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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.

 

E P I T O M E S

What we are
who are we
no one can say
except we ourselves
our nudity display
we are we

yes but who are we
that’s a million dollar question
anyone’s guess,
who we are
but epitomes,
each one of us in our own way
you a poet
he an artist

we mostly are followers
clapping machines
for all epitomes
ere they reach their tombs

Who are we but different beings,
it’s all the indifference within us
this makes each one of us different.

The End of The World

I walked to the end of the world last night
And peered over the edge
I saw good people going hungry
I saw evil people decadent in their excesses
Crying they need more of the pie
I saw the masses of the self-righteous
Walking like zombies to pay homage to the rich
An offering on hopes that someday
They will be the decadent too
I saw solders killing without cause
While politicians cried more, more, more
Then I saw the great and merciful moon
Doing her part to save humanity from itself

BLACK WIDOW

BLACK WIDOW
1946

A large black-rimmed hat and
black silk veil covered her face
of ruby red lips and piercing dark eyes,
and a smile that betrayed her lies
she walked across the grass
in mourning black, in a sensual dance
swaying hips in motions slow.
she was a friend to many men,
and married some who never did see
more than one rising sun.

Beware!

Don't ask a lady 'bout her age;
bestir griefs, invoke her sorrows,
arouse a sleeping beast to rage,
don't ask a lady 'bout her age.
You'd let the daemons out of the cage
to blow her now and tomorrows,
don't ask a lady 'bout her age;
bestir griefs, invoke the sorrows.

Scraps

A dripping old willow
sheltering
the gray and lost,
hushing colorless
rainbow sighs.

A raised goblet's shattering fall
had forever affixed
joy with despair.

Parched, dust covered dreams

A travelers trunk, rusted shut

Lullabies drifting, listless, unsung

Blank memories
tearfully pondered,
all the while,

the old willow just shakes off the rain

.............................................................

DANCING

DANCING

Every movement I make
Is a dance in slow motion,
a poetry of the body in distress
each thrust into the void suggests
a primal grace beyond rigidity,
and the sublimity of the spirit
defying constriction of space.
it is who we are we Warriors
of the human race.

Richard for Joe

OH!

THE WORLD WON'T END
if I post no poems
do read the older ones
till then amen
slightly unfit
will be better soon
eyes and ears
lost to the moon

Clutter

13 years at the back of my mind I have
been hiding just because they will ridicule
me for how I have looked up
to you ever since I was a just a child
and you always have seen me as a child...
You felt the need to protect me from others because I was
lonely and had no friends but though 13 years
has passed I never forgot a single
detail of everything.
Physically speaking,
emotionally speaking,
mentally speaking...

a come back of an old one

Looking through a concrete barricade,
of a forever standing fence.
Edifices created to keep me in,
while jailers whip me with the price of wages.
When I am but a dime a dozen
of evil task masters that only see green.
I recognize the means to their grab bag hands.

I Rebut

I can't take any more of this
left handed
slogan speak.

Incessant
flabby blabber;
hum-drumming echos
of mob configured
convention
and label mongering.

Dissension has become iniquity,
post-modern heresy,

and those deemed guilty,
summarily sentenced;
to be smitten by
shrieking beat downs,
scarlet pillories,
and shaming ostracism.

And megaphones don't make one sound more clever.

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