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.



Her voice was like the Angel's melody
That could heal the heart's malady.

How jealous were the seraphims
While concealing their darkness through their whims.

A peach that promised eternity
Was sent in her chamber with utmost secrecy.

Delighted for such a gift of immortality,
She ate the Seed that rooted her endless melancholy.

Unable to sing, she watched the dawning of the day
And cursed all the Angels with words she couldn't say...

Days of Dim (part III)

Soft skinned androids will breast feed
The newborns of genetic generations;
They will live in pleasure domes serene.

And they shall be as giants of creation
Arrogant to be as the gods have been
Where all that is is imagination.

The whole of history to days of dim,
Life will eclipse to computer chips.
It is late in the hour of our transformation!

Jehovah’s plan was survival by greed-
The big creatures eat the smaller breeds;
Salvation at last! Onward to plan B!

Dancing Upon A Limb

remember me among the sea so faithfully we must agree

through shadows peak along the path in the forest
a spotted owl in a tree on the path a grey fox
caress a lavender flower the braided tapestry of the sun
shouts of laughter from within a pull of the heart

dancing through a limb on the tree must humbly agree
the brigade of silence attacks the meager senses
alone I sat once again within my thoughts
thinking of that spotted owl how it quivers

On Lawson Road

It was a miracle;
One Lady Slipper
pushed her crooked way
through gray of snow top
while one Tiger Lily knelt
hoping to live on.

Lady Slipper began to bloom,
opened her eyes beholding
Tiger Lilly in his struggle
for one last breath.

But no color thrives
In northern Winters . . .
. . . no exciting life about the
fields and forests.

Freezing rain and snow
become enemies of the heart
to grow dark
and find the cold
is no place
for fancies to grow.


She was fading with time,
blending without shine,
wardrobe worn to a pale red,
as rust was being fed,
her owner called her "Bess",
as she had served her purpose,
clearing trees and pulling stumps,
plowing fields and filling bumps,
forty years she worked these fields,
the cause of good yields,
and now her time had come,
no more parts, she could hardly run,
she could cough, spurt and fart,
she just didn't have the heart,
so as the year began to fade,
she blended into fall, away.

pitter patter

rain falls so swiftly
landing wherever it may
a new dawn for all


Who is God

‘‘I told you Sir
you are brilliance ‘’
let the whole world then follow...
only one God
Let, racialism not slice like swords...
In my opinion

‘’Time alone is God’’

and time only moves in one direction,
only one Dimension

It moves forwards alone
but cannot be recycled
Time gone is gone...
only Time Sir is the Common God
and I am sure
you will assure


Eating a pizza sandwich, near dark
May seem pedestrian and worth
No remark

But it’s all in the eating and where
And if each lover of meat
Should despair

At the driven, lit cluster of stars
We call highway or stair
And the treadmill, darkened loom
That production line doom
That chains youth to a certain
Self-serfdom of cars,

Where do we get off this supreme
Duct of convenience?
Where do all the deliveries end,
And where is that lost term, erm..

Baby Is Blue

New England forest
in the springtime;
shades of
and grey
trees and granite
leaves and moss
easy to get lost.

blueberry, fern
and saplings

Each oak grows
in its own direction
with dead branches
and bright green
new bud
all so keen.

Pine all sizes
grow mostly straight.

Granite boulders
are moss covered
and scattered all over.

Dry Ophelia (for Natalie T.)

Dry Ophelia

unformed, anonymous
urgently pinched
in waves of finned dispersion

a distant face streaming
slowly apart
the slumping waves of a forgotten pond
i drown inside as a lost cat

a thin river
dry Ophelia,
unsure where to fade

carrying bouquets neither real
nor artificial
symbiotic petals

christening a sleeping sea
with clear blushes even
you don't understand

dry as the brush you
were painted with
still not knowing

as your cheeks


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