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This week the Neopoem Of The Week is When the Maidens from the Kitchen of Hell Rebel by Maximus. Congratulations to Maximus on such a fine poem. To read this poem please click the link below and leave a comment.

May 2023 Contest Winners!

Please help us congratulate Our May 2023 contest winners.

The monthly contest A Tribute To Mother
The Winner is Ruby Lord with the poem MAMMY
The May 2023 New Member Contest Winner!
The winner is Tigger Kaz with the poem titled I'm Sorry
The May 2023 Challenges Winners are

This week the Neopoem Of The Week is Dark Angel 5 by Alex Tanner. Congratulations to Alex Tanner on such a fine poem. To read this poem please click the link below and leave a comment.

This week the Neopoem Of The Week is Sunsets by Kelly Ann Wilson . Congratulations to Kelly Ann Wilson on such a fine poem, To read this poem please click the link below and leave a comment.

The stream (all workshops)

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


THE AWAKENING ( written by Chima my elder brother)

My roots are NOT hinged on the clouds that floats
But on EARTH the base of my mother's dwelling
From whose womb i am called forth up out off sleep from slumbering,
By the whispering melody:
The echoes of the invisible Sun...

The Boot on the other foot.

She found them right at the back
of the wardrobe
when she was having a clear out
They looked brand new
tan,pointed,low heeled ankle boots
They still had the stickers on the sole
the buckles still shone
nade of fake gold.
She held them
She sat down on the bed
with those boots in her lap
She recalled the day she got them
Her Dad had given her the money
a way of saying sorry for something
She couldn't remember exactly
It might have been the time
he'd walked into her bedroom

The last raindrop dries

I water the garden with the old green hose
earthworms only breathe in dampness

the tank is nearly empty

I rake dry veined leaves and find
such treasured things
snails's shell cracked teapot
fan of magpie feathers tied with string

spoon from your house my love
dropped one day
I stole it in my pocket

blue glass blurred to softness from the beach
small piece of coral

else where a dingo howls
howls on the south wind
and on my weary face

the last raindrop dries

With Dad

Gone and now cremated,
I wait for my sister
to meet me at his now-
once bungalow. Searching
through the remains,
sifting among clothes
he left behind,

I put on a jacket
hanging in the closet,
turn toward the mirror
on an opposing wall.
I see gray hair and a beard,
half a century old,
but below that,


I did something brave today.
I’ve done brave things before
but it’s been so long,
I’ve forgotten what it feels like.

But today,
I did it.

Going into it,
I was nervous…
Scared even.
But I gritted my teeth
and tightened my fists
and I went for it.

I did it even though I had knots in my stomach.
I did it even though my hands were shaking.

I turned my fear of the unknown
into excitement for a new opportunity.

And as soon as I did it,
I felt better.
Better than I have in years.

I pray that greed departs

I won't be buying £4 ketchup,
Nor any other over inflated thing.
I won't be buying expensive coffee,
Greedy people can go swing.

I won't be giving my loyalty,
Not to those who rob us blind,
I won't be lining the pockets,
Of the greedy and the unkind.

I won't be sorry for my opinions,
Nor the decisions that I make.
I won't feel sorry for the greedy,
Not the actions that they take.

Write a love poem without using a love word

A lovely you are
Show me your
exquisite beauty
In the splendor view
of a growing field that
it stands out from the crowd
with the exude of innate beauty
from the blooming flourish
nurturing care
and rapturous personality
That never ceases to showcase
With its passionate display
That it brings to show the comfort
From the uplifting one spirit soul
To claim you as my special one
For all the years that my admiration
grow for you
For that, I shall never forget

moisture of ghosts

shooting stars and satellites -
the forest rustles with their stories

feathers on the ground

I falter

this place was never mine
woven with the language of wild others
in forests and forgotten places
flick of snake in grass
night eyes watching me -
those open mouths of shadows

my footsteps crunch pebbles on the riverbed -
that sudden rush of water


"Welcome to the collective hive,"
the M.C. from the center ring cries,
"where being numb means being alive!"

Acrobats, jugglers, and clowns arrive
with no festive feel—as everyone sighs,
“welcome to the collective hive.”

The crowd below climbs the high dive
grateful to lunge to their own demise
where being numb means being alive.

Individuals could not survive
from consuming the ringmaster’s lies.
Welcome to the collective hive


Black wings and bad boys
Loud music and crumpled paper
Born a secret and died the same
Here lies RoseBlack, what a shame


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