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November 2019 Contest Result

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

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

October 2019 Contest Results

Congratulations to the winner: Mark!
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.


The Sad Old Man

The old man stared at the mirror in disbelief
As he dabbed on a little of his favourite fragrance:
‘Le Male’ by Jean-Paul Gaultier.
Was that really him, that saggy-faced creature?
He plucked out an intruding grey hair,
An intruder in his masculine, black, bushy eyebrows;
He had hoped his boyish good looks were still there,
Although a little frayed, a little worn by time.


Wayfaring alone in moorland's domain,
Walking along with the dead of the night;
Trekking, safely, a well-trodden pathway,
Suddenly spotting a beckoning light.

A warm and welcoming distant beacon,
A clear, bright feature to guide me ahead;
I followed the pharos with cheery store
Allowing to let myself to be lead.

But then, alas, I met jack-o'-lantern
Impishly, carelessly leading astray,
Steering my footway nearer a quagmire
Fogged in the haze of the mist of the day.


I breath with faze,
moving my feeble soul around
making me fidgety.
Fumbling every time my mouth move,
My words turning equivocal.
My face is dark with rage,
Laying my head on my pillow at night
and the hurricane in it lits up.
Hoping to eradicate my tears,
Wearing my smiling mask,
Bunging my legs on the floor
asking how does happiness taste,
A conundrum question.
Raising my hands to sky
hoping to pray.
Invisible tears flowing like river.
But I keep fighting to stay alive.

The Fulcrum.

Turning to the weather.


How easy an evasion from awkwardness

Once was this

Talk of the elemental?


What ticks the downpipe brings,

Inundated with flaring rain

And the trick of glass shuddering winds

This is the mourned at,

Longed for,

Tasmanian Spring.


In matters of fact

Summer: as here described,

Is envied by eyes, in that ash fulcrum:

Across the dark straight divide

Where firestorms fight fear,

Fragments of home



I am wholeheartedly in favour
Of feminism, it's so great.
Women's rights are so important in this world
After all they comprise over fifty percent
Of the human race
And they do the washing up real good.
I just wish some of the more militant bitches
Would stop bleeding all over
The toilet seat:
It's fucking unhygienic.

Cursed ones

We are an image of a god that
has been smeared and battered with mud
We are the fallen,
Descended from grace
to be kept in a place of turmoil

anyị ahọrọghị ụzọ a,
akara aka dugara anyị

The gods played a prank on us,
They gave us a beautiful lie called Life
Our lives are a puzzle
We try to unravel each day

anyị ahọrọghị ụzọ a,
akara aka dugara anyị

We are jinxed!
The rays of hope is dimmed
With our sufferings,
We can only bask in agony each day

To My Dearest Son

If you win, if you lose,
In success and in fail,
It is You whom I choose
In my heart to prevail

You're the heart, you're the soul,
You're the air I inhale
You and I ? We're a whole
dearly held in peace and pain.

Epitaph for a Brave Soldier

The morning battlefield lay still and grey,
Its silence broken grimly by the groans and screams
Of wounded, broken, bleeding, crippled men.

Then gently, slowly, through that desolate scene
Came an Angel all dressed in nurses' kit;
She wandered, lovely as a cloud, starched in white raiment,
Giving head unto the maimed and dying.

"Me, me" a legless soldier feebly called,
More in hope than serious expectation
As he knew he was not looking his best.

Hell Is For Children

Hell is for children, terribly sad but true
Prevention's the cure, least that's my view
No one wants to know about it, let alone dwell
What sort of people can put kiddies through hell

Only youngsters, growing up dazed and confused
Bashed by their own parents and verbally abused
Big tough alcoholics, just drunken cowardly thugs
Spend all of the money on booze, or worse, drugs

Minds Grinds

There is no front
no far behind
all is now but dreams
in one's
once sexy/fishy mind

we'd wished we could still
but now just
have an imaginary
aged mind

Keeping the finale
in the fast breeze
just relax
don't yourself freeze

body of all humans
is of the same kind
we live till nature does
us naturally grind
like autumn leaves
leaves us far
in the doldrums
of lost
forgotten time


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