Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Home

Community News

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.

 

Do You Really Like It?

What do we really like well let's think?
We can jot our thoughts finely pointed Ink.
Such curiosity something.more to think
I am an Apple computer link
clicking everything in seconds to blink

We are savvy writers a snack of words
We peck nestful of Robin birds
The love seed's the finer things
What we like everything becomes a need
Like your taste of mink indeed
So stirring eyes of wine
Like two drinkers wink
Are our hearts racing your car hums?

Sanguine Cravings

How goes the moonlight
Stealing the day, unleashing the night
Her frozen soul awakens
Confronting a ravenous appetite

Inky black hair
That matches the starry sky
Plush red lips
Against snow white skin
Crystal blue eyes
That lock you in

From her perch, she leaps
Onto the deserted street below
There has to be someone
Surely they will show....

And there he was
As if he heard her thought
With a fanged smile, she waited
For just the right spot

If You Ever Change your Love

She felt next to a sizzling death.
Was this the good Godly earth.
If you ever change the petals mind.
He looked at her changing face so
kind right form formalized.
Like a change love needed
Her heart pleaded with red hues
Another plant beloved seeded

Oh unread poets

to be treated as a poet
never go slow

when some guy like me
has nothing to mow

all unread poetry
one like me will swallow

and

you will be reborn as a poet anew

never say die
I will always come to read you...

Gothoms Bat

Batman’s secret identity is Bruce Wayne.
derived from two historical figures
Robert the Bruce
And Mad Anthony Wayne.
He’s really buff, brave,
and strong.
he is the bat wielding Bat

Batman has no powers,
For it’s not tangible
But he can rely on his tech
So he is formidable
to get him through
another day!
his parents died
earlier some way
a horrific slaughter

Coin On The Cob...

Coin On The Cob...

I try hard to see the world in full,
it’s beauty and of course it’s beast.
There can be now no denial of cruel,
mirroring their starvation as we feast.

What animal parades it’s kill like we,
in our advertisement for beef or rice.
While gaping in the mirror we see,
an image quite the opposite of nice.

Their hungers there in bone or eye,
even the touch of a blind man feels.
Reflecting inward through you and I,
so still, their sense of dignity appeals.

Spectator Spectacle:

Dawning village view
Landscape lush with morning dew
Birds trilling anew

Love is a peace weapon

The seamless seed of beatitude is love,
helplessly for its lushness we all crave.
Love genuine , breeds, nurtures peace;
erects a podium for elegance.

Hate, strife, could be carried in a gurney,
through a long, doomed and return less journey,
into a dark lonely ignoble hearse,
with a great unstoppable speed and ease .

If love across the universe is strewn,
until true blissfulness on earth is known
and everyone of us croons with one voice
from our hearts, harmonious songs of peace.

Only for a Moment

So much is open ended. A giant Santa’s skirt buttoned

with glass, the hands of the pupetteer dominatrix,

a strange god wrapped in wet tooth enamel, there

it will only hurt for a moment, if only there. It will

be put in a traffic light box; my life began in a storybook

in Borges’ imaginary library, Bruges De La Mort, the sequel?

The reading room is scratched with glass notes, drawn

with the beginnings of composition. but the patrons aren’t

much for it, the livid nosed listen not to hear, self contained,

The Monster Slash...

A piercing cry, a horrified scream
Travels down the deserted street
The fog rolls in from the bubbling stream
As the children trick or treat

In the dark, in the wicked dark
Black evil lurks in the night
A predator roams the lonely park
Staying out of sight

A young and foolish woman; brave
Unafraid of ghosts
Said; “I'm not scared of any grave”
Her beer, she raised in toast

Pages

(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.