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Neopoet Weekly 09/29/24 to 10/05/24 Winner!

This Week’s winner is  Twizzle48

 

WHISPERING WOODS

 

WHISPERING WOODS

Perhaps the rustling leaves are telling the tree’s tale
Whispering, such that only those listening may hear
Only when it is in tune, may the message be clear
Yet unless easily understood, it will be of little avail

The breeze is a medium, but other connections too
To share, an underground root network also serves
It’s communication via a kind of complex of nerves
No myths or stories, as all that’s shared will be true

Summer is a competition for sunlight, as if in a duel
In autumn it is time for the farewell to falling leaves
Yet the first snow of winter is as an axe that cleaves
But next spring, it’s the buzz of growth and renewal

The style of the telling is not random, but planned
Facts the trees near and far, eventually get to know
But its sending and receipt is effective, even if slow
Nature’s sagas few of us will ever get to understand

September 2024 Contest Winners!

September 2024 Contest Winners

 

Congratulations to all our contest winners

 

The Winner of the What is Life? Is Alex Tanner

 

Life Is What You Are

 

There's a time to go back to live life again,
Let the boy who was fearless be reborn just the same;
Command the old man who grumbles and moans
Of the aches and the pains that torment his old bones.

Ride his bike one more time, no brakes, hands free,
Skate winter's froze pond where he knows not to be,
Go down to the river for frogs, newts, dragonfly,
Climb gnarled oaks so tall they caress azure sky.

Boot footballs, play rugby in fields full of mud.
Wash knees in ice water to clean off the blood
From kicks and from falls but never no pain
Just laughter as into the fray once again.

No laptops, no mobiles perhaps no tv,
But they were not wanted this boy he was free.
Free from an age of want yet to come
To go where he pleases till hungry then home.

From dawn until dusk he was out all around,
With his numerous pals no trouble was found,
Nor was it sought, just laughter and fun
Or maybe some girls as adolescence begun.

The old man sits straight and a smile lights his face
He'll do what he can and if he seems a disgrace?
A silly old sod who ought to know better,
By God! life's for living, he'll show he's no quitter.

 

The winner of the 09/24 The Bully is Tawny023

 

Encroach and Invade

 

Mold is an inconspicuous bully
Decomposes reds, yellows, oranges
Blues, and even lime greens
Does not matter its outer shape
Covets the wetness deep inside
Feeds and declares dominance
Nest and festers, spreads
Like vermin and vectors
Permeates and inhibits
Its host hold on to structure
While degrading its bonds
In order to have its way with
Just about any old living thing
A temperamental nuisance
But it’s grotesque mold juice
caught the eye of Dr. Fleming
Its usefulness is no other
Than the holy grail
called Penicillin
Which fights viruses that would
Otherwise make human’s
procreation unviable and
Their deaths excruciating

 

The winner of the 09/24 Bon Fire is RoseBlack

 

Bon Fire

 

Moon high; middle of the night.
Drums thumping; bumping in hypnotic flight.
Cloaked hoods fall to the ground,
scattered chants mix with the eerie sound.

Candle wax burns at the fingertips;
Hecate's breath embraces swaying hips.
Shadows dance amongst the flames,
linking spirits to our world without shame.

'Tis our season, witches take hold,
The magic runs hot and bold.
Our veil is thinning, hear the roar of the thunder,
when the living and the dead are no longer asunder.

 

The winner of the 09/24 Under the boardwalk is  Lavender

 

Along The Windy Shore

 

I remember you
and your lit-up smile
under the salty boardwalk.
You were seventeen
with your tousled hair
along the windy shore.

Such a time we had
'neath the summer sun
under the salty boardwalk.
With our hands entwined
we would race the waves
along the windy shore.

We never made promises
we couldn't keep.
No promises were broken.

So in the silver moonlight
there on the beach,
few words were ever spoken.

I remember soon
summer days grew short
under the salty boardwalk.
I was seventeen
when we said goodbye
along the windy shore.

Do you remember me
with my deep brown eyes
under the salty boardwalk?
Part of me remains
racing with the waves
along the windy shore.

I'm there along the shore.

 

The Winner of the 09/24 Homecoming is Tawny023

 

Did you know?

 

Golden Shovel after Victoria Chang’s, ‘Homecoming”

Pieces of us still exist from as far back
As diapers and Similac, even before bedtime stories.
Our DNA hangs around in their
Bloodstream like butterfly wings,
As if the contractions remember
Something of us swimming in nothing,
But a secret tunnel and we were and are
Umbilical cord joined until cut, but the bond is never
Broken— our Mother’s DNA still holds our knowledge

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neopoet Weekly 09/22/24 to 09/28/24 Winner!

   This Week’s winner is Jokerface82

 

THE WRATHFUL SEA

 

Her salted bludgeoning maw
swallowed vessels and galleys
with its green saline gullet of
ulcers
barnacles, and a throat full of oily
spots of acne sticky limpets

Treasures guarded by a circle
of sharks in an ocean restaurant
pinching crabs,
and swaying seaweed keeping naval
secrets.

A wave of wrathfulness, tossing
clubbing, floating ships, drowning
them into the abyss.
stripping seamen Into
skeletons with silent screams.

Supported by a howling killer
of a storm . Ripping, blowing holes
into arthritis wooden decks into oblivion
into the coldest dark depths.

         

 

                                                                     To leave an additional comment on the contest page click here

Nepoet Weekly 09/15/24 to 09/21/24 Winner!

                                                                                      This Week’s winner is Jokerface82

 

Grandiose Majestic Mountain

There stood a majestic
Craggy face with razor blade
Edges of a monstrous
time honoured mountain

Turning its rocky nose up
at anything below him, robust
Jagged and risky, high stabbing
armour with White shark tip
Cut throated fins.

Bald rugged with a silent manner
cold stone as white as marshmallow
steep and strong, bold and old
broad frosted shoulders

With powdered freckles and a storm grey
complexion it wore a white necklace
and a frosted crown, made
by heaven.

 

                                              To leave an additional comment on the contest page click here

 

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Under The Boardwalk

I remember the year
1947: we walked across the beach
Your face was so perfect and pale
Your eyes so big and brown
Don’t you remember?
I remember.
I lifted the hem of your dress
To help you step up
To the whitewashed planks of the boardwalk.
I caught a glimpse of your ankle
My heart raced and my mind skipped to
A wedding
As I pulled you up
Your weight was the most real thing I had ever felt.

Gods and Chariots...

As the dawn lit up the primordial sky,
the rising sun, all hot and red.
It turns the sea to steam and vapors,
and Gdog turns his shaggy head.

Adjustments here and there, I guess,
it's almost ready now,
I'm tired of working, I think I'll rest,
right after I finish this cow.

Let's see, it needs to be portable,
I guess I'll give it feet,
self-sustained on grass and water,
Hey, that's pretty neat!

Daydreaming

Sometimes she sat there next to me far away.
I imagined she could have been talking with the stars
and looking at all the colors she could taste there.

Or far away of a different kind; ancient Samarkand maybe.
I had no idea where she might go. I would always be patient though,
and wait for her return.

We would often speak about her journeys
looking out our front window at a garden of roses,
with thorns we were never afraid of.

Of Passion and Desire!

High the mark we strive for
driven by desire.
Palsied by the nuance
of the holy fire.

Driven to our knees
while trying to aspire.
The love there taken yesterday
we try to reacquire.

Never do we wander
nor languish in the mire.
Visions of tommorow
we clutch and then devour.

Our beds were never burning
nature was required.
Your voice I hear returning,
your presence was inspired!

Falling into Autumn leaves
make love as we perspire!
Given to our passion
at length we retire.

Equinox

There was no voice, no sudden sound,
no declaration to astound
the turning leaves, the shadows cast
the waning daylight, once held fast.

Now Autumn rose in cooling air,
its gentleness, an answered prayer.
The summer simply bowed and turned,
its glory fading, its time adjourned,

while wistful memories soon surrender
to northern winds of late September

the Naked Field

the meadow burned with flowers early fall
where black eyed suzys waved to no one there
a patch of goldenrod had formed a wall
and thistles with their bristles combed the air

the midday sun was lazed on drying clover
tumbling pairs of butterflies emerged
my thoughts of you were churning, turning over
emotions born of adolescence surged

the meadow smelled of nature in that bliss
the sound of insect narratives were spun
and there, where all these eyes could see us kiss
we seized the breeze where wildness had run

Bob's Homecoming

Bob fought ocular cancer
for the second time in his life.
Treatments were harrowing,
but he went diligently until
the glorious day he could
ring the bell at the end.
The applause of the staff was
a nice touch, but the best
was his triumphant
homecoming.

But first etymological climatological meteorological esoterica from our sponsor:

The word autumn (/ˈɔːtəm/) is derived from Latin autumnus, archaic auctumnus, possibly from the ancient Etruscan root autu-and has within it connotations of the passing of the year. Alternative etymologies include Proto-Indo-European *h₃ewǵ- ("cold") or *h₂sows- ("dry").

Timelessly Falling

Like wind-blown fallen leaves
I land at your feet.
The color of fading rust
of the dying day
waiting to be born anew tomorrow.
Yours is the face I see
when I first awaken,
it has been this way for many a year
and it is my hope for many more.
you are the breath of my life
residing forever within,
our souls are twin and timeless.

Hope

Hope, that old Saint,
A phantom O so faint,
Barely there yet always heard
Almost alive and almost dead

It walks a ghostly moonlit path
Paved of long groans and short mirth
This vagabond from some far off realm
Preaching of a great and beautiful balm

Haunting every sad soul
With visions of being made whole
Whispering to dry white bones
"Rise and carry your bag of stones"

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