We, the wizards of word-art
and craftsmen of the quill,
the architects of verse like
Shakespeare and Poe and
keepers of the rhyme spells.

Bold and cunning wordsmiths
and new language alchemists
gather together at our
new version of neopoets.com.

Verses from the ethereal plane
race to our minds and through
our souls, telling of our pain
or our pleasure.
Everyday the words spill out.

As we tread the long and winding path
from quill to pen to machine,
we embrace the breakthroughs
and ease of performance in the aftermath.

As we march from the sonnets of yore
to the slam poets on current stages,
we herald the trials of modern poetry
and the former challenges we adore.

As we stride from notebook to laptop,
from haiku to free verse and such,
we appreciate the world of Neopoets.
and the camaraderie we find nonstop

Somewhere in time
I need to make
More friends
Because I only have
Few friends
And the friends I have
Got some respect for me
They respect my race
And my religion
Also, I respect my friends
Race and religion
Somewhere in time
My friends are praying for God
And God answer my friend's
Prayer
Somewhere in time
My friends are praying for the
Countries
That are in war
For them to have some peace
We don't know when the war will
End overseas

A raw and redemptive,
jagged lullaby wrapped
in grit and grace.

Confronting primal origins
of beauty, tracing how chaos,
trauma, and history's rough edges
are not just background noise,

but the very instruments
in life’s symphony.
Pain isn’t just a prelude to joy—
it’s part of the composition.

This poem, insistent:
what is beautiful isn’t
in spite of the brokenness,
but because of it.

A scratchy distorted
voice came through
my headphones and
microphone. I stood
on the broken red
rocks, and a mixture
of dust, trying to decode
what the message
was signalling .

Something
about deporting. My
eyes skipped in desperation
Through the tinted visor.
Nothing but vast canyons
dry riverbeds and valleys.
No sign of my teammates?
A crackling knocked me
out of that thought.

(even Mary Poppins would tout
a plug for said company she would spout
forcing playthings scattered helter skelter
retreating into their respective bins
analogous to a defeated army
beating a hasty retreat after a major rout
against all odds fighting off
the aggressive incursion
of a trumpeting lout,
which troops use weapon of choice
namely breath issuing "Kraut"
which in German, "Kraut"
primarily means herb
or the leaves and stem
of a plant, as opposed to the root,

Let it be
The arrival of the
New year
I hope we have a good year
Ahead of us
AIso I hope to accomplish my
Poetry writing
Also I hope
I will be no more sick
I am planning to stay
Healthy
In the new year
I have no idea if I
Will be able to do that
I am questioning that
AIso I am living now in
The future
I still don't know nothing
About my future
God please tell me about my future
Because I am dying to know
About my future
I hope not to make

Pristine, snowy chiffon of lore,
Glittering jewels, a tiara,
a sceptre, and alabaster pot.
All equal the witch I adore.

I am fond of and devoted evermore.
She enchanted me long ago.
She went house-to-house, charming
all who would fling open their doors.

Offering wrapped candies, they enrich
her lily-white kettle,
and complimented her costume.
My fondness is for my Halloween witch.

Sometimes, I say, it's good to drink.
It clouds the brain so you don't think
so deeply or with too much care.
Inebriation acts like prayer!
It mollifies and melts your fears,
and turns to joy your tortured tears.

When alcohol's your faithful friend,
the world that drives you round the bend
will morph, and be a thing with wings,
a tiny fly or bird that sings.
Whose buzz won't bother you at all.
Whose caw will ring like song thrush call.

Something unseen lingers above,
casting veils over the paths we tread.

Each fleeting breath connects us —
to the floating skies beyond,
to whispers weaving within.

Between beginnings and endings,
the now unfolds, echoing softly.

Each dawn opens like a wandering tide,
carrying fragments of yesterdays,
weaving stories anew, timeless yet transient.

The expanse stretches endless,
and within its reach, quiet hopes reside.