Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Home

Community News

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.

 

NIGHT LIGHT

Easing down a woodland trail
long before daylight
full moon's light both gray and pale
although it's shining strong and bright

I've a flashlight in my hand
to guide my knees past tripping vines
in a monochromatic land
while I daydream of ivory tines

Trying to quieten gimpy stride
so woodland creatures I don't disturb
( still hear their scurries as they hide )
in their pre-twilight suburb

WILDERNESS

Unforgiving tides rush in across
my virtue the crest of the wave
bears down in unrelenting
fashion, testing me.

Clinging to the tapestry of my
being as you fear not the testimony
of any bible that fails to hold
justification in others presence.

Squinting your slanted eyes, your
version trimmed to suit my belief
in it minute, self-confidence was just
a word just something I would observe.

Regression

.
I dream the caveman that dwells within
doth triumph over
my soft and genteel nature

dumb and dull
grunting and groaning my voice
stuffing slim pickings into a yawing mouth
over a pool of dirty droppings

MØLEN STONES

"MØLEN STONES"
Margaret Ann Waddicor November 14th 2010.
Inspired by Terje Gröstad's wood cut of the stones
by the sea: "Rullestein." (Stones transported by glacial
erosion, most often round, hence rolled stones!)

Like a sleeping snake
the sea its wake a foam
so quietly souphs on beach and stone,
to suck them give them sheen
to shine again from out the memories
of time's still stance for them.

Reflective Conversation...

Who's there?
I don't know
Why not?

Who are you?
I'm you
No, you're not

Look close
I see me
Do you?

Gaurdian Of The Night

Watching fiercely, and glowing bright,
Mother moon, gaurdian of night.
Goddess of twilight,she protects so well,
There to defend, where dark things dwell.

She catches nightmares,with the power of love
Sweeps them away on the wings of a dove,
Do not fear night, for she is the queen,
Glowing in the sky, proud to be seen.

nirvana's gate

crooked trails
endless highways
trod these weary feet
most often alone --

along the way
lovers known
always thanked
in dreams

harmonicas play
blues tunes unrepentant
born in dark foggy hollows
harmonizing whippoorwill's
lament

forgetting to remember
to forget
moments unnecessary
besetting surreptitious evils

shuddering soul shunts its
way -- scurrying aloft
no taunts left to hear

Slag

I’ll pose a question,
and then I’ll answer it at length.
You may laugh, I don’t know
Are women allowed to enjoy sex?

Tradition has it women shouldn’t ,
Even says a woman isn’t built that way.
If that is true, maybe she couldn’t,

Lay back and think of England.
Grin and bare it.
Do it for hubby.

Women who express an interest,
Well they are labelled .
Slag, slut, skank , a hussy.

The funny thing I’ve noticed though ,
When it comes to the male ,
No one is keeping score.

never broken

Now here’s a first. I don’t feel like writing.
Too sad to care or to express the pain.
With my own inner soul I am fighting
wanting to know where and when is the gain.
I fail right now to see reason, purpose.
I sit as a melancholic black cloud
from deep within weaves, wends to the surface
then envelops me like a dark death shroud.
As memory loosens the old bandaid
never to heal, just covering, protecting,
the gaping wound at the exposure made
whispers, at edge of near-understanding:

Hurricane Hugo has it been twenty-years

Hurricane Hugo has it been twenty-years

Has it been twenty-years since Hugo hit
My first child, a son, was three-years, five-months
And my only daughter, at the time, was eight-months
Slept unaware in my bathtub padded with blankets

I knelt before my headboard
Staring out my window
Listening to the howling winds as it sang songs of terror
As the trees swayed in the midnight hours

Pages

(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.