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Notable Newbies!

Happy Tuesday! We've been quite busy over here in the social media department. We have Title Tuesday going on today over on our Instagram ( https://www.instagram.com/neopoet/?hl=en ). Head on over there to drop a title for the contest to get a chance to have one of your poems promoted on our social media accounts!

Our State of Growth

Hey all! Katie here. I’ve had the pleasure of re-joining the Neo team – helping with social media. Some of you might remember me from my chat committee days pre-2011. I’ve been on and off the site since, though admittedly due to life circumstances I’ve spent more time away.

Ghost of Michelangelo (February Contest)

She looked down upon her shaking palm
There were three more tubes of oil
And fell the old wood tool box
That was set open on her table

And she prayed that one more time
With some help she could get it done
Then an angel took her fingers
Helped her choose the deep blue one

It was Michael of the Angels
He would see it all get done
It was Michael of the Angels
That would turn it into fun

Civet Cat

If I ask you would you give me some time
A brief moment shared in rhythm and rhyme
I will not ask for any more than that
Just the merest glimpse of sweet paradise
Inhaling your sweet scent of civet cat
Aroma feeding my inner desire
Just a moment of lust shared between us
Ignites the spark of eternity’s fire
The supreme love of Vulcan and Venus
Again, I ask for a moment in time
The question hidden in casual chitchat
My words lost, disguised grains of wild rice
Will your heart see all this that I desire

Rorschach’s Cage

Walking in the dark,
walls made of stone.
Every step gives pause,
for they are not alone.

Breath grows heavy,
the path is long.
Ever downward,
to where all hope is gone.

As dim light glows,
what was dreaded appears.
Bars made of steel,
a cage draws near.

A creature small and weak,
sad and forgotten he sits.
Eyes empty and lost,
round bars tighten his grip.

Voice which once was lost,
whispers a now faded echo.
“Tomorrow I rise
out of depths below.”

The Drunk

I lean on the edge of here and there
A poet blessed with a cloud of despair
I am inspired
Can I build a house?
Will it be?
Do I require 70%
Enough, I despise myself
My greedy hands

Early Springs Morn.

Oh, how glorious to wake to an early Spring morn. A time when sleep is banished by the rising of a thumbnail of sun slicing through the outer crust of the earth, that we may see a presence by its further opening of the wound to view her golden existence heralding the birth of a new day.
It's golden light races across the fields of golden corn and the yellow of rape, and puts a smile on the dark faces of the Sunflower which have stood as sentinels throughout the night; now watching the returning bats their cry's silent in unheard lay.

Forty Fifth Class Reunion

Forty five years, no final kiss
Doubt I'll ever see her again
She was still a magnetic force
Same as rolling in autumn leaves

Her memory, sweet affection
Aroma of clinging soil
Filled my senses, warming autumn
Dead winter of hopeless desire

Northwesterly winds immature
Just like my life in our youth
When naked we held each other
And believed only we could know

Forty five years after the dump,
What the fuck was I expecting?

Stepmother

my step mom comes over to my office intermittently
turns on the computer and opens the emails
in the dark of night
making all cheery bright and lighted for my mourning arrival

so kind of her
making sure things are ready to go
she always the epitome of efficiency

did i mention
she's been dead now for over 20 years

The Bell

Again tonight a hazy hue
Suspended there within my view
I watched in awe while wide awake
then said a prayer, "my soul to take"

I have no fear of the unknown
and do not feel I am alone
Good or bad I have no clue
I hope and wish that it is you

Is this my mind just playing games
Or have I finally gone insane
A sign from you, that ringing bell
or something evil straight from hell

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