him,
sudden moonlit joys
reflecting life,
a special meaning,
no longer dreaming.

the stars wish i would stop penning hope

the mountains around me are tired
of sitting still
and i am sick of writing poems on this coffee table,
an empty mug on flat wood
a bonsai hating yellow and that sunrise
wilting
like all the leaves in today's rain
like the pianoforte through these four walls,
some kind fingers
playing temporary pauses
for the sound sleeping outside shaded windows—
its mouth full of love songs and nostalgia

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