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Early Spring Image Prompt contest Winner!

The winning poem of the

Early Spring Image Prompt contest is

 The Visitor by  Mary Beth Magee

Congratulations to Mary Beth Magee on such a fine poem.

Neopoet Weekly 03/17/24 to 03/23/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

2:23am by zach

 

Congratulations to zach on such a fine poem.

Early Spring Image Prompt Contest Vote

Early Spring Image Contest Vote

 

Please read the two finalist poems below and click on the vote here link to vote on your favorite poem. Voting ends March 29th 2024.

 

 

The Visitor

By: Mary Beth Magee

You visit for a moment,

Accept a breath of hospitality,

Then dash away again.

You share your company briefly.

 

But in that time, oh,

The magic you bring.

From tiny eggs to instars

To gloriously patterned wing.

 

I watched you hatch and crawl,

Grow, shed and wriggle.

You change your dress. Your

New look makes me giggle.

 

You give me joy and delight

With your aerial ballet.

My royal friend, magician,

Harlequin at play,

 

Dear monarch, share your gift

Of grand, exuberant joy

With all. Give us eyes to

See, and feelings to employ.

 

You set an example

Of living in the moment.

Let us live so our days

Are likewise spent.

 

Dash on, my friend,

Your destiny calls.

Send your children my way

When the milkweed grows tall.

 

Spring Comes

By: Candlewitch

 

Fields of springy clover

beneath my barefoot toes,

dance-happy feet kick up

a delight everyone knows!

 

Green, green all around,

a heart full of joys untold

rolling over and over in

nature's paradise hold!

 

In gardens of my growing hopes

tulips, buttercups and crocus

flourish healthily blossoming,

as Spring comes into focus.

 

 

Vote Here

Neopoet Weekly 03/010/24 to 03/16/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

Dancing In The Dark  by  William Lynn

Congratulations to William Lynn on such a fine poem.

Neopoet Weekly 03/03/24 to 03/09/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

THE LAST RING by  Jokerface82

 

Congratulations to Jokerface82 on such a fine poem.

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Hot Ginger

It's in the tingle
of a hot ginger toddy
that turns me on
when my body
needs some fire

or

it's in the tingle
of a hot ginger 'body'
that turns me on
when my totty
needs some fire

Opaque Adulation (Read On Wesley)

Candy apple red
dripping across hell's ashes.
Bruises forming, purple and black.
Cigarettes burning, blistering
across her back.

The beast had done it again....

From upon the ledge
Storyteller sat in angst.
Watching his Marietta
who was losing the fight.
His stone heart broken
sinking deep within his chest.

He could end it with just one bite....

Her story was sad
she had believed in someone with a past.
There were those who warned against,
said it wouldn't last.

The Wolf

The Wolf

Standing still…
ears cocked forward
listening watching anticipating.
Large head teeth mane.
Powerful beautiful.
Creeping forward determination.
Eyes locked.
Legs moving in silence
holding up a lean body.
Grey white camouflage.
Unseen unheard in motion.
Almost there…
discovered!
Rapid heartbeat
chasing overcoming it’s prey.
Silence...
Grey white red.

By: Sharon Jones

louis

in the spirit
of two mud siblings
black face was white
white face was soot
therefore the straw thaw

minerals of transmutation
complex nonentity
convex into wreck
dispirit eyes
Ewing of the bulrushes
the birds jargon

For Carrie

And what of the night, Titian?
What of the night?
It is all I have now, Titian.
It is my only light.

By moon and star I see.
In absence I see greater.
In torch and candle, hearth is he
who changed me for the better.

But what of night Titian?
What of the weary night?
Such webs imprudent spun!
I begged.

He laughed.
I never thought the change would hurt so much.
Ah, wicked was the whoreson’s touch.
He laughed.

a p a t h y

paperwork paper
hang on to documents
lose documents

without them you dont exist
progress
and yet

treasures bus slips
needless things
catch up

The River Runs

Spirited away into a void,
suspended in nothingness.

Moving pictures
of life flash by,
momentous moments
pause in transit,
allowing one
last celebration
of remembrance.

Instances of sorrow
smear sight,
the wretchedness tears
new holes in regret,
stamping days
that cross the soul
with melancholy.

Closing the shutters
of consciousness,
slipping into the
divine form,
swimming through
the dying river,
finally letting go

Vampires' Night

Arise my dark children!
Kiss your slumber goodbye.
The night has returned,
let us soar across the sky!

See how mortals tremble,
their fears so fresh and alive.
Some will be our slaves,
others will scream as they die

Hunt down the faithless,
the weakest prey of them all.
The unrepentant sinners
won't escape their fall

The virgins' blood will be
so sweet on your lips
you'll drown in ecstasy
with every droplet you sip

PUNCHING PAINT

The paint flew in heliotrope
splashes
wet splurge

On canvas
on rooftop
on studio floor

speckled sprayed smeared
a fist of vermillion
POW!
a gloved chartreuse
azure was tender
THUMP!

The punches for real
all pent up fury
and poverty

The gallery needed action
the artists needed cash
so spectacled
ridiculed
a school of performing
paintbrush limbs

In Daylight, On a Park Bench, One Summer

Too many times I have sat and watched as
you have told the little lies you tell to
explain away your actions and begin
the tired process of justifying your
callous behavior and desperately
horrid statements whose only purpose is
to viciously demean and brazenly
cower any small voice of compassion
directed toward those you savage as the
vile entertainment that is your sad life.
Then I recall these conversations are
just another aspect of my illness.

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