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The stream (all workshops)

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



This strangely downcast smile,
on marble angel’s lips,
which stands here all the while,
in shadows that eclipse,
beneath a rippled cross,
a dark and baleful sky;
still mourning some great loss,
or does she wonder why...
we humans as a rule,
don’t treasure every breath
and live life to the full ...
or come to terms with death?



Fingers sticky from candy and chips
he mows down the enemy
The field is cleared away at last
He reaches for the salty bag
and finds the crumbs of rations

A little R&R, before jumping into the war again
He needs sustenance more than he needs ammo
Complete silence greets his ears
as he searches for something
to boost his energy level

Locked and loaded, the enemy in his sights
he triggers a burst of fire and chews
Spittle dripping from his chin, he wipes his face
and bombs their lines

love for an ole poet

Your love for me,
still an upcoming poet
well over seven decades old

‘‘Sends electric currents up my spine
I shiver
but not shudder''

Poetry, beauty, emotion,
God, divinity
will be reconsidered
if the poetry is
not transformed

back into hibernation
into its nascent cell

As all oysters
can't produce pearls,
few alone
invaluable gems.


She is, he was.
He is, she was.
He is, he was.
She is she was.
She is, he was.
One to hit the gas and one to put the brakes on.
He is, she was.
The one to tip the scale, the one to make it balance.
He is, he was.
The one to be afraid, the one to be afraid of.
She is, she was.
The one to walk away, the one to play catch up.
She is, he was.
The one to feel strange, the one to be at home.
He is and she was.
The one to be today, the one to be tomorrow.
He is, he was.


chewing the stick of gum
wrapper shiny as the metal
of a gun
a paper filter tipped dangles
dancing with each masticating

ocean green stargaze up through
the cracked skylight
the elevators doors shunt open
on the lobby below
the push bar creak
traffic and noise and the heat
of the day walks in and lies

Gentle Ways

I walked with you,
In the perfection of time
Feeing the talk words
As they echoed through my mind.

As we passed by,
They called out all things to me
Of things I wished to know,
As I travelled on my way.

You smiled as the colours
Bounced away at my very soul,
You accepted that the think talk
Was the one I would know

As if we were to stay
Here, forever and a day
The words flowed as a stream,
That bubbled on its way

The Story Of My Burning Brain

people ask us how we feel
when they don't want the real answer.
my family doesn't want to know
my friends don't want to know,
YOU may not even care about
how I feel, but I've cooped this up inside for far too long.

I explain how I feel by saying
that everything in my home is "on fire".
the tile that I used to walk on is burning,
the carpet that I use to lay on is now flaming,
and what use to be a mirror is now just
shattered glass doused in gasoline.

Quiet words for airports

The nagging prey
The nagging prey
of the rain window at dawn
is a storm grey worming in
from the north;

expedience in such dreariness
should produce words
mellifluous describing precipitation,

but here, in Sydney, a blackout in Blacktown
leaves us voiceless
and unheard in
light shattered hotel rooms.

Limbo-land, where
quiet airports have their own
special horror-
the stasis of one hung moment,
waiting for the call.

Blind or Deaf do accept

What's your preference

In all my long life
of seven decades
I have learned
only a thing
maybe two

first is this
''only a blind man
can have sympathy
for a deaf man'''

to all of you

Who is better
a blind one or deaf
I am both

fifty fifty
one plus half -eye
one half
the other half -ear
divided by two

How would you rate me
if I ask you to do


as soon as Spring's in,
my heart becomes a heaven
and I got to wonder then
what She has borrowed
from the sparrow's agenda,
and what from the jasmine's.


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