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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.

Neopoet Weekly 02/25/24 to 03/02/24 Winner!

This week the Neopoem is

 

 Three Forks by William Lynn

 

Congratulations to William Lynn 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.

 

Hello From Mother Nature...

You would think by my destruction
of your little domicile
That I don't care for you
my little ragged child

But it's not true, I love you
you've just gotten in my way
I'm blowing out the bad air
built up from yesterday

What you don't understand
is, I'm cleaning up the mess
the stuff that makes me dirty
clinging to my dress

You pollute my sparkling oceans
trash is eaten by my fishes
You leave garbage everywhere
served on plastic dishes

To Janice With Love...

As her voice rose to the stars
and filled my waiting ears
raw emotion took me places
I hadn't been in years

Back to days of happy times
when my heart was whole
unhurt by shattered dreams
built with another soul

I cried for all the times
I left her all alone
waiting through the night
beside a silent phone

The blue roughness of her voice
spoke of promises unkept
and as she sang of love
I hung my head and wept

Idle Intelligence

Hello. Sir,
I’m afraid
I must concur.

Madness gave birth,
Excuse the mess!
This is our planet earth.

Why? you curiously ask,
it changes hourly
Best have a compass or flask.

Insanity has an erection,
If you ask me abstain
It is the best form of protection.

The sane are now quiet,
So, thinking is unorthodox
where is a leader to try it

Instead of being open minded,
We gave our minds to reporters
Who assumed we didn’t mind it.

NIGHT CLOWN

I said my goodbyes to cut a path
down the black snake like winding
park

A sound of screeching invades my
ear holes
the further I walk . I froze so did
my thumping heart. My
eyes flicked alert.

Scanning the midnight
masked curtain i fixated on the
eerie distraction.

It was an old mischievous squeaking
swing
leisurely swaying back and forth then
halting.

Bile starts running up my throat my
body starts to shake.
My stomach wants to
chuck my left over McDonald's up.

What's in a motive?

Motves move like lightning
down a broken path.
Or lift us as an angel
over the aftermath.
They change just like the seasons
first here and then they're gone.
We can't retrace their meaning,
they sing mercurial songs.
Their heart it dwells with heaven
though awkwardly it sings.
Relying on forgivness
to finally reign them in.
As children we once understood,
what it was, that we should do.
Living then with innocent hearts
a gift that saw us through!

A Father Is A Girl's Best Friend!

Neopoet Contest: What my best friend gave me

Love from the "get go" on day one
do not remember I only heard tales
of the happy hours spent awake with you
you smiled at me, fair winds set my sails

You picked me up when I stumbled and fell
dusting me off you wiped away my tears
you assured me I had done no wrong
You were always there to chase away my fears

oh, how I loved and worshiped you
my very own champion of the heart
you loved me, no matter what was done
through my child days then divorce did part

Flight

There came a sleepless night
that offered little consoling light
from a sad crescent moon.

Amid the heavy silence
after the gouging violence
of the red afternoon,

they dug one vast, shallow grave
for those they tried, but could not save
and laid them there to rest.

Then gathered what remained,
though it was tattered and cruelly stained,
battered and oppressed.

Into this sleepless, cold night,
they began their uncharted long flight
away from all they had known.

Her Way of Flying

If she could, she’d help butterflies
arrange the powder on their wings
just so, and they would thank her

with brightly colored performances in the air.
She envies the exhilaration the young ones must feel
the first time they alight after their first flight.

She wears a colorful dress trimmed with lace.
The butterflies accept this effort to be like them.
And they’re okay with her inability to fly with them
because they know she does this in her own way.

Early Springtime

 
 

I recall your smile, front of forsythia, full bloom.

Photographs on  a sunshine day, McPherson Park.

Walking walkways, finding recollections, blossoming times.

You make me young, again, like dogwood flowers.

A gentle breeze moves your hair strings, red, veiled.

I’m blown away, cross fragrances, early springtime,

Our lives fine, now sublime.

 
 

Poetic Creations

 

 

It takes so long to let her live,

From way down deep, of herself, she shall give.

Innocence in there, helped with most care.

My love or my hell, to be done so well.

 

For weeks I sat and thought of her.

And words I write for her do say,

My love through night and through the day,

You surely live a lonely way.

 

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