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The stream (all workshops)

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Hologram [ Abstract Words, Abstract Poetry WS]

I was drawing lines and time lines
moving ziz zag, connecting points
some dotted, disappearing from sight
returning in a parabolic flight
some ran parallel
others angular
acute, obtuse, perpendicular

no pencil, no paper
no ruler, no eraser
just an unruly behavior

I paused. looked back,
mystified at the collage
I panned it, scanned it
flashed my eyelids
click, double click, flash
before I knew
the lens crashed
blotting out all lines
of the hologram


It's all because of fear......


I know the power of words
and the unique interplay
of form and content.
yet nothing is said that
hasn’t been said before
and I recognize the pallor
of my own creation.

I have slipped away.

all truth, beauty and valor,
in spirit and soul surge
from a unique force
within which awakens
the Sublime in us.
Yet there is a time
when the spirit falters
and all is lost.

Richard for Joe

poverty in poetree

Passion can only come
if one wants to excel
in composing creative poetry
of which the requisite acumen
in your diligent work
can be seen

We all are actors in life
so we compose
poetry of our like
let others read
or to the garbage bins

Poetry is short and sweet
unlike prose
poetry is like a fragrant rose

so write out your emotion
in your very own ink
guys who can't do so
will only stink

Something Borrowed

You give me your opinion on life.
Detested on what's wrong;
Adoring what's right.
Investing on where you belong.
Gaining a profit on hype
Based on the sight
Of what others see as blessed
With no means to reflect on your aim
To wisen up.
How else would you liven up?
If I didn't take your misery; make it mine
If I didn't face your mixed-in peace,
Senseless grief, contradictive speak;
Make the time
To lay flat, relaxed with nerves of steel
As you etch with force, how you feel

Outlands (130404)

Out lands

It was late in history
the cities had flourished,
grown into bound structures.
Bounded by the reflective walls.

My England had shrunk
Into blobs of black
Surrounded by tilled land
The realm of machines

The out lands of growth
Machine controlled
Then control from the city
Operators playing games

A game called survival
Between each city a link
The new iter city way
Compartmented travel


At three o’clock, malt whisky (ten years old),
Napoleon brandy follows (warm and gentle),
to ease away concern a mind may hold,
about the planned assault upon “God’s temple.”

An apogee to years of aggravation
(a body racked by rampant throbs and aches);
four different ailments blend to cause frustration,
while giddiness, fatigue are nature’s brakes.


Of flowers and sunshiny poems;

limited episodes in rerun;
like a goldfish spinning 'round in a bowl;
nothing new under that sun.

Those of emo affect in lackluster tones;

a broken playlist, stuck on repeat.
Pity parties tire me out,
and not being young, I'd rather delete.

As for woo woo, and angels, and the heavens above;

all cringe worthy themes, stuck in a rut.
Preaching to a choir of fuzzy thinking coots
leaves me with nothing but... "what the fuck?!"

This is all about personal taste:


I write to release
Yet when it's read you retreat
To what your own definition
Of what poetry should be pissing
On every emotion I choose to show
Disregarding that I'm fighting to grow
Instead of hiding my lows
Allowing pain to fester and blow
On whomever
It's sad you assume lesser
Of me, one of very few
Who won't bury the truth
Or better yet, coat it with sugar
Then boast to on-lookers
On how exquisitely I riddle
You with imagery that tickles
Your soul

Don't Drown In Sadness (For Mand & Family)

If life is the sea,
then moments will be
the high
and low tide.

When the mundane cycle
becomes unappreciated,
a tragedy that rocks one's world,
shall reveal its worth.

It is not a punishment
for the faithful,
but a test and reminder
to be thankful.

Just as the darkness of night
shows the beauty of the moon and stars,
so does the grimness of life,
unveils the value of little things denied.


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