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Community News

Shoot The Breeze With Geez!

This Saturday March 13th, come and join us in our live chatroom at 8 PM. (EST). Our chat host Geezer will be entertaining you for a one hour event. Click chat on the top of the screen and spend your Saturday night with our awesome host .

Election Results

We would like to cordially welcome the new members of the 27th Administrative Council:

Alan S Jeeves, AC Chair

And, in alphabetical order:

Michael Anthony

Please join us in congratulating the new AC and wishing them the best for the upcoming term.

March 2021 Contest Announcement !

Come join this month's contest. This month we are asking our members to write a poem about a different perspective. All poems must be 18 to 32 lines and written in western rhyme abab rhyme pattern.
Best of luck to all our contestants

February 2021 Contest Winner !

Congratulations to Ray Whitaker
For winning the February 2021 Neopoet poetry Contest.
Please view the winning poem at

The stream (all workshops)

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


Fleeting Embers (Rhyming Patterns Workshop)

The memories are warm in the eye of the storm
I remember the days long ago.
And the raindrops fall wet as the tears of regret
Dance through the air to and fro...
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.

The colours and shades of the penny arcades
Flash through my mind on a whim.
And the mantra lives on, though the music is gone,
For the furor of then tends to dim.
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.

Awakening This Misty Morn (Rhyming Pattern Workshop)

Awakening this misty morn
To the sound of birds who are singing
My favorite time is surely dawn
When the morning bells are ringing

Stretching out my arms, I yawn
I catch a glimpse of whiskers grinning
Playing on the plush green lawn
With a country mouse that’s swimming
In a puddle left by rainy night
I see a friendship, just beginning

I wrote this poem to sound in rhyme
Who knows, one day I’ll make a dime?
For now, this mountain I will climb
This misty morning is just fine.

Lass of Autumn

Quiet sound,
Of a lass,
As she walked,
Autumn's frequent path.

The horn of plenty,
Full of fruits,
And vegetables,
In her delicate hands.

Flowers adorned,
Her auburn hair,
Leaves of Autumn,
Fell from her dress,
She wears.

Of red and black,
Birds in flight,
Guided the Lass,
Down this path of Fall's delight.

Tonight Goodnight

Tonight Goodnight
as it comes again
as a new bride
then say
Good Morning
as the sun does rise
at twilight
call it Dawn
my Dawn
hope she has been
on this new


What if you knew that you had
a terminal disease, a predictable finite end.
What then?  Wait, and wallow in self pity?
Or, go forward anyway until you could not anymore
perhaps raising one wrinkled and unsteady hand
in gesturing to the the nearby seated sister to listen
to one more faceted garnet of wisdom
croaked from a dry throat
before the stars closed in
and the tunnel of light sucked you up.

My Boy Jack - Kipling (Rhyme Patterns Workshop)

"Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
"When d'you think that he'll come back?"
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

"Has any one else had word of him?"
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind—
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

I journeyed to the schoolyard
When, whereabouts, aged ten.
A joy, of course,
Bestride a horse,
Myself and mighty Ben.

I dismounted by the old school gate
And let him off the rein
Abandoned ~ still,
He knew the drill
And cantered home again.

There they hitched him to a cart
And burdened it with hay,
He drew his draught
'tween each shaft,
All day with nay a neigh.

Housman (Rhyming Patterns Workshop)

Because I liked you better
Than suits a man to say,
It irked you, and I promised
To throw the thought away.

To put the world between us
We parted stiff and dry;
'Goodbye', said you, 'forget me',
'I will, no fear', said I.

If here where clover whitens
The dead man's knoll, you pass,
And no tall flower to meet you
Starts in the trefoiled grass.

Halt by the headstone naming
The heart no longer stirred,
And say the lad that loved you
Was one that kept his word.

Donation of love

so it is that the call filtered in
for a journey of love to make
that which many dread
is taken and given on a platter
so now I make to give

I am of privileged few
who gave their kidneys
as ransome so you breathe again
who picked the thorns
so you relish the scented roses

I cut my life by half
that your's be full
I passed the ball
so you score the goal
ascend to victory
and live again

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (Rhyme Pattern Workshop)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Woodsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


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