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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.

 

A Killer Excuse...

In the shadows of the alley
there are things that lurk
In the dark untouched by moon-glow
there is evil hard at work

A shudder rips through my body
I don't want to be alone
My hand is really trembling
as I try to dial my phone

I imagine there is a Killer
waiting just for me
he's out there, being quiet
I strain my eyes to see

A blacker black is moving
So dark, defeating light
Imagination playing tricks?
There is something... out of sight

GOOD HOURS (imagery shop poem) by Robert Frost

I had for my winter evening walk_
No one at all with whom to talk,
But i had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And i thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies!
O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air!
The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there!
Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves'-eyes!
The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies!
Wind-beat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare!
Flake-doves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare!
Ah well! it is all a purchase, all is a prize.

Red Handed

We have blood on our hands Man!!
So much blood on our hands!!

Altruism, Mediocrity, Materialism and Superficiality
Our evolution,
Diving straight into a dark Abyss

Spiritual beings,
Born from sands Of OUR MOTHER EARTH we are
Who forget our roots, our definition.

Where is our intergrity?
Where is our respect?
Instead we turn around and RAPE her,
RAPE the one who has birthed us,
RAPE our Mother and wonder why
"Why the misery and pain God?"

TWEETS FROM NO KINGDOM

We are numb in our tenements, the thick soot
Of prophesy makes a witch-hunt of the heart,
Shell shocked by absurdity, while a Caligula tweets
That the empire is fully restored in his name;
We have only learned the sorrow of repentance.

The children of No Kingdom are seduced,
Their spirits hang in the citadel of limbo;
The elders are shattered by the state of siege,
As the edicts to the whispering fear
Make hysterical headlines of the idiotic.

The last to stand at Tyger Point

"were seen..wild beasts having claws like a Tyger" Shore Party of Abel Tasman, 1642

And so I came, to where the last had stalked,
in valleys dogged, through decades ending here;
by men skin cloaked, fearing that which walked
and soaked the blood rich ground they grew to fear.

A wild, and dark striped beast of dread repute,
supposed and deposed killer of all sheep;
was rendered here, to be forever mute
the final gunshot, ringing in the deep.

Churchill (for June Contest)

Churchill

Heaps of scrap piled high
Crumbling down
in the corners
Of everyone

All hands holding on
to single threads
He saw it clearly
And wove a tapestry

For duty
For lack of anyone
Despite his own battles
Distant dark shores

With words to endure
He said it would be okay
So it would be
So it was

The hurricane
not left to chance
By some butterfly
A prayer, a dance

ESCAPE ROUTE

I've walked upon the concrete trails
leaving not one footprint on it's gray
beneath thick floating high contrails.
I vist there but I don't stay.

These same trails lead to the suburbs
and homes laid out in tidy grids
with window boxes growing herbs
their lawns up filled with playing kids.

Then concrete sidewalks yield to shoulders
where grass grows green beside the roads;
traffic still growls like rolling boulders
carrying both freight and human loads.

Rat Race

Why the rush?
Why the hassle?
Why the frown?
The discontent

What are you after?
Where are you going?
Is it to a place
You don't want to be?

Is it for money?
Is it success?
Or is it some sort of
Sacrifice?

What are you after?
Where are you going?
And why do you look
So unhappy?

Onus Plus:

Being positive
Truly regenerative
Fine restorative

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