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The stream (all workshops)

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


A Victorian marble clock

Three tings at the third hour
So sweet and simple saccharin
That they puncture my confusion
And crumpled sweating assemblage
With an easy purity
Three rings at three from
The Victorian marble clock
To remind me that time has forever thus
Been marked by objects both destructive
And sublime, and our only crime is
The shame of not being here to witness
That lost Era, elegance
And all it promised to be.

NIGHT STORM (metaphor shop 4th exercise)

Howls and moan sound in the eves
on this October night
like a lost soul when it grieves
from that plane beyond sight.

Or are these things coming from me
as I remember long gone friends
who've reached their eternity
in a hunting ground which never ends?

I rub my eyes where twin streams flow
swollen creeks from thoughts of loss
when will my storm cease to grow
when will my dreams not make me toss ?

Alethea's Fairies (1980)

Alethea told me that she saw them
the fairies playing in the oak
but she didn't tell her mother
for she'd think it was a joke

But I believed her story
for I remember as a child
the hours spent up in my tree
and the memories I compiled

All the magic things that happened
as I swayed there in the breeze
and that feeling of euphoria
I had when I climbed trees

Sometimes the magpies joined me
just to warble in the shade
and I'm sure I understood them
as I hid there in the glade

gayism lesbianism

gayism lesbianism

Love is not blind ...guys can see the ways
gals show always
and then the path is clear ...when they have had the fun
they run

only then gals come to know
who was and who wasn't blind

so gals your ways mind
I have seen so many come here
to have one night of such a kind
all guys can only see
one thing
always and anywhere

around the world I have seen
now gals are opening their eyes
so guys go blind
and another guy’s gay-ship openly find


Sometime soon,
my great boon
would to find the planet where I was born
I'll know by feel more than sight
the gravity will be light.

The days are thirty six hours long
and the nights eighteen
it's where I truly belong
it's where I should have been

Most folk are civilised and know
that such ideas are unbecoming
yet they do not really show
how hard it is to get up each morning

Beauty In The Darkness (Oct contest)

When the night returns,
the world is filled with silence
as the moon's gentle glow
lit the dreams that flow.

Somewhere out there, lovers gather,
admiring the heavenly cluster
dazzling like little diamonds in the sky
as their hopes spread their wings and fly.

A young mother cradles her baby
who yawns and sleeps peacefully
in the arms of a lifetime of bliss
and a love, sealed with a kiss.


MUST God actually exist
in his heaven far above
in order that mankind
can show each other love?

And must we build with sticks and stones
places to go and talk with him
bathed in shifting stained glass light
or at night before some altar, dim?

Why must he even have a name
and be worshiped by adoring crowd
which speak his words in unison
beseeching his favor out loud?

The first policeman

Swing all your heartache, right over here
we'll lap it all up with black and white eager tongues

Give us your war stories, young policeman, come
return to the brethren fold

I look at my boys, soft as morning bread,
white with innocence

I haven't the heart to harden them yet,
lest their soul come as cold as my own


He sits here now, in a creaking black,
couched leather eagerness

And tells of all the horror he saw,
out there on the street, his beaten eyes devoured:

Free Spririt

Bold of spirit, true of heart,
strength of mind, a place to start.
Striving onwards, look not back,
gaining always what you lack.
Forage in an empty room,
return again to mother's womb.
Searching in an open field,
finding more than life can yield.
Remembering only surface knowledge,
digging deeper, finding courage.
Worry not, for in your hands,
lies the power to understand.
Come to the plane of the knowing,
be engulfed by the sphere of truth.
Keep your free spirit a flowing,


in the shadows the chimes voice
rose and fell
dry like the brittle leaves of fall
walking quick in fright
the death of midnite dark and dear
the shadow of a message
vague and near
behind before the swirl of light

In tides of hearts
the oceans work
like airs whirling rush
the dreamers lurk
the slickened facts
like tracks of rain
anonymous and
cold with pain


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