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Proposal - The Lab - encouraging critiques/comments

We'd like to thank the community for the wide ranging discussion on our prior proposal. We'd like to submit a new proposal after extensive debate within the AC -- we believe this takes into account much of the feedback that was received.

We are proposing to create a new category of poem called The Lab. Poems in The Lab will still show up in The Stream and elsewhere, however they will be specially marked and visible. Submission to The Lab will be limited in several ways.

The detail of the proposal, and an opportunity for discussing this further, is available in the forum:

The forum discussion will be open through June 29th.

The stream (all workshops)

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


Beast of Burden

A Beast of Burden

He halted..

Sniffing the air, he turned tail and galloped off.

Without delay,
We gallantly dragged our efforts, shooting at the poor beast in hot pursuit

I was unwilling in this sport.
In my heart of hearts I hoped we might manage to tame him instead.
This Mighty Majestic Beast of Burden was too rare to see Death.

But, once our chase had been executed, the noose in our hands drew tight,
Ensnaring the monster in our trap as we had him.

Watching The Planes Take Off And Land

Sometimes memory
Feels like a lottery
Some are lucky
To remember
Their first bike ride
On a wooded road
Others remember
Their first fist fight
With their brother
And the shock
Of blood

Like the planets
Revolving around
The sun
We revolve around
These pivotal moments
Again and again
And our universes
Are fucked
Or formed
By things that
Feel like
They never
Or happily
Should of happened

The Crying Man

No one knows from where he came
Or the sadness that brought his pathetic fame,
That old man who sat in our park
And cried each day from dawn to dark.

He would walk from the hotel Paradise
With a handkerchief and a bucket of ice
To soothe the swelling on his cheeks,
Sitting on the bench by the willow trees.

At first we nodded with pity and fear,
It seemed he was going blind from tears!
The dogs would howl and lower their heads
Startling the children from their carriage beds.

A bouquet of words [Epistle]

to all those who've shaped this Neopoet site
by working behind the scene on every front
giving it their all without a grumble or grunt
I humbly bow to their mission and foresight

school of sorts, a novel workshop
to learn or refine our poetry craft
a place to log in from your laptop
to draft and post a polished draft

a place where everyone is treated same
immigrants are welcomed, without enmity
check in is simple to join this community
just sign in free with your chosen name

Elizabeth, I'm Sorry (JUNE CONTEST)

my tongue is tied now
as it was then
around yours
in the library parking lot
my first French kiss
a language that I didn’t speak then
and still can’t

sometimes there is no need
for words
but sometimes I wish
for nothing more
than to put the deepest parts
of my heart
on my lips
how absolutely
I feel


FOIA: Redacted

and here is the proof of
blank blank blankety blank
it baffles the mind that
blank blank blankety blank
recently revealed by
blank blank blankety blank
we all should sleep with one open eye


Time Well Spent

floating away
adrift in a daze
out of my mind's
tedious maze

time is now mine
to do as I choose
I choose to do nothing
so nothing I do


Universal Deja Vu

Paul's Big Secret

We could never understand the secret.
Lasagna my Ma made only Sundays.
All friends would visit and that was OK,
What there was about it only Ma knew.

Like Paul’s dark peach cobbler back when we roomed.
Springfield State College had all you could eat.
Cafeteria was state of the art
Back in the early 1970s.

A Phys Ed was no big deal in a class
But to be on a team took much talent.
Football, wrestling all cause for laundry,
Laundry stinking with dry body fluids.


When the higher still resurrect
Continuously playing with their masquerades
The evil they should speak against
Has always become a duty
The officials shamelessly use a jargon
And their voodoo means help them to build an empire
Deeply, no one is his Excellency
They do not have dignity and integrity
Who will question those mortal lords?
When they have their godfathers who always defend them
They lavish their strength setting up a panel in the Kangaroo court.


Home to umpteen secrets, witnessed over time
letting them all ease out, on soft cottony clouds

a cushion to cease the storms, raging of losing a war
through darkest of those hours, till the ammo runs out

on the cover are gentle strokes, of sunshine and rain
with rainbow that is lurking, behind cumulus clouds

like a bedfellow patiently waits, to comfort a loyal mate
to listen to the untold stories, only the two can share

first to wake each morning, from beneath the tousled hair
reading through the night, those vibrant poems saved

Ode to the Guard

I am a cloud of probabilities,

the infinite number of versions of self.

There are moments of presence

when I know all of them collapse in one.

It could be pleasant but most of the time

precisely knowing who I am hurts.

I send the thought to the back of my mind

and continue my blissful absent-minded

gliding over the hills of time.



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