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April 2024 Contest Winners

Congratulations to our April 2024 contest winners!

Spring Fling  was won by Carrie with the poem Spring Fling

04/24 I Was An April Fool was won by Geezer with the poem Fooled Again...

04/24 Waiting In Line was won by  Mary Beth Magee  with the poem The Last Time

04/24 Are We There Yet?  Was won by Rula with the poem We're Almost There For It

04/24 My Favorite Cookie was won by Leslie with the poem After school treat!

Poetry Month 2024 Imagine Contest Vote

Vote for this month’s image prompt contest winner

Voting ends May 6th 2024.

Vote at the end of this newsletter.

 

Backwards

By: Carrie

G
All the things that I wanna write
C
Have been written
G
All the songs that I wanna sing
D
Have been sung,
G
All the things that I wanna say
C
Have been said before
D A Em G
All the things that I wanna do have been done.

G
I wanna fly a kite
A
At night instead of day,
C
I wanna drive a big old truck
D
The opposite way
G
I wanna laugh when I’m sad,
C
And cry when I’m happy and gay
D A
I wanna do what no one’s done
G
Any other day.

G
I wanna wear all my clothes
A
Wear em all inside out,

C
I wanna be real quiet,
D
When everybody else wants to shout
G
I wanna see the stars
C
When everybody else sees the sun
D
I want my day to end
C G
When everybody else’s has begun.

C D
Wouldn’t it be weird, wouldn’t it be funny and strange
A
If everyone thought like this,
G
Slightly deranged.

 

 

Lost Love

By: Alex Tanner

Should I recall those blissful times
When we like climbing flowers entwined;
Our blossoms scented evenings air
As Love and Lust forsook our cares.

Your laugh was soft and gentle,
A butterflies wings in spring,
Dancing on the sunbeams
Enough to make me sing.

Eyes so bright they sparkled
Diamonds on moonlit snow;
Flashing hither and thither
To make my pulse race so.

We held each other gentle
Yet tight so not to break,
Though deep, our love could never last,
Different paths our lives would take.

For fleeting months we tarried,
Each time we met we knew
This may be the last time
For lovers hours are few.

If I love ten thousand women
Tis you I will recall;
You gave yourself so willing,
For your passion I did fall.

On black nights as the wind howls,
As I lie in a bed so cold,
Your soft voice echoes 'cross the years
To warm my lonely soul.

                                                                                                                                         

Vote Here

Thank you for your participation.

This week the Neopoem is

 

 Whistle Stop Grove by Izzi Reinier

 

Let us congratulate Izzi Reinier on his first contest win as a neopoet member.

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Pocket Orgasm

texts and samplers
from foil packets

pushing into spines and
musculature like road
maps pushing and pawing
gently purring
while moans and sighs
slip away

My day was a wretch of
happiness
but this touch unwinds my
bow of frustration
like a whipped hair
bent and fluffed from
a bended hip

She smiles
waiting

I know its a given gift
this trust
her back
so I work as I can
intuitive
knowing what she
needs without
much words

An Urban Autumn Tale

An Urban Autumn Tale

Christmas wishes voiced in young October
generate a mournful sigh of noise
from a harried, working single mother
who knows she can’t afford the latest toys

as she cleans the mealtime’s meager leavings,
both her daughters giggling away,
she wipes her eyes as well as supper dishes
and in her troubled soul begins to pray

Poetry Today

was I wrong in saying

Poetry is composed less .....read lesser ....and commented upon least ....
except for some great guys outright condemnation ....
so compose
and
repose a faith in yourself,
read and read and then confess
tis worth a garbage bin's worth
and
then smear it all
on mother earth

Poetic Justice?

I am an emcee, so my form and structure may be different to the norm.

"Evermore" “Quoth the Kookaburra”

He spoke to me in gentle tones
About mulling over ancient bones,
better things to think I ask of you.
shall we then find something anew?

To talk till evening stars emerge.
Where worlds collide, truths are heard
in rooms closed from our busy world
let’s talk of things that hide within.

I fear the dawn, the sinking sun
I am now lost, let them freely run
yet they are here with us to learn.
Each step a path to peace we yearn

Sucker Punched

Every time I think I got it right
Here you go starting a fight
Sucker punching words spewing from your mouth
Flying as if a fist to shatter all my doubts.

Asshole, you make my life a living nightmare
Hindering the efforts to be fair
When sharing a kind moment
You make me wanna vomit.

A cake made especially for you
My special disgrace when you're blue
Constant awareness of your evil flesh
Keep me far from your electric fences

You -the diamond

Flawed perfection:
Extraordinary blaze of son.
You are not who you were.

Such a battle, wounded,
We are scarred, bloodied.
All our once-were stories are undone.

You are in the books of others,
Fat with history, agony,
Condemnation, hope:

Love in all its constellations
Bled dry.
The hardness of survival.

You - the diamond -
Reflect our fractured mirror:
Forgiveness

Identity

Identity, my old enemy, how do you do?
Making me wonder who am I, like you give a Damn.
Spinning my wheels at your hands, you make me crazy.
Poison arrow through my heart, heated dagger in my eye.

Thoughtless bastard, you darken my soul, make me lose my mind.
Through your torture, the push and pull, I find comfort in your arms.
Twisted love turned to hate, as I second guess my fate.
Where do I belong, you spit in my face, grinding my dreams to dust.

Workshop: 

S t a r v a t i o n

the television is a crime
sated on its feed
its worm breath
and noise
hissing through the sleep

folding dreams into abstractions
that the hall light performs on

sully on this
chill
caught
in steam subway
home vents

there is a rumble
beneath the
feet
of the harried
and the hurried

stop and turn
and listen
there is a voice
starting now

a voice that will
lead
from the conspiracy
trove
the highland ocean groves

ZEN KOAN

A poem is a kind of Zen Koan,
for people to decipher what life is,
without having it spelt out
in our already watered down intensity of expressions;
carved into stone, words,
words uttered by the great, the small and ourselves;
taking the mind for a kind of spiritual walk
in the whole of existence,
and leading one to see the truth you perceive,
the one that is your own personal expression of it,
at that particular moment in time.

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