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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 DAY THE POETS DIED

I heard the sound of pages turning
from writers' alcoves everywhere
where the dim night lights were burning
and poets laid their deep souls bare.

Then there came that final day
when verse and music both were done.
Had bards not heard their parents say
be sure to not look in the sun?

That fierce light burned their muse to cinders
and dried the ink within their quill
regardless of their age or genders
without vision they'd lost their will.

Floating

he took my paper heart
and folded it into a plane
threw it to the wind
and all my efforts were in vain
he stole my ink, my life
and wrote his name over again
he sits and grins and writes my death
and bleeds me through his pen
my bones have bent so many times
but never have they broke
yet then i felt the subtle crack
with every word he spoke
my body's cold, my breath is hot
my knives are sharp when mind is not
and right now they are all i've got
that listen.

S U R R O G A T E D E V I A T I O N

caught me in your swell
the sweet perfume of orbit
how you swayed me
the fire gleaning
like ships ablaze
sinking suns
with powder guns

glitterbeing slit
this aperature
translation

fire off salvos
of love lust and
taste the rounds
of hate catching
bare hearted
ruins

You walked barefoot
with naked seas
to find me

how undressed
I am
naked neath
these waters
drowned

excstatic
and alive

(For P)

When the Poet Died.

When the poet died,
nothing lost was found.
Ever he would hide
poesy he had bound.

When the poet failed,
no one sought his work.
But he never quailed,
left alone in murk.

When the poet passed,
everything he wrote
stood no chance to last.
He had never gloat.

When the poet ceased,
beauty went away.
Darkness was released.
Now, the night is day.

When the poet died,
nothing lost was found.
We had all relied
on the poet's sound.

Obsession (updated)

Obsession

Buddha on the road with Kerouac

That laughing man
on the road ahead
of himself,

I think
that creative urge just died an untimely
death,

Goodbye Jack, we hardly knew you.
Goodbye Nietzche, I fucked your God
and it was good.

Lorraine(Workshop Submission Storytelling In verse)

Lorraine,‭ ‬even her name
Is a tinkling of rain drops to my ear

Red velvet grown clinging to every curve in her body

The ebon hair exposing a delicate neck

Crystal blue eyes‭ ‬that glowed,‭ ‬radiating her beauty even more.

What caught my attention above all

Was the ruby choker with its three tear drops trickling along her breast

How much my eyes did see,‭ ‬they remind me of

A slash with it’s droplets of blood.

How I quiver at the thought.

The blood pounding in my head

Pulse raging out of control

CONCRETE

the sun hidden behind a cloud of organza
the moon hood shadowing on the skyline
of tarmac, sings a ballad of loose fists
after holding tight for a whole collapse of the night
a car pours and pulls out like a water drop
on the highway – street lights
so yellow flicker into Dickens fate
and the Moby Dick is me, upstanding
on white guidelines of foreverness

The Yield of my Bequeathal

To my parents I give crazy "props"
for putting up with me,

they provided great examples
which gave me integrity.

I also thank my siblings
for when push came down to shove,

they made me a better person
each combining to teach me, love;

and from then on I was willing
to share myself with all my friends,

giving me true substance
instead of following the trends;

which made all the difference
in the way I shared my heart,

Why!

Why is it that all artists and poets,
are at their best
after sex
It’s a natural thing all enjoy
but still younger ones fake
while the elders do make
and
the artist puts his experiences at stake
then upon a canvas reveals
the artful deals,
as poets lament
but readers fail to comment
Oh! why can someone tell me?
the effect of abject nudity,
that energizes the human mind
more than subtlety

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