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This week the Neopoem is

 

there you are by  leoferaco

 

Let us congratulate leoferaco on his latest achievement.

Neopoet Weekly 03/31/24 to 04/06/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

Enchantress.by Alex Tanner

 

Let us congratulate Alex Tanner on his latest achievement.

March 2024 Contest Winners!

Congratulations to our contest Winners 

 

Mother Nature  contest  was won by Lavender with the poem To My Monarch and Her Milkweed

03/24 New Member Contest was won by lostLA with the poem insights of a orphan

03/24 I Was Bullied was won by Candlewitch with the poem Ramming Speed!

03/24: What My Best Friend Gave Me was won by  Mark with the poem What My Best Friend Gave Me

03/24 Looking At The Stars was won by Alaethia D with the poem Dear Heart, One More Time

03/24 My Favorite Pet was won by  Alex Tanner withy the poem My Pal Jet.

Neopoet Weekly 03/24/24 to 03/30/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

Agony by  David Grigorian

 

Congratulations to David Grigorian on his first contest win

The stream (all workshops)

This is the stream - you can see all poems on Neopoet, live, as they are created.

 

Statued before the Sea

I stand before the sea,
the wind from my right,
the sun from my left;

and down the funnel
the sea sings a lullaby...

Oh boundless, boundless,
softly roar if you will
as you light your borders
on the great, wide sky!

Sing, great mother,
sing before me
in love's varied hue.

I close my eyes,
I drift,
I return to you.

Pillow Note # 1

I'll be late at home
but don't feel alone
leave the door open
to let the breeze in
play with your hair
swirl strands around
your anxious face

then close your eyes
you will see in them
those chocolate nights
remember the game
we coined "hands of clock"
you the hour, me the minute
and at stroke of midnight
we glue as one

July 4, 2018

Shall we all burn in a seethe of lava
In this season of hatred we have of each other?
I’m shutting my ears to the shouts
Which accuse the other side of corrupted souls,
And all claim the banner of hypocrisy.

Illinois poet Carl drew pictures, The

(a Golden Shovel)
by Frank Coffman

key

i have many shut doors
each locked with a key
many skeletons in my closet
ones you'll never see

secrets i have many
hid in away in my keep
some secrets i'll tell you
if they stay between you and me

if i let you into my life
shut the door behind you
whatever secrets i share with you
are only for you

and if you unveil my secrets
if the whisper tempts my soul
and your mouth forms the
forbidden words
return
your
key

Pinball Wizard

I am like a pinball machine
My brain, my heart
The ball

All life’s different facets,
Like bumpers
On the wall

The flippers are my will
The way it rebounds,
Chance

The soundtrack and
The sound effects,
The universal dance

And when I hit my target
I add more to
My points!

But when I get distracted
Or stiffness
In my joints

The ball goes tumbling
Down the drain
And I must start again

But I don’t have to
Treat myself
With critical disdain

L...ove is a lovely Luscious exotic word

O...nly lovers using it can really be Heard

V...ery often many Follow the lover true

E...choes are Heard all over the sea azure- blue

D...istance is no Limitation all this by now knew

L...overs of poetry on the Earth sadly are Minuscule

Y...ou all know it often Smile don't you

GOOD BYES ARE GOOD BYES
only @ TIMES
as I keep coming

An Eye On Humanity

Looking through the window
doesn't always guarantee
a beautiful view nor
would necessarily show
a pastoral landscape;

there could be no dreamy plains,
nor creeks, nor placid streams,
or sleepy lakes,

but it'll often offer
a view onto the life
of the indolent,
of the cantankerous,
of the coquette,
the gauche and the bold.

More than once
you'd feel the pain
and touch the softness
of the lenient, forgiving air.
You'd smell the fragrance
of innocence.

Still To Go

There is a long way
still to go

I, like Walt Whitman,
have found power
in contemplating
a blade of grass
dew in the flower
a moth in lamplight

but the grass can only
grow so high
the dew only lasts
the morning
and a moth cannot
see the starlight

I must keep filling
my tank
with poetry

and reaching for
the most sublime

for there is a long way
still to go

SOUTHERN SUMMER

The sun beats down without mercy
here in the depths of the old south
drawing salty sweat from out of me
leading to a dry and yearning mouth.

Yet one more drop of sweat pats down
on dusty ground from my big nose.
The salt in my eyes makes me frown.
There's no dry spot on my work clothes.

I pause to wipe my soaked bald head,
look at the sky, replace my hat,
hoe a few more weeds from garden's bed
and curse myself for getting fat.

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