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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.


Last Man

In a time not marked
by the hands of a clock
nor the afterglow of setting suns,
I... Superman,
overfly a luminous, beholden Earth.
I have accomplished my mission.

The queer quiet quail

The queer quiet quail
try’s to trot
along the
tender trail
towards tranquility.
But this sick
prejudice society
of the
forest won’t let him
have the ability.
they know he’s different so in
their minds they
don’t see him as
one of their
kind . But rather
as a enigma
because of that
they send the
owl that loves to
prowl into
ones personal
private life.
Then stab the quail
in the back
by exploiting


opening the door
leads me to treasures unseen
hopes and dreams alive.

Sonnet to utter Frustration

Am I a bard? I ask as I arise
In hope that, somehow, I had been inspired
By muses, once so helpful, kind and wise—
The ones this dried up poet had admired.
But scattered sparks are just too faint to burn,
Extinguished embers can’t be re-stoked
No matter how I yearn, twist, toss and turn—
From trash—a noble verse can’t be evoked.
Dismay grows with my ink pen’s every scratch,
I have the kindling—talent—I have not.
Whatever can one do when no thoughts hatch?
I curse each muse that brought my lines to naught.

Scrapbooked Lover

Soon they forget your existence. Forget the way you take your coffee in the morning.It's bound to happen. You're holding on to the pain they left behind. The pain of loosing them is greater than the pain of daring to forget them too. Soon your smell on the hoodie you sent them will fade into nothingness. You will be pushed so far into the back of their minds, you will begin to question if you ever existed to begin with. Was this love just a cruel trick your mind played on your heart. Did we even exist to you?


Dear Lovedley
And we have locked him outside
till such time a vaccine he does not provide
he must also know
man has since grown
in this very life
where is he still waiting
in the darkened corners of the night
solving only rich man's plight
and common humans like me, are not yet in sight
no light no garlanding
we must all desist
and let him ride above the clouds side by side
where still our god your god the worlds god the future god

The Dark side of the Moon

Her precious lips fade to black
pale blue eyes glaring back
Wrinkles of skin peel away
peach tinted cheeks shed and red tethers stay

She phases to the sun and glows bright
reflections of others mirror her sight
drowning in melancholy moon light
forget the shell wrap pulled too tight

Her siren calls you to a facade
her beauty glass sparkles like a god
Insides torn to mesh and blood
steaming her nature to killer scud


looking around in real life
is better than looking at a flat world
seeing all the places you want to go
are better than imagining them
go out into the world and get lost
don't hide behind that paper map
when wandering you don't need any instructions
so don't go try to read them


I have the choice of two windows
from which to look upon the world.
Each one reveals different shows
when, slowly, every day's unfurled.

One overlooks dense hoary oaks
where squirrels and wood peckers play.
Their constant solemn shade invokes
that all who visit comes to stay.

The other commands a vista view
of tidy farms and forested hills.
A sight that urges me to imbue
my wanderlust for new seen thrills.

Life In The Rearview...

I felt as though it were a dream
the feeling was so strong
Little things in the picture
looked and felt all wrong

I looked up at the ticking clock
hanging on the wall
I listened hard and heard them
my footsteps in the hall

An insistent voice inside my head
wondered what was up
Telling me that it's okay
you just awoke abrupt

It happens now and then you see
this kind of thing... it does
I understand it now of course
when you're dreaming of what was


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