Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

The stream (all workshops)

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


Weather Report - New England

She is here then gone only to return worse, like waves – the nor-easter
Then sometimes will become so hot that it will burn our exposed skin
Cold, so much so, our fingers get bitten by the freeze - frost bite
(no Robert Frost did not bite) but Jack frost?
She is loose from asylum a true bi-polar, she and her mood swings

Burning Birds

If I never breathe another breath,
I’m not like the mistresses-
(Who, to you, don’t exist at all,)
With the mistakes of gold
Paved in current red.
In my point of view-
Every day the game changed
When running on empty
was the only thing I had.
Why must you give it all-
Then take it all away.
Such a foolish little girl.
With her bright cerulean eyes
And dreams of flying to freedom.
I take those matches,
I’m not afraid to burn to run,
With flames in my wake,
It’s time for better.

CITY SKETCHES Sixteenth in the Scuppernong series

Two men walk by, animated
each having their own sight in the moment
they are bringing vision out of dreams
putting possibilities into practice.

Japanese women, a dozen or so come out of Scuppernong Books
look uncomfortable in the heat, perhaps wishing for Tokyo
speaking in their native tongue
one is angry speaking in body language only.

One man of color walks by, preoccupied,
his thoughts trailing like balloons behind.

Song Help

I'm writing a song and I kinda got stuck halfway through
I need a title and I need more ideas
you can post your thoughts and song ideas in the comments
and it's ok if you change the whole song
here it is

I standstill as the chaos swirls around me
I feel ill like a hole in this story
I don't mind if nobody seems to notice me
but when he looks at me

Big Sally.

Bless all the barmaids that have ever lived
who carried featherlite and knobbly ribbed,
who listened to waffle and crap I spoke
who granted liddle me, a slap n poke,

Who parted flaps whilst in drunken stooper
and gave the bird, to the party pooper!
the big ones, the small ones, the fat n thin
god bless slappers, that invited me in,

Bejeezus Begorra, Mag da Horra,
bless all barmaids, I'll shag on the morra!
big tits big ass, n the ones that pass gas
god bless the ones that I’ve yet to harass,

Tavern Song

Take a pause and sit down
Drink your fill but don't drown
Eat a pie or a morsel exotic
Give a burp and a fart
Save some room for a tart.
And meet her upstairs for a frolic

The cursed heart

My sun rises
My Moon falls
Hollow hearts cannot

The seas rock
The Sky sores
Trapped by my ores lock

Trapped by unforgivable light
No reflector for my sender
Everlasting light yet eternal blender

Forever in-sequence
Thy rusts stainless cords
Polar love the moon and the sun

The never-ending seas
Thy un-graspable heart
Denial shall blood flow

I a shady sight
You the sketchy sky
The everlasting cords
Shall never lie

Peach Poem Recipe November Contest

I envy the prolific poet
who can whip up a delicious dish
of twenty lines (or less)
and present it
like a perfect peach pie;
warm, topped with ice cream.

Words woven in an intricate lattice;
buttery, they melt on my tongue;
taste buds tantalized by the
succulent, brown-sugared mound
of fresh fruit imagery, juicy
and lovingly intermingled


I haven’t thought much about her ashes
since she’s been gone. Grief, as I’ve known it,
never needed a physical place to take up residence

But I’m worried about the ashes now
as we try and make our peace
with dispersing the dust of what is left behind

How will I know which ashes were there on my first day of school?
Which ones listened to me when I needed to share my troubles?
Maybe I’ll be able to make out those that were part of her smile…

Give and Take

I don't care to let anyone in
because then they know
just where you have been

You are a people collector
a hoarder of souls
i think you know
you need to let them go

You gather them
as you would bees in a jar
or like postcards held
in cellophaned pages

You'll have to let them be
open the lid
rip out a leaf

people crave for a time
a bit of their own
to spend on themselves
to share with a friend


(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.