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The stream (all workshops)

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


naked hands

wont you die
for the partition of such gynecologic
Inuits and kraal as a Newfoundland
on a dog night afternoon eating mangetout
nakedness overwhelms all relent
consent and content. In tent
the nurses are a bridal infantry
cheer leaders to the chair ring-leaders
feasting less on drear satisfaction
than the game for swollen heads
for gloss was a crossfire
typhoon in pigment hemophilia

we've arrived at our neutral dusk,
Dunes to wind-worn dust!
I taste a great salinity in each breath,
the camisole drenched in rosehip,
is warmed with lavender and love!

Ms. Dog

It came upon me
like a slow breeze,
soft and cool with a ghostly swirl
giving a slight tug at the visions
once safely locked away


skin pushed back against the blade
until it split with time and turned
colors against one another

And me, all the while,
if the scar
would match my sweater

just a comparison


Life with seasons

Intelligence with common sense

Humans with animals


Rivers with life's sojourn

we come
to go
merge with the bigger one

we resurrect
as vapours
back to heaven
after life goes passed
half past seven

why half past seven?

well that's my rising time
each day
until I pass away!'
one day.....

After All...

There is nothing after here and now
Who says there is, is wrong
There cannot be; you must see
No here-after, when you're gone

But, what if ?
There is a god ?
Some great divinity
Suppose there is...
A place like heaven
Made for you and me

What would it be, this place of ours?
A state of bliss; angel's kiss?
Hot babes and hotter cars?

Hook Line And Stinker

Winter lags upon us
we're frozen to the core
While fog that frosts so eerie
rimes the pebbles near the shore.

Murky mists rummage dull
our fishing boat slips wet
while we are feeling weary
drooped with drizzles tête a tête.

Turbid clouds fluster chill
us sea dogs pull the horn
while gloom grows ever leery
making all of us forlorn.

Tiny waves rhythm churn
we feel each salt and slosh
while we sit sick and dreary
dripping wet in macintosh.

bucket list, and no more pages left
the beast in a transit of sedation's
the open fishes mouth now in a bubble
where to brash mutual consent
an alien to his people cannot
to the third eye the least eye
park and shop seldom on ten brothers
all in their sheathed sword proletariat
on the soul not so immune to decadence, sole shaft
slipping as a drop from a rooftop
card of black hearts slop domino
pumpkins on the rail-way prestidigitator
someones heartthrob by flood-lights

Little Baby

Little Baby smiles
seeing the world in her eyes
with sweet innocence

Learning step by step
from crawling, to stand and walk
falling and rising.

She's a gift from God
a painter of the soul's joy
who teaches what's love

Touching people's heart
with her loud burst of laughter
and by being true

Gazing at her face,
one may forget one's problem
Her charm is magic

Leaves of autumn.....Ian and Loved's duet

Ian and Loved’s duet*

*Colours of autumn floating by,
happiness spreading,
as a blanket on the ground
Feelings floating gently,
touching those in dreams
walk with these happy people
thinking that if winter should come
then spring is not far behind.

lovely thoughtful myriads kind
we all have in mind

so we all dream of lovelier
Ah! Yes so it seems...
hence most of the time
we all day dream...

Hating the Sin

There was Death in the air,
not mine, not yours
but it was Death's time for certain.

I can still smell it,
the sweet fade of your skin;
hear the ice crack like soft blown glass
beneath your feet as you rap at my window,
step through my door.

There's a wrongness about us.
Yet, hearts beat like drums pre-war
then you lie on me as the softest snow
does the hardened earth.


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