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The stream (all workshops)

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


Egged On...

There are vicious little critters
Thought Killer to himself
They’ll jump you in a minute
Like that hairy little elf

Just a jiving little be-bop
Playing eleven games
Misfit, hairy, fuck-up
To give him several names

That’s OK, says Killer
I’ve never eaten elf
But, there always is a first time
I can can him for the shelf

Keep him for a rainy day
When I need something new
Tenderize him with a pounding
Make him easier to chew

Tears (Sunku New Style)

I cry
Not for you
Just the memory

Flowing free
I turn mirrors

Inside of me
A truth of love.

Take care Ian.

Unborn Friendship

I live in lovelihood of words
and letter combinations.

I float between
the windows in my room.

And February fog
invited in,
still hesitant and eerie,
hangs at my door.

We will be drinking hot
and aromatic grog
with fruits suspended in magenta.

We will be drawing sketches on
the dust of cinnamon and pepper
and talking only
about things that matter:


quieted steps
and muffled voices

hang sideways
death came alone

spring cries
it is wrong
to harvest early


A school
of fish swam
in uniforms

Got caught
in torrent
of torment

Their ocean
in turmoil
turned bloody red





Sunku Workshop

Roast fest
Burning bricks
And fire bombs

Been kicked out
Pissed off in the house
I’m like
A strange bird
Caught in the wind

Hangin' Van Gogh

Hangin' Van Gogh,
out at the French Chateau,
palates all been dressed,
just to construct this mess,
burgundy red to Royal blue,
portray ruling societies true virtue,
hangin' Van Gogh.

Now you know this Van Gogh,
he felt kinda low,
brush strokes rigid, direct,
softening to near perfect,
his crimson's bled, society's bed,
his brush dipped in pain,
such excess, insane.
He saw beauty in all that waste,
high society not his taste,
hangin' Van Gogh.


suffer the emmense silence briddled through it's cadence alone
filter through the emmense prism where time and space is reflected
hands emmerse through the closet of fear captured in the viles of tears
shadows block the vortex toward the innate following of belonging

Fraud Cum Laude

Conspiring in bank
Friends in High Places to thank
Fleeing as stock sank


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