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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.

 

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.

Privacy Quaint

How ironic indeed that freedom won
to shake off shackles of dogma sons
and daughters dear
should be so roundly trounced
with teaming steers of fear

Fear found out the skeleton in cupboard
now Facebooked
Fear found out your current CV cache
now cached on your future bosses board

Oh dear, how quaint a concept is privacy now
when future others ask "how"?
How did we lose that bastion strong
that kernal of "us" that's now
perpetually "wrong"

Wild and free

And sometimes I feel. I just have to get away.
Run off, into the forests, wild and free
The blue streams will lap at my ankles
The warm sun will cast rays on my face
And I will laugh, I will cry.
Free from the constraints of societies heavy bonds
But for now I am trapped
Trapped, by my alarm in the morning, my daily routine
By the way I must act, the things I must say.
And the disease of consumerism
Is devouring me, inside out
For now I am trapped
But one day I will be finally free

White Room

I was in my white padded room
When a black cat walked by
I asked where he was going
Expecting a “meow” in reply

He said he was travelling
Asked if I would tag along
I said perhaps yes
It never felt so very wrong

We arrived pretty soon
And was eating many small delights
I knew what each one would bring
The labels were right
Time was passing
Perhaps seconds perhaps days
I was lost in my mind
It had become a hedge maze

Chrysalis (Bottom Line Workshop)

Okay children, here is my final submission for your perusal. It concerns the blade of Princess Clair'ice Christenson who is one of the heroines in my epic poem ÇAÇÔ, Man of the Morning Star. It is written in strict "heroic verse" which is to say Dactylic Hexameter. I have not scanned it. That I leave to you if you would.

Workshop: 

water dish

the world in its saucer
is simple
the world upside
in the right
of wrong

arrived
not home

there is a place I can
and will be comfortable

sometime

instead I hold a cigarette
in the bold stark light
of the parking lot
counting stars

no one means their
business to be so sharp
they cant see it cutting
when they pull all
the anger in

all I can see it the
difficulties and tangle
and inside its just
more of the inane
question

Poetry and Grammar

You may hammer

Friend your article comes
a century too late
I'm a distinction holder in Literature

Grammar a big Zero

they had to pass me
how?
now you know
so I switched on to poetry
with all its
glow
flow
slow
and dough
I’d let grammar down the Thames flow
MY HERE MY GRAMMAR
does go
and
here I too go

Anapestic Hexameter Quatrain - Ron Woodruff

ANTI-RANDOLOGY by Ron Woodruff

For the LUCK-/y do SMILE/ for the NEED-/y please TRY/ when in MOURN-/ing do CRY.

We are BE-/ ings of Flesh/ we are TRAPPED/ in this MESH/ love don't QUEST-/ion MORE.

Is it HARD-/er to SEE/ the small DIFF'-/rences plea:/ we are KIN/ 'til we DIE.

for the CHILD-/ ren we HOPE/ on the GLOB-/al scope WE/ must spread LOVE'S/ blessed SPORE.

Ron

Workshop: 

The Dome by Ron Woodruff (BlueDemon77)

SCARS lock up | OUR o-pen | GASH-es clean. | SUCH does the | MIND mend life's | PAIN-ful breach:

MEM-or-ies | SPEC-ter like | STRIKE in sleep | BRING-ing past's | TOK-en mists, | PHAN-tom smell

WELLS-i-an | VEN-ture to | VIEW the once | KNOWN shapes of | GRACE-ful breast | STRETCH in reach

HAND grown cold | CHEST pal-lor | DRAINED to know | PAIN of loss | ALL too well.

Ron

Workshop: 

Is Paradise Too Much To Ask

Take me to paradise
Where the grass is always green
On any side.

Take me to a place where worry is no more
Where tears fall as raindrops on rose petals
Where love paints a rainbow.

There's no love to be found after the sunsets
And the words of destruction fall as stars from heaven
When I fret.

Please don't eat the flesh of my desire
With your beastly claims
Aimed at my flesh when I try.

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