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Mother's Day Image Prompt Contest

Mother's Day Image Prompt Contest

Please read the following poems

And vote below.

Voting ends May 26th 2024

Mum... You and I

By: Rula

 

Together we witnessed time ebbs and tides:

we went through ups, we went through downs,

yet luckily we got each other's sides,

you and I, you and I.

 

Together, unwillingly, we grew old,

with devestating wrinkles, and white hair.

We both raised families, yet we're still bold

You and I, you and I.

 

Together we laughed, together we cried:

I uplifted your spirits, you got my tears wiped,

we stayed together, side by side,

You and, I you and I.

 

Together we lived for worse and better,

until Alzheimer's stole you, my bank of love,

although you promised to stay forever

You and I, you and I.

 

My Gold

By Mr joghe

 

In whom I spent my old days and nights,

Who rocked me in my cradle;

And fed my pretty mouth with a spoon,

Did weep while I should weep.

How much will I pay

For the pain you’ve taken for me?

 

Who worked that jumper to keep me warm;

Treated me with diffidence and respect,

Her healthy arms always be my stay,

And always admired my prudent face that filled with laughter.

How much will I pay

For the pains you’ve taken for me?

 

Who tired me with apology for being tiresome,

And asked twenty questions and never waited for an answer.

My timidity struck her at the first sight;

When she taught me to expect something extraordinary.

How much will I pay

For the pains you’ve taken for me?

 

I find such a pleasure

In obeying her commands,

That I take care to observe;

Shall soon come to bless me.

How much will I pay

For the pains you’ve taken for me?

 

I vow, I thought so;

Never, as among queens and princesses

In her age; to be explicit,

I’ve kept very little company

In pretty smooth dialogues with her.

How much will I pay

For the pains you’ve taken for me?

 

Vote Here

Thank you for your participation!

Neopoet Weekly 05/12/24 to 05/18/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 


Mosquitos Suck!
  By William Lynn

 

Congratulations to William Lynn for racking up another contest win!

Neopoet Weekly 05/05/24 to 05/11/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

Ways of loving by  Terumi Sakurai

Let us congratulate Terumi Sakurai on their first win as a neopoet member.

About Contests

There have been some changes to the about contest page
To take a look visit
https://www.neopoet.com/contest/program-description-and-guidelines

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

The Ana (Creation Story) part four

Didêram

It has been told that when The Host
began the task before it set,
it was Samwiel, of all foremost,
who fain aspired to beget
the shape of things to come and order all. 5

The tribulations they endured
o’er eons would exact their toll.
Dissension left at last uncured,
The Angels each regret the whole,
but vigorous were they until The Fall. 10

scribbler in the dirt

slim is the gesture of the night
certain atoms are always calling
scarce in their twinkle of time
I am caught in the distance between them
looking up, my feet are not bare enough
to hold me to the sky
so narrow are the walled alleyways between sight
and soul, the drift of the lights windows
against the shutters of the heart
leaving my love to scribble in the dirt
looking up... as always ...too far away

vortex

The wind in March does not
dive into melancholy with
February's prisoners chained
to a grey sky
it does not roar with gaping mouth
nor bleeds into rust and decay
choiceless
in my love for you
I am surrendered
I howl
I am uplifted
I rise
with this peculiarity of you.

Worlds appear and disappear
in our sexual embrace.
We linger here, fully realized.

In the Pencilled Inn

In the Pencilled Inn…

The pen lies between a scribbled age,
beatles throw scorn at birds in a cage.
My thoughts have gone south with rage,
don’t read what is on the page’s page.

Create a lust even though it’s false,
race your hot blood through each pulse.
Stand up and speak for someone else,
even to berate them with themselves.

Can’t always fulfil wishes of m pirates house,
unfortunate our Mr Fox was a royal louse.
That Ben’s clock never met a giant mouse,
did we his flame as well his anger douse.

Saudades

SAUDADES

Namorados amam

até não amam mais

nada que esiste

esiste para sempre

e o presente pôe-se passado

E os que dizem “eternidade”

Falam só “saudade”

PHONETIC

nahmoor-AD-oosh uh-mã [squeeze nostrils when you see this sign ~] auh AS IN “UH, I SEE]

Ah-tey nõw uh-mã m-eye-sh

Nuhduh ezeesh-tchee p-uh-ruh s~empree

Oo pray-z~ntchee p~oy-see puh-sah-doo

ee uzh kee dzeez~e ey-ternee-dad -gee

Fal~a soh sa-oo-dad-gee

ENGLISH

LONGINGS

Lovers love

Free Verse Poet

Great, I’m free

As is all my free verse poetry
Not many read me
As I speak in riddles
but that doesn't irk me,
as free I am
as a soaring bird ought to be,
Out above the horizon
Where humanity is not limited...

I soar beyond all oceans and time
I bother not about meter or rhyme
if none read me it isn't a crime.
for Loved is creativity
hence that name of mine.

CONVERSATION WITH THE DEAD

Through the tunnels of my ear lobes
They came, talked and left, the words echo
Struggling in strive, they stumbled
Waking up and back to our beds
The living and dying dressed up
In recurrent cycles of woes
Looking at our history lesson
I wonder why we forget fast
The dead fret not for the living
They are dead and rest now in peace
Hassles are for those still alive
On what the future holds for them
The dead natter with silent signs
In sleep, like death, we learn to die

The Spoken Gesture (edit)

Why is it,
That I can’t identify
The words said
With her eyes

Am I truly looking deep inside
Can I reflect what’s conveyed
From a heart that touches mine
Is it a moment
I have let pass in time

There are words never spoken
Which are articulated with a gesture
That speak volumes
Without vibrating upon an eardrum

If my eyes were truly open
Would I gather
The corollary intimation
Of librettos which were not sung
Only to be captured in loves relation

Flung From The Nest

It was November the last time you touched me.
It was November and the leaves had done their changing.
Winter was calling, coaxing them to curl,
beckoning brown where Autumn had lit them.

In my head you are still at the foot of my bed.
One lightbulb humming golden on our skin.
This is how memory moves.

You are long and you are pale
but I remember you pink.
So you are pink. You are a poison.
Do you remember me laying on the floor that night?

The Silent Siren

I stripped and skinny dipped
down into your eyes
the night you left me.

Cold, cold, murky waters,
deep black sockets.

Your hands were in your pockets.
I rose trembling on your shore.

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