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Community News

July 2020 Contest Announcement

Tell us about your most memorable outdoor concert.
Poem can range from 12 to 32 lines. Written in any style
For more information please visit:

Remember to have fun and good luck to all contestants!

June 2020 Contest Winner

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

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


Message from The Administrative Council

The current (26th.) Neopoet AC has been privileged to be able to work alongside the Trustees and Cabinet of a wonderful poetry workshop site providing a great learning opportunity for all poets, established or new.

We can assure members that, during our administration, we have worked hard to help make Neopoet a strong, safe, and fun place to be and we shall strive to create a better environment for all.

June Contest 2020 Announcement

Come make us laugh with one of your poems for this month's contest!
Any type poetry that ranges from 12 to 32 lines .
For more information please visit

Remember to have fun and good luck to all contestants!

May 2020 Contest Winner

Congratulations to the winner: Teddy15
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 Sound Of Love

You have written
me countless words
of love
None reached into
my heart like the
sound of your smile
as you whisper my name.

Goodbye Forever Verona

Lying once asleep without thoughts of love,
Romeo fell upon his own worst fate.
Juliet tumbled into his arms never to be separated,
It was Love at first sight,
it struck them like a million lightning bolts

and so the Opera begins…

Juliet knew her love was forbidden
simply because her family wanted no ties
with that of Romeo.
two families who despised each other

I, the Poet believe “they were cursed”

Jack O' Box

He lives within his Toytown house
And stays contented there;
Happy, silent as a mouse
Dozed in his tortile chair.
Ready and alert is he,
Uncertain what's in store,
Thinking next who it may be
Comes knocking at his door.

Will someone call to visit soon?
Will someone come to play?
Will someone tease and hum a tune
Upon this very day?
All alone he'll sit and mope
The smile washed from his face;
Sadly tearful in the hope
Some antic should take place.


Around about ten years ago
I took a chance upon the electronic sea
I casted a poem then watched it go
just to see what I would see.

It floated half way round the world
then washed up on a shark filled shore
where it was read as it unfurled
by folks I'd never seen before.

In that land of old red dust
as well as here and other places
it drifted around as all such must.
I thought it would vanish without traces.

By The Waters of Acheron

It begins with musical analysis
he teases the harp strings
notes of fire and water
her breathing rises
then falls
rises then falls

beneath her famished kisses
all things are made part
of their love play
a candle flame
a dog baying a few streets away
the fragrance of his hair
the pulsing of her heart
the wind & the falling rain
a glass of wine untouched
on the windowsill

It continues with poetry
the lines of a tenuous beat
he recites the fragments of Psapfo:

What if?

what if my poem was a child
a small child that had to lead its own life
drive its own car, negotiate this world

what if my poem was responsible
for folding its own laundry could
offer its own opinions and
could pipe up when there was a
need for concern

what if my poem
discovered the layers of an onion
with a sense of awestruck nativity recklessly disregarding
the moment in which a thought
was born

what if my poem dusted off the pages
containing promise for tomorrow
and offered it to us today


Dessertous and deserted is the rangale of deer
In the jerky bounce of a runner’s run
I’ve seen them
From behind the wild-growth of the casement
It seems- in random ricochet
All the way down ; far
Till I could see them no more
I suppose they are looking for something
But finders are keepers
These keep rebounding and here they are again
The clearing stretches fore them now
But just like mine is-
I think their home is in the thickest of forests
I know now it is what they are attempting to find

A Warrior’s Tale

(an Argonne incident)

Gramps Wilbur was one of those veterans
who’d served and paid his dues in World War One;
one day I listened to his anecdotes
about his fight against the doggone Hun.

There was one battle ending in a draw
that cost the lives of some one-hundred men;
they fell to bullets and the bayonets
before the gruesome day was done.

And when the firing ceased, lost in a zigzag trench
that led straight to the stubborn Hun,
Gramps picked up some odds amidst debris,
gazed at the dead of battle not yet won.

As The Final Hill Comes into View

There was a knock at the door,
It was the postman,
He handed me an invitation
To referee a race,

Well, I was so excited of course I accepted ,
It was a race between the chicken and the egg

Well, not long after the letter arrived,
It was the day of the race, I was so excited
The sun was shining and the
atmosphere was splendid

The two contestants waited at the line
The whistle blew and they were off
They passed the first tree, with ease


(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.