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OpenSSL / Heartbleed

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On April 8, shortly after the initial announcement, we examined whether we were affected. Based on this analysis, and from additional information we learned over recent days, we have no reason to believe any member information was compromised.

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The stream (all workshops)

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


Like Fingers

Those fingers are not like my family’s fingers.
And it’s okay, we even voice different,
never mind the language
Small trivial
air-weight vessels.
But it’s interesting, watching…
Subjectively perceiving a blended image
The most real of dreams
Ones not fast forgotten
And how this affects everything:
It’s in the milk
it’s in the butter,
we eat it with strawberries.
For ever,
now. It is forever-now.
My eyes,
can be seen
watching, as with fallible grace,

Haiku Pink cherry blossom fading

Pink cherry blossoms
overcome by signs of spring
sprouts of green foliage

dressage barrage

harsh bitterness hangs in the air
like this moon
shorn of cloud beyond
our reflections in the old poured glass

panes of pangs

delvish ruin
upon our arms
we drape our wounds
our aches
like gleaming charmes
and rush to greet
a calamity we become
sinking fast
the heat of our hunger
dripping like morning
the husks of a flowers
once beautiful
soft newness

petals of sighs
drowsy and high

Thy Lonely Love

Morgan my fair
Why doth loneliness catch unto
Thine earthly rooted stare?
Cannot thou from mere a glance
Paint blush on redest roses
Grown in lovely France?
Or taketh thou the coldest-hearted
Man in laze, and surely
Set his heart ablaze?
I have seen how bitter winter's blow
Been pleased to cease at sight of
Such thy charming glow
And even summer's searing heat
Been friendly 'nough to turn it's cheek
What bids thy heart to sit like stone
Morgan my fair

Senyru No more hugs for you

it is not funny
when I do not get my way-
no more hugs for you

You two..Ian and Jess

You two

I tell all my good friends
that Ian and Jess
are the lights
the torches
the candles
the flames
just say any names
who have reached out
from earthly to heaven domains

to teach me poetic games
which one day,
some day
all poets will frame
in their minds
as do you two


I love the way you polish a poet,
innocent of poetic nuances
like you always do
You two

back arch beneath the starch linen shirt
resting on the laurel spine
the wool spun weave
of a slither loom that shunts
quick as a cats eye

the clan
the tartan
bright and scheming

spring air in the flags
and whistling in the
while at the horizon
a blush of
fuscia dreamer


I shall write to you in mornings glow,

would you walk with me there,

things I need to know.

if the world is the same,

for you as it is for me.

A lovely place for poets to be

They sometimes make me cry.

I have searched for many a day,

To stop those tears in my eyes.

I want to find a trace of your light,

It was not fair you know

A trail gone cold in my sight

To walk that extra mile

As I just wanted to be with you,

To see your beautiful smile.

To all that you know

Poison Envy

maybe it's just me
but it seems automatically
most of your mugs must just
get green easily
every time I step into your scenery
like literally
your green-ons must make a mockery
of the hardest tree-hugging retard
getting off to Appleseed
and markedly
your eyes grow mimickly proportionally
quite possibly subliminally
signalling me wishfully
but unfortunately
I don't have the means or the capacity
I'm largely lacking limbs
to employ in your orgy


turn down the radio
the darkness slips the latch
to these gates

and the ribbons of night
create their works
swiftly moving masque

touch to touch
as innocent as breath
and text

trembling nervous as
the stars
filling appetites of
heavens charmes


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