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A sad announcement

February 19, 2020

We are deeply saddened by the passing of Jess Tapper (weirdelf). Jess was a founding member, a former member of the Board of Trustees, the first ever Neopoet AEC Chair (in addition to being an eight time AEC/AC member), and most recently, the Director of Workshops and a member of our Cabinet.

We will hold a series of events to memorialize Jess, including:

- Jess Tapper's friends on Neopoet will host a chat room on Saturday, February 22, at 7 pm Eastern (11 am on Sunday, February 23 in Sydney, Australia)

- We've opened our forum - https://www.neopoet.com/forum/weirdelf

Andrew & Paul

Legends, Myth and Tall Tales

Dark Side Chat with Geezer presents stories on the wild side. Do you believe in big foot, aliens or ghosts ?
Write a poem about any above subject or your own. This coming Saturday at 8 PM EST.
If you want your poem scrolled please contact Neopoet Chat by private message by Thursday midnight.

Come join our monthly contest read the description below.
Description:This month's contest will be about an EARLY Spring, not just Spring, but an early Spring. It should be thirty lines or less, (one or two more will be allowed). Any form, it must be about anticipated, wished for or actual. From any viewpoint; yours, children, animals, ect. Prewritten poems are allowed but must conform too parameters.

https://www.neopoet.com/contest/february-contest-1

January 2020 Contest Results

Congratulations to the winner: Sparrow 42
Please visit the winning poem here:

https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/poems/another-year-january-competition

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

Election Results (February 2020)

We would like to cordially welcome the new members of the 26th Administrative Council:

Alan S Jeeves, AC Chair

And, in alphabetical order:

c lynn brooks
Roscoe Lane

Please join us in congratulating the new AC and wishing them the best for the upcoming term.

AC Election: Announcement (January 2020)

Our election begins today, with the following individuals on the ballot:

Roscoe Lane
scribbler
Miranda Ortiz
Edna Sweetlove
Shanmugam
Alan S Jeeves
c lynn brooks

The election will continue until Saturday, February 1st (5 pm Eastern Time).

You may view the voting guide (and candidates may update their responses) here: https://www.neopoet.com/community/vote/guide

Ballot: https://www.neopoet.com/community/form/3042

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

The world through a hula hoop.

One must also say
time changes
every moment
and
that alone is what is known
as the only constant

what
time
no change

it's just a moment
to moment
a' la momentary

then virtual immemorial
glimpse
an imagination
was
is
will be
read
next moment casually
limps

The monster in my nightmares

He really hurt me
I was just a little girl
Bright and happy,
Until he ruined my world.

It started at age 4
I didn’t know what to do.
I couldn’t fight back
I was too frightened to move.

He threatened me if I ever told
So I stayed mute.
Over the years he got more bold
Because he never heard a dispute.

Things got rough after 4 years had passed
All 3 of us were trapped
He had 2 other little girls in his grasp
At a young age we made a pact

On the Cliffs of Sintra

It is said Ulysses passed this way,
On the furthest western point of the world. Beyond was unknowable.
His ship hugged the shorelines and would not challenge open seas
With waves as tall as trees and wind with bite to rip the sails
From a distant wall of steam rising from the flames of Hades.

A Sad Lament for England

Oh tell me where has England's glory gone,
Lost golden days of beef and lukewarm beer?
Now it's polenta in a gastro-pub,
Chilean Chardonnay, Tequila Slammers.

Her Empire proudly pink on schoolroom maps;
India, Afric, source of plundered loot galore.
All gone, all gone, black faces back in charge
And black drug pushers stalk old London's streets.

When all the land is sleeping tight
There is a sound within the night
A noise to touch the sinews of your mind.
To those who hear it at its best
Exalt its sound, as others rest,
And thank the Lord he gave it to mankind.

She hums and blows her gentle breezes,
Comes and goes just as she pleases,
Spreads pastoral verses as her theme;
And when the twilight fills the air
Her vivid strains are ever there
For anyone who worships her esteem.

Into Quietness

The misty, whispering rain starts to fall
as I trace my finger against
the cold glass, following a drop.
The irregular starts and stops
making the task cumbersome,
finally falling quicker than
I could ever anticipate.
The distraction dissolves in seconds,
my thoughts being consumed
by time once again.

Time.

I was to mend in time.

I tried to escape,
tried to restrain my pen into quietness,
to hide it from his face,
to erase him from its reach.

Salvage the Mind

The light within me
feeds on the light within you:
Impending darkness.
We are what we seem
in the reflections of others.
Build up resistance,
there’s no one inside
to search for your peaceful embrace.

Lurk, emerge
from the prison of your eye;
engulf the dormant suffering
of your self in others
and reach for the sky:

No skies in our sight
to salvage the treasures
that mind in its struggles
has harbored for ages.

Conflagration (for chat tonight)

Conflagration
Patagonian collection

A wall of weaving flames
consumes coniferous forests.
Fireballs arch over brooks and waterfalls,
ignite woodsheds, barns, homes.
Goats, guanacos, sheep agonize
in russet glades, their wool
burning bright under orange heights.

A Hot Saturday Night

A Hot Saturday Night

It’s close to nightfall,
and I must ready myself
for you. The clock strikes nine.
Perhaps I should trim wayward whiskers?
But tell me, why should I?
When they brush against your cheek,
what harm could they possibly do?

But first, let me cut some roses,
just for you. My rose bushes
are in fullest bloom, but admittedly,
those blossoms are no match
for your lips that glisten in scarlet red,
nor do they compare in sweetness.

• If I must confess •

|To the woman I love|

If I must confess
Today I prefer be a fisher man
with no hook and bait
but with my basket of many holes
Where air breathe life

For I have caught
many a born unworthy fish with net
and they back themselves on water

If I must confess
You wear me new smiles,
attire and bid
since you came..

If I must confess
My love for you you can't count,
They are in holes of basket...

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