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Early Spring Image Prompt contest Winner!

The winning poem of the

Early Spring Image Prompt contest is

 The Visitor by  Mary Beth Magee

Congratulations to Mary Beth Magee on such a fine poem.

Neopoet Weekly 03/17/24 to 03/23/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

2:23am by zach

 

Congratulations to zach on such a fine poem.

Early Spring Image Prompt Contest Vote

Early Spring Image Contest Vote

 

Please read the two finalist poems below and click on the vote here link to vote on your favorite poem. Voting ends March 29th 2024.

 

 

The Visitor

By: Mary Beth Magee

You visit for a moment,

Accept a breath of hospitality,

Then dash away again.

You share your company briefly.

 

But in that time, oh,

The magic you bring.

From tiny eggs to instars

To gloriously patterned wing.

 

I watched you hatch and crawl,

Grow, shed and wriggle.

You change your dress. Your

New look makes me giggle.

 

You give me joy and delight

With your aerial ballet.

My royal friend, magician,

Harlequin at play,

 

Dear monarch, share your gift

Of grand, exuberant joy

With all. Give us eyes to

See, and feelings to employ.

 

You set an example

Of living in the moment.

Let us live so our days

Are likewise spent.

 

Dash on, my friend,

Your destiny calls.

Send your children my way

When the milkweed grows tall.

 

Spring Comes

By: Candlewitch

 

Fields of springy clover

beneath my barefoot toes,

dance-happy feet kick up

a delight everyone knows!

 

Green, green all around,

a heart full of joys untold

rolling over and over in

nature's paradise hold!

 

In gardens of my growing hopes

tulips, buttercups and crocus

flourish healthily blossoming,

as Spring comes into focus.

 

 

Vote Here

Neopoet Weekly 03/010/24 to 03/16/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

Dancing In The Dark  by  William Lynn

Congratulations to William Lynn on such a fine poem.

Neopoet Weekly 03/03/24 to 03/09/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

THE LAST RING by  Jokerface82

 

Congratulations to Jokerface82 on such a fine poem.

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Or We Must Forever Hold Our Peace

George Washington once said he couldn't lie

then Abe Lincoln announced his honesty,

each President has since claimed they were, too

the only thing twas shared by all were lies.

~

I must admit a voter can cause change

or else at worse can shine a light to all,

that with a government that always lies

we'd better all unite or else we're doomed.

~

Widely not a recommended topic

political discussions do go sour,

we all must try and be good examples

Workshop: 

Antidote

In a dark room she is a glimpse of light
On a sad face she is a glowing smile
The sun on a cloudy and misty day

She is the antidote to that dis ease
The sweet sound of friendly conversation
When the only one listening is the wall

The scissors to suffocating ropes
The promise between all the lies
The honest Abe amongst politicians

The artwork on a blank wall
The enemy of uninvited insecurity
Meet my better half, poetry

Defibrillator (Iambic Pentameter)

Far down the vale slow death has wrought from time
no offers tempt an extra hour of life
no promise makes new offerings of strife
seem real enough to take from what is left
before the water's icy shock makes sear
of power slammed into a pounding chest
by Science seem as pure as fleeing soul.

Workshop: 

The Iron Hog

Under a hog made out of iron
where libations flow so fast
and the music will coerce your feet to dance;

be aware of your surroundings
and forget about the past,
let the room fill up with party, and romance!

~

There's no way you're in the wrong place
it's "hog heaven", as they say
let's celebrate together young, and old;

we'll all raise high our glasses
and toast the aging of the day,
staying well after the final joke is told!

~

Ends

 

Workshop: 

An unrhymed piece in trochaic tetrameter

A unrhymed poem in trochee.

Nonsense is the answer, poet.
Incongruity in poesy
hides a lack of innate talent.
Nonce words need no vindication,
whimsy never wants but fancy.
Cognizance is over rated.
Since the reader does not “get” it,
why should we write subtle verses?
Dr. Geisel understood it,
Dodgson wrote to feign dementia.
Audiences thought ‘twas genius.
Why, oh why, should I make sense then?
There is only one good reason-
“I” would like to read my poesy.

Workshop: 

Bitten

Narcotic  grin, agitated 
Demon jaws swallow her whole 
She is afflicted

Savage, insane, horrified and stricken
Terrified She will rip out throats 
As a result of being bitten
  
Holds herself in prone position
Lamenting what has come to pass
Longing to be forgiven

Were wolf lover addicted
To her sensuality   
Stalking her in the undergrowth , undetected  

Fatal collision only one will survive 
Tooth and claw
Who will be victorious and end the fight alive?

STRESSED by STRESSES (meter workshop)

Damn! there goes another poet
off to the land of nonmeter
overstressed about the stresses
made to write outside of rhyme
(though he did it this one time)

Syllables spoken naturally
though in a southern dialect
even when spoken out loud
stressed and unstressed run together
as his head turns into mush

Losing count of all the lines
as he slowly loses his small mind
while sitting in the padded room
trying to write trochaically

Workshop: 

The Forest At Night

sunsets beauty showing pastel lighting
mother nature's canvas unfolds to earth
the tress outlined in shades of dark shadow
hanging heavy from nights dew drop splendor
forest creature will sleep without the fear of harm
upon it's floor a bed of leaves and twigs
cushion the sound footfalls that man will make
all is silent at peace and rest for now

Workshop: 

Someone more than I

And there is always someone in more pain,
a hunger to which I can not relate.
Someone who's anguish, borders on insane.
Someone with so much more upon their plate.

And what right do I have to make complaint?
What horrors have I suffered on this Earth?
Empty canvas devoid of hope or paint,
a victim from the moment of Its birth.

What right have I to morn upon its grave?
What solace gathered should I end it's plight?
What false anger unfurls the flags we wave?
And what would be the point, to win its fight?

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