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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

WHAT IF....

If I'd never fished I'd not have seen
ducks flaring in a beaver pond
with heads and sometimes wings of green.
I'd wave my hand and they'd respond
by landing a lot farther away.

I once saw a fish eat a snake there,
a sudden splash and it was gone.
With now passed brother I would share
tripping on logs just after dawn
while near beavers would splash and spray.

The Girl Who Didn't Exist Part 4

Nevermore is still at the gas station, standing over the split skull of the unsuspecting gas station attendant. She looked at the blood spatter across her dress. Now what would she wear into town? Wearing a blood stained dress in public could spell disaster for her little plan. She looked around to see if this hole in the wall had any clothes hanging around.)

SASHA: (speaking from within) What did you do?

NEVERMORE: (gritting her teeth) What needed to be done.

SASHA: He didn’t do anything to you.

NEVERMORE: (bitterly) He lied. They ALL lie!

We write to while

We write to while
they read to,
at us smile
we love to be heard
that's our style
they have but to walk
that extra mile
so Neopoets
smile with me
I will also with thee

but let you all smile
along with us,
but not at us
will all smile please....

So smile will ye
all neopoets
as does this loved
lovedly

THE TRUTH AND THE POLITICIAN

Our politicians
so mercurial
their loyalties
are difficult
to keep track of

Ideology
is a word
you will find
in some dusty archive
written perhaps
on papyrus
or clay tablets
political expediency
is the new
ideology

Scoody Doo (Story telling in Verse WS) Part II

 

It all happened at the old graveyard

One cold, chilling misty night

It was so vaporous

nothing's clear to the sight

 

A Spooky spirit:

I heard last night a shriek

it got my heart to freak

The whole place had a shake

it quivered and quaked

 

shadow (1):

What was that sound

that shook the ground?

Let's check with the guard

of the misty graveyard.

shadow (2):

MEDUSA'S TOUCH

MEDUSA'S TOUCH

It's ok to cry when you know
you are going to die
alone.
It's ok to weep when no one
is there to hold your hand.
I see myself decline
each day..
I fight to stay alive
but my body betrays my will
I have become as stone
sitting still
in my chair alone.
thinking of the day
I will be gone.

Soliloquy for Ian

Loved or lovedly....

I have stopped posting here
having taken a sabbatical
entered another domain
where busy I remain
now breathless

Neopoet doesn't need me
I have learned a lot happily
so let me be me
and Ian all my love for thee
you are the only one who held my hand
all these three and one half years

a soliloquy for you

Oh! My friend
philosopher
and guide
stay alongside
let no colour of skin differentiate you and me
I have the same with- in

A Night Of Folly

Loud voices filled the air
as exuberant youths spoke.
One drove the car at full speed,
breaking rules of traffic,
showing off his skills,
Seeking the thrill
felt in the movies
was his wish.

A reckless moment
carved by the speed demon,
caused life to screech to a halt
and blood splattered
like a messy art.

Then the silence settled in
where the car has crashed off road
and souls wept over young bodies,
completing a night of folly.

A Note To Loved

I shall write a little for you to peruse,
As I see my hands flitting slowly across the keys.
My skin I notice is a whitish brown,
Due to the suns rays that fall around.

This brings thoughts to me and makes me frown,
Why is it only the skin we sometimes see.
You know that every man should be colour free.
Yesterday I scratched my hand and out from beneath ran
A flow of red and I thought again
That everyone is just the same.

THE PESSIMIST

Pessimistic. Referendum 2014 - SCOTLAND

One more day, the Runes are cast.
One more day, then peace, at last.
Which politicians told most lies?
I doubt we’ll ever know.
But who would curb my Scotland’s rise
Had best lie low.

Freedom is our Northern light,
It brings a luminescence bright.
Some comfort in the autumn’s chill,
As leaves are slowly turning.
We must accept the voters’ will,
Yet feel the salt tears burning.

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