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The stream (all workshops)

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


Kicking a Stone

Wandering in a vacant lot
With all the turmoil of the world
Forever discomforting my mind,
I choose among the broken stones
One to kick and call my own.

I measure my steps to be in stride
To boot with the tip of my shoe -
I become a mischievous child
Who is saved from whiny boredom
To play with a new-found freedom.

How many times I punt it further
Bouncing about the cracked pavements
To where it will eventually land
Somewhere in a ditch or a furrow
And be abandoned for all tomorrow.

Millions More Synapses

we learn to see
in ever more detail

once we were blind
but now we notice

the way even the rarest
chemicals react

the exact way she likes
her morning
coffee or tea

the way he responds
to every
different kind of touch

it is like God was
trying to teach us something

by creating the dinosaurs first
and then the lizards
millions of years later
if that's how it worked

the brain of the Cro Magnon man
and then the human counterpart

The Red Letter (J.B. 1917-2017)

Amnesia is this pocket serum sacrament 
blown in darts by dawn from the waking saints 

now this sunrise split as perforate tissue,
this elision spilling as on a burnt canvas. I’ve
had my nonconsensual experiences

A creeping Gilman yellow, slow as subatomic
parcels, chutes lateral in jeweled stars

to dust the tongues of snowblowers
in the stagnant oasis of your Fargo home.

Life goes on, yeah, until it doesn’t any longer

Antibodies spun in fool's gold hold to
sugar angels arches; her steady rocking

The past

Bare branches,
naked ground,
empty sky,
hollow water,
even the sun
is gone
most of the time.

How can I miss
the snowless winter
and long nights?

Romance in Absentia

As soon as I think of you
you are there
in every sip of cold coffee
I feel your warm breath

My arms ache to hold you
soon you reach out
from flowers in my vase
whispering hello

I pick a rose stem
brushing it with my lips
it blooms with your aroma
one of its kind

I hear a knocking
from within my beating heart
surely yours saying
I'm here sweetheart

The Village King

Good reader ! have you seen the accident outside
When Nero hastens to his pillow
The angels, with their trim green
Climbing upon a Northern billow
if you have seen, at midnight gleam
When the lone spirit's vesper sonnet
floats wild along the winding shore:
if you have seen, through mist of eve,
The fairy train their ringlets weave,
Glancing along the spangled queen
if you have seen all this and more,
Lord bless me ! the village king !

This Pack of Cigarettes Will Be My Last

“THIS pack of cigarettes will be my LAST,”
I vowed, trying not to worry about the past --
When just rolling down the window in my blue Toyota
Made me long to light up and watch my “last pack” quota
Go up in smoke. Another seven dollars,
And hours off my life. I imagine a dog collar,
But frown, since I’m also the one holding the leash.
If I was an avid painter, I think that my pastiche
Would be something like Edvard Munch’s "The Scream".
The truth is I have not one, but two dreams.

As breathing chills

As the torch of breath chills
betwixt fervour and stillness,
we seeth as time grows stale
yet, for a dark angel abide

Beacons lit at creation quiver
it's last fervour draws ichor,
O, lord of beasts spiral near
thy mane delights to a hair

Gliding darkness doubtlessly
sheathing limbs in tenebrosity,
yet the veil of twilight is worn
as devils spital gleams an heir

Alas, tomorrow will wilt away
as dew on a blades of dawn,
sheltered in the arms of grace
sorrow lastly ceases to dwell


few more lives in scrambled eggs
lie dead on breakfast plates
yolk and white blended as one
delighting umpteen taste buds

broken shells of healthy eggs
bereaved of their loved ones
wonder why they're only cared
as Easter eggs once a year

Rain on my feet

Rain on my feet makes my soles tingle;
Rain on my head makes me think clearer;
Raindrops on a tin rooftop, music to my ear;
Thunder roaring, ever louder, no fear;

Birds still singing in the treetops under dark rain clouds
and my feet are soaking wet sitting in the doorway, a steady downpour.


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