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Earn A Poem Workshop 2 workshop

This shows the poems in just one one workshop. To see all the poems on Neopoet, go to the stream. Or go to the workshop page itself, where you can find out more about the syllabus.

PROCRASTINATE

Submitted by Ruby Lord on Tue, 2023-12-19 09:57

Procrastinate, I leave it late —
as possible, and contemplate.
While still undone, I ruminate —
to taunt my mind and fabricate.
If truth be told, I deliberate,
and cannot help, but complicate,
I overthink, and obfuscate.
Integrity, I shall negate.
Don’t stop me if I exaggerate.
If you were I, we’d delegate,
And give to her, considerate.
Still, I must, delay, or hesitate.

Workshop: 
Earn A Poem Workshop 2

Love Song

Submitted by Ruby Lord on Fri, 2023-12-15 11:28

In search of truth, I ask the question,
Have you ever seen your God?
Does the flame burn bright, suggestion,
Or pierce your heart as lightning rod?

My flicker of intention cries in shame,
With cowardly request, I ask for more,
As I am forgotten in my fame,
My answers fall as death to shore.

Shall we stroll ‘neath darkened skies,
On streets anaesthetised, in drink and dope.
Our lust undone with frenzied cries,
To live a moment of impassioned hope.

Workshop: 
Earn A Poem Workshop 2

WHISKERS AND WINGS

Submitted by Ruby Lord on Wed, 2023-12-13 09:24

Five cats sitting on the wall, and Limpsy brings a friend.
They groom and cry for breakfast, each one fed in the end.
And mammy takes the food out to fairly sub divide,
Five cats wait upon the wall, they’re the ones who decide.

And every day they’re eager, a choir of lion’s roar,
As mammy climbs the ladder, frenzy more and more.
Now milk won’t do it has to be, delicacies of fish,
Each of them has their very own, individual dish.

Workshop: 
Earn A Poem Workshop 2

LIFE’S BETTER WHEN YOU IGNORE THE SHIT

Submitted by Ruby Lord on Tue, 2023-11-21 10:01

To rise each day, use a curtain alarm,
it saves you from pain and personal harm.
Allows you to arrive at unhurried pace,
and celebrate slowly, coming last in the race.
Each morning a comedy, free of ill humours,
Secured in whispers, not celebrity rumours.

With stories unfolding, innuendos expand,
And every reporter, shakes dysentery hand,
To chat over cow muck, the snake oil salesman,
In game of banter, to buy and sell you again.
But I’m as happy as shit on a rock,
Late out of bed, daylight savings o’clock.

Workshop: 
Earn A Poem Workshop 2
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