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With deepest grief and sorrow we need to inform you of the death of Steven Howard Schamehorn (Shannon Eagle), on 24th June, 2017. Steven wrote under the pen-names by which he is perhaps best known to his readers ‘Esker’, ‘Orgami’ and ‘Wolf’.

Steven was a founding member of Neopoet, over ten years ago and a member of the first Neopoet AEC. His work was astoundingly prolific and profoundly brilliant. His contributions to the world of poetry will be an ongoing legacy.

In the world of Neopoet his gifts were not his poetry alone but the thoughtful, sensitive and meaningful feedback he gave to his brother and sister poets.

We can all share the pain and loss of his passing, the gratitude for his gifts to us as a man and poet and a celebration of his life and works.

His official obituary-

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    Memories of Holidays Past
    November contest : Naked trees
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The stream (all workshops)

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


Penniless Poet Dude

A penniless poet reciting his rhyme, at Christmas,
But shoppers won’t give him the time
He says he is homeless, the life he lives rough
But writing flows freely when going gets tough

A sensitive poet performing with pride
Who smiles, for his sorrow he stows it inside
He says, God has blessed him with faith full and firm
He feels like a king though he’s treated like worm

The casualties are not only those who are dead.
They are well out of it.
The casualties are not only those who are dead.
Though they await burial by installment.
The casualties are not only those who are lost
Persons or property, hard as it is
To grope for a touch that some
May not know is not there.
The casualties are not only those led away by night.
The cell is a cruel place, sometimes a haven.
No where as absolute as the grave.
The casualties are not only those who started

Earth will not share the rafter's envy; dung floors
Break, not the gecko's slight skin, but its fall
Taste this soil for death and plumb her deep for life

As this yam, wholly earthed, yet a living tuber
To the warmth of waters, earthed as springs
As roots of baobab, as the hearth.

The air will not deny you. Like a top
Spin you on the navel of the storm, for the hoe
That roots the forests plows a path for squirrels.

My apparition rose from the fall of lead,
Declared, ' l am a civilian.'It only served
To aggravate your fright .For how could I
Have risen , a being of this world, in that hour
Of impartial death! And I thought also; nor is
Your quarrel of this world.

Telephone Conversation by Wole Soyinka

From Eumolpus-
(To introduce this workshop, I though it might be good to start with a famous poem (I think!) by Soyinka, first African to win the Nobel Prize and legendary for 50 years. I have reproduced the poem as written.
Craft-wise, what I like about this poem is the easy access to the poem through a dramatic incident,

In the still..

All cleaned up
My sometime landlady gone
with canisters of gas to distant friends,
the washing on,
the contact lenses done,

The silence between the piano notes
of Beethoven on the radio,
Allow the daylight in, and
with it, birdsong

The spot of you I scrubbed,
then regretted,
wanting it to still be there

In the stillness,
the breathless air,
A piano scale tumbles
down the stair

And a violin grows a tree in my heart.

Wanderer child. It is the same child who dies and returns again and again to plague the mother.
-Yoruba belief

In vain your bangles cast
Charmed circles at my feet
I am Abiku, calling for the first
And repeated time.

Must I weep for goats and cowries
For palm oil and sprinkled ask?
Yams do not sprout amulets
To earth Abiku's limbs.

So when the snail is burnt in his shell,
Whet the heated fragment, brand me
Deeply on the breast - you must know him
When Abiku calls again.

Happy Place...

Home from work and at the day's end
Coming home to a smiling face
My little fur-balls wagging their tails
I've come home to my happy place

The stress of the day, all goes away
The kids want hugs and kisses
My little fur-balls jumping and barking
I just need to hold the Mrs.

They each need attention, want some of me
I just don't know how to do it
So much excitement and so much love
Each wanting me to prove it

Silence Holds the Light

silence holds the light

clouds wear white and fence

the azure sky; moon shines full,


stars reflect dreams dreamt

across blue rivers flowing,

thrives free life as love

peer past rapids roar

foams of unforgiveness, old

silence holds the light

-Alison Breskin

Where am I ?

I saw me falling that day
I felt fatigue deep inside me.
I wasn't ascertained---
I was just benumbed.
The place was full of darkness
I didn't know where that place was,
Still I am living in this place
Every day, and moment
I don't know how to come back.


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