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This week the Neopoem is

 

there you are by  leoferaco

 

Let us congratulate leoferaco on his latest achievement.

Neopoet Weekly 03/31/24 to 04/06/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

Enchantress.by Alex Tanner

 

Let us congratulate Alex Tanner on his latest achievement.

March 2024 Contest Winners!

Congratulations to our contest Winners 

 

Mother Nature  contest  was won by Lavender with the poem To My Monarch and Her Milkweed

03/24 New Member Contest was won by lostLA with the poem insights of a orphan

03/24 I Was Bullied was won by Candlewitch with the poem Ramming Speed!

03/24: What My Best Friend Gave Me was won by  Mark with the poem What My Best Friend Gave Me

03/24 Looking At The Stars was won by Alaethia D with the poem Dear Heart, One More Time

03/24 My Favorite Pet was won by  Alex Tanner withy the poem My Pal Jet.

Neopoet Weekly 03/24/24 to 03/30/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

Agony by  David Grigorian

 

Congratulations to David Grigorian on his first contest win

The stream (all workshops)

This is the stream - you can see all poems on Neopoet, live, as they are created.

 

this guy challenged me

you ask me!
you ask me just now
and shall write one for you,
as only love does ensue
from the crevices of my heart instantly
and
you can fathom the depth incessantly
at your own free will,
but all love you still,
for the love you give
and
hope you will continue
to read me still,
of course at your own free will.
I’m a naturally born poet,
and know no poetic nuances,
my words flow
out of sheer spontaneity
and
lovers like you
love to swallow
that’s all I know

To Meet A Mountain

Blue skies to turn white bones brittle
your steps lose erring spruice
deferring the reverberation of metal
that snake who offers the apple, now to a silent noose,
as if you had a choice, screaming
your wrasping voice quickly lost
grasping the loss of meaning
seamless endlessness is the cost.

Canto Nine ~ It has been nearly a week and Gundhag has finally sent the boy back to the battlefield for the young mother’s corpse.
The storm persists as he runs with characteristic speed to obtain her. The man he had imprisoned has escaped him, but as with all things in his chaotic mind he no longer gives thought to it. That a bewildered form of destiny had caused their paths to cross, and with the crossing possible revelation as to his ever hidden reality, has been shelved in the fearful corners of his self taught insanity.

Faking Dimples

Life never seems simple
Every day I fake dimples
To bury a secret
So no one can read it
If I could
You know I would
I am about to break
And you just take and take
I don't need peace
When you take pieces
Of me
Please don't turn out the light
Everything is not... alright
Life is a race
I cannot keep the pace
People ask what I am doing
But I am not sure where I am going
People think I am flying
On the inside I am dying
This is my knife
Deep into my life

Like this.

This.
And that you love me.
Even just that you are.

That you see softness and then it is.
That you lay down and I sleep.
That you are happy and so, I am.

You are.
And that you love me.
Like this.

cool down man

cool down man

you can't make everyone
listen!
many like me are
deaf and blind
in search of one
none can find

so leave your temper
far behind,
take God
out of your mind

cool down!

but you can't prohibit
poetry
that god alone does define
the critiques here
may refine....

Why this anger
I wonder
who so ever does
blunder
will get their share
why do you alone
about the unknown
so much
care...

cool down!
man!!!

Fallen Prey

mother scrubbed minds
gleaming halos of godshine
seen by no one
but fellow travelers
on the path of sheepy knee walk
grinning at the alter of a butcher,
giving thanks
for their divine lobotomies

N i g h t e n g a l a

strands of ideals
glisten ridden
upon the shoals
the hidden
tides
fishing

complimentary and pure

dipped in crescent notions
full of crespula reaching
bathed luxuriant and bare

a millenium breadth
spray fed and touched
an evening aura

worn in depths
smooth swept

Those Winter Sundays ( a poem not written by me)

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Is it your cup of tea?

when I pour out my thoughts
into that cup in front of you
I expect for you
to take every signal
I've decanted there

Take it sip after sip,
inhale its essence,
feel its bitterness
or sweetness,
appreciate the presence
of any additional scents,

Then tell me,please
how do you like it,
is it your cup of tea?

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