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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 Thanksgiving Scene

maeve is dancing to love boat,
and I seriously wish I could tell you.
this entire time we would be texting
and I would tell you how weird she is,
and you would probably call me a dork.
frankie bostello says love won't hurt anymore,
I wish my friends were here.
mom makes dinner for five in her penguin pajamas.
she made me put lights on the tree outside,
and the job I did was so utterly terrible
she yelled and me and redid the whole thing.
dad is napping.
dad is never not napping.

Voices

I swore I'd never forget
the sound of your voice
But it's slipping now
So much noise
Too many gripping fingers
In my mind

I'm scrambling to keep hold
Cause I can't let you go
Everyone's released you
But I'm fighting to hold on

The moments we shared
The joy and laughter you evoked
tears I have cried and the ones
I've had to wipe away

Toy guns will get you killed

A twelve year old boy on the playground
Like all kids clowning around
Aims his toy pellet gun
At walkers just for fun
Shot by cops, lays dead on the ground.

unnameable - senryu

finely nuanced Zen
moments, my sensitive gaze
unfurls mysteries

"Come"

If I can't ask for good music even amongst
the news, please thank me later on. A man
with bleary red egg yolk for eyes fell down
a ravine and re-emerged from the city bathhouse
drain as the second coming of Christ still in
a grainy color edition of a B-film. His hair
is a light blonde, his eyes a skinned blue halo.
The water is a vinyl black freezing in rivulets
which are guitar picks for a moment, frosty
constellates pausing on each zipped flat
of his cardigan guitar case, torn as he moves

Objection

I object! I object!
This child is too green
to define love
and the lure of sin!

She knows not the diference
between lust and true affection!
Don't let her lose her innocence
to the filthy hands of mortal demons!

Dear God! Let me taste her anger
and the hate from her young heart
that she may thank me later
for never letting her drift apart.

Reflection

Myriads of furious lightning bolts freely marry
Lovely waters of the storming sea,
The wedding and desire of waves and fire
A union far less fleeting
Than that of you and me
And that burden shall I carry.

Hellish hoarfrost hovers on heart and window
I wait patiently for you at the sill,
Enthusiastic and bent on your advent
When you were to come over the hill
While I watched for spring as well
Even if I only saw the snow.

A Thought

Judge not what thou hast oft in sight,
as deep must live the soul.
Thy naked eyen might tell thee lies,
whilst hearts shall tell it all.

A Jungle Sighs, A People Dies....

A Jungle Sighs, A People Dies...

The jungle sighs natives feel it’s pain,
those men who cut are back again.
They steal trees, sell them cheap,
our politicians bark not worth a peep.

Money made by heartless souls,
who deliver much by way of goals.
To fill large pockets of greed, lust
destroying an immerging tribal trust.

How do you trust these men of lies,
who can cut and destroy a beautiful tree.
They stand watching as a culture dies,
then laugh as all the other animals flee.

D R I Z Z L E

haste....
Lust,
the rush from the toes
tremulous thighs..
the tingle from the spine
from the kidneys
to the heart hitch rush
and the fast beat
swell forward and tense
stretch
close the eyes
and inhale
the wide nostril flare
heels apart
finding the centre

Outside the window
the wind finds a finger
to the bare middle
landscapes
and erect soulful
erroneous zones

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