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Community News

October 2020 Contest Announcement

This month our contest is about real, imaginary or mythical windows and doors. All poems can be written in any form and must be between 12 and 32 lines. Show us the window or door to your creativity. Best of luck to all our contestants.
Please click below to learn more about this month's contest!

September 2020 Contest Results

Congratulations to the winner: Viviana Smith
Please visit the winning poem here:

Thank you to all participants for entering this past contest and all contests.

September 2020 Contest Announcement!

This month our subject is personifying where you live in either present time or in the past. Poem must be between 12 to 32 lines and written in any style. Come show us where you are from and it's personality. Best of luck to all our contestants. Please click below to learn more about this contest.

August 2020 Contest Winner

Congratulations to the winner: Eumolpus
Please visit the winning poem here:

Thank you to all participants for entering this past contest and all contests.

The stream (all workshops)

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


poet first

poetry written is for poet first
only person who must be pleased

stretching words thin
tantalizing them to mean
what they mean
beyond what they mean

word play --
not a contact sport
but for firing neurons
skipping electro-chemical light
in darkness of skulls

critics pick and pull
poet's words
stack opinion upon opinion
losing meaning
perhaps only poet knows

poet just keeps writing
for him or herself --

most ruthless of critics.

"BLACK MOON" or the end of the world as we know it.
Margaret Ann Waddicor Novmber 13th 2010.

Black moon,
your glow eclipsed,
the clouds lit by the flare
from burning lights of cities,
weep your tears
of sorrow,
for on the morrow
weeds will form,
in place of life,
its vigour
and lacking daylight,


On a top floor balcony I sit
in our great east coast city
as the night fades into day
among concrete business monoliths

The last few visible stars fade
into skies turning slowly black to gray
all silent save a lone street cleaner
slowly chugging down empty streets

Sun still drowned by tattered ocean
although under lighting horse tail cirrus clouds
with a soft saffron glow
alongside cris-crossed contrails


She's empty, a recepticle ,translucent.
No obvious personality ,

She is battered and bruised
Frightened to emerge.
terrified he might see.

Playing dead, guarding
her sanity.
defending a personal reality.

Recieving body blows,
crushing all self esteem.
Grinding her to a tiny nub.

Tiny crumb of self
remains, .Something to hold onto.
When all else has fled.


Deafening waves of blood
Pounding in my ears
The quiet noise
Sudden darkness fills my eyes
Rising on the flux of my panic
It was the clatter of my clutter
Flowing in rushing rivulets
Down the banks of my life’s stream
Washed to the brink
Of eternity’s open maw
The crash cart enters
Harshly inducing
My reentry into the now
Briefly dead
But now reborn
Giving me two birth dates

* Due to a stomach ulcer, an artery burst. I died and was revived. This is my first poem on this experience. Cat.

Here we go passing by

Coal-bright heat
pulsates a primal beat,
this light burns white
in the squalid night.

The windswept fury
in a drunken flurry,
toppled kerosene lamp
leaves the table damp.

Morning slips in sly,
waking the bleary eye;
pollen grain breezes
peddles raucous sneezes.

Desire's Puzzle

The need for your acceptance
will usually keep me quiet,
but not today.

I feel weak, but strong,
alone and surrounded.
I feel left out, expected,
dearly loved and neglected.

But if someone,
anyone, can hear me ...

I want to be seen and forgiven,
in control,
yet out of my mind.

Lost, found,
locked in
and locked out.

I want to be anonymous,
but who the famous talk about.

I want to be remembered and forgotten,
and one day, one glorious day,


i only heard a sound that day,
day went out with silence;
sound followed.

songs of angels fell,
my listening ears fancied them well.

i only heard a sound that day
a few clouds spotted
with birds flew over,
faces listening--
small wind blew through
blue-green pine needles,
sky turned grey.

i only heard a sound that day,
and glad for it.
sound of quiet laughter
children make
at play.


I see them now:
Mother and Son:
Some distance from me,
Partly hidden by one
Of a dozen Formica
Partitions that lull
And con…

Partitions that lull
And con
Middle-class matrons
And young lovers on trains
Into a false
Of privacy…

Lulled into that,
Fair, forty and fat,
She holds her unreluctant cherub
In an embrace that
Is very,

??? on a hot tin roof

We had an old kerosene-based
water-heating contraption.
The release valve was on the roof,
just above the kitchen.
The water when it got too hot,
especially in the summer
would bubble noisily onto the tin
annoying my poor mother.
So one phrase from our mum
we heard many times a day
There goes that damn kero stat again,
in exasperation she would say.


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