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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

august bern

Knees up
the door swung open
the trucks hauling logs
to the mills chase
traffic
the low highway
shifts crawling fast
from the release
of these lights

her fingers working
drawing a quick hand
down the face
the quick looks
shift shift
but she knows I tell
the knows
read the tells
and still
keep flicking the
sign
On and Off

I lean forward
turning the ring
over in my hands
like a coin
on the tips of
fingers like
a hurdle

Chimera

she collaged us
our lives
our souls
half each other
neither left whole

blended integrities
derigueur
only plural pronouns
were preserved

a slow motion crafter
always conniving
I hardly noticed
what she'd been devising

old habits were scrubbed
friends, cold shoulder shooed
favorite toys disappeared
I could no longer wear blue

her purpose in all this?
I don't really know
but this frankenstein
...it finally died
when I refused to wear her clothes

Echoes (Stan's Contest)

I lay awake a night of squalling rain
and list for that I heard once long ago,
of pipe and string that plied a mournful strain,
an Elfish song of sorrow, sage and slow.

‘Twas heard by me the first when but a child,
a song of ruthe amidst a nameless storm.
Though lyricless it spoke of faith defiled
and false respect that took a heinous form.

Shy of the Tiger

I reckon we recognise
and appreciate deeply
the freedom
of a bad deed
not exacted upon us
as it goes against
the very grain
of our experience.
some people hear
about the terrible things
we know of.
they don't hear it from us
and can't know it
like we do
thank the stars

Love's puppets

And today I let you
Hear what I have to say
For its not for the weak kneed
Faint at heart
You were all of those yesterday

I speak my mind
No longer holding my peace
Because you've destroyed
My inner sanctum
My predesignated release

You seem to listen
And nod as if you
Understand
But then you turn around
And become less of a man
Because I'm nothing but
A game you're tired of playing
A story your sick of writing

Newhall

First visit to Newhall

it takes a momentous occasion to leave the capital
for the outback of beyond,
the serenity of field
upon field.

"your'e looking well"

"i'm feeling good"

We could do worse.

Next table another pair.
"that's her sugar daddy" says mine

now looking back it was him
you were hoping for, not me.

Age (prose poem)

A paper moth strung from a candy gloss vellum embossed with micro pastel flowers and autographed library ISBS scanned in constellate ions of hypnopomp.

BUMP~

Kaffienne lip
the bob shinning
bent neck from the balance
of shoulder bared
the salmon value dusk
the valve of an hour
shutting
the black of night spilling
spooling up through
the trunks
a lost forest

Aurora velvet
a disk of night
with moons
flick eyelash
tutor

Empty lot lights
fire up
a trail of tail lights
snake up on the
curve ramped overpass
ember hisses
like cherry gloss

Rage

Covered by a a blanket of rage,
my heart knows no forgiveness.
I condemn the author of my pain
who has shred my life into pieces.

Cursed be the drunk driver who left me bleeding
after he rammed my future into a living nightmare.
No amount of cash can return my broken dreams!
The good life I painted in my mind is no longer there

Poem For The Big Oval

car-go-'round-and-'round-and 'round
car-go-'round-and-'round-and-'round

car-go-'round-and-'round-and-'round
car-go-rou BOOM!

car-go-'round-and-'round-and-'round
car-go-'round-and-'round-and 'r BAM...BANG..SQRuNK..

car - go - 'r o u n d - a n d - 'r o u nd-and-,'round-and -'round-and-'round-and-'round-and...

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