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This week the Neopoem Of The Week is Sometimes, I Cry, and That's Okay is by Kristen H . Congratulations to Kristen H on such a fine poem, To read this poem please click the link below and leave a comment.

Neopoet Around The Globe Anthology

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This week the Neopoem a coward's request is by Celso G. Tertins . Congratulations to Celso G. Tertins on such a fine poem, To read this poem please click the link below and leave a comment.

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Neopoet Around The Globe Anthology

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The stream (all workshops)

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



Mend my break
and ease my ache
Give me cause
To feel your claws
When you've got no choice
From a mercurial state
I plead my case
I conjure words
but wont hesitate
to pin you down
come thorn
come crown
until the truth
Travels lip to tooth
Be the mother made
to the monster in me
The rhymes we make
are now all I see
Praying's rhetorical
when grace isn't due
Both rhyme and rhetoric
Find their grace in you

Train Ride

When the grief comes back
I cannot just ignore it,
like I do with some things.
All I can do is try to stay out of its way.

I think of it as a train,
with brakes that don't care
if they stop the loaded cars
full of our dreams and the essence of you
we shared under the same stars.

The captive tracks
were laid out by you long ago,
a virtuoso of some note,
along the path of who you were.

Only the Beginning

You wrote that sentence you really should end
But there are more ideas that you need to defend
So instead of dotting a period onto the page
You put down a semicolon and continue to engage

Life is a lot like a book, an autobiography, if you will
Each chapter is filled with anger so strong you could kill
Or maybe every paragraph holds unimaginable pain
That shatters your tender heart and numbs your brain

For You

Oh, you ask what I would do.
They haven’t imagined.
Of the hell I would walk through

I will be your rock.
Even if I feel like
The last drop of sand
In the hourglass.

Some nights I doubt.
The sun will rise.
Tears became citizens.
In my troubled eyes

I wish I could drink your pain.
Even it led to my end.
At least you would be okay.

Misery may be around you.
I promise she is not here to stay.
I bought her a ticket to a distant galaxy.

Josefine K.

Josefine K. a city unto herself
Inmate of the worker’s district
One year before the war of the senses

Am I more woman
In the darkness of day
Or the shutters of melancholia

The Vltava is my lover
The body I offer to my beloved
The dream the city casts into my mind
Of her creations

Bipedal despots
A tapestry of strangers
Who haunt the earth like dead men

Statues of the dead gods
Mark the furnaces of the air
And at night I commit the harrowing crime
Of writing

The Girl on the Floor Near the Door

Do you see that girl, on the floor near the door?
The one with the curls, looks like a whore and no more.
She’s all out of luck, but still never gives up.
She’s down in the dumps, and in this town, she confronts
Judgement like rain, on her parade it down pours
But if you knew who this girl was, all the things she has been through
Then maybe you’d stay and help the sky turn to blue.
She needs some sun in her life, she has a son, she’s a wife
But the system’s a cistern, she lost all it’s a crime.


Friends are like butterflies
we gather and take home
our words, like thunderstorms
damage delicate wings!
singing their songs
as a bird on the wing
personalities blending
into beautiful things
sweetly holding hands
now standing in the rain
offering up a prayer
in a fleeting refrain!

Most Guys /Gals

Don't comment
they don't want with you to cement
it's costly
expensive hobby
but in actual fact they really are shabby
kn=ow damn all of what is poetry

Waiting for AI poems may be
then say

See AI is not really emotionally
ony high flown words are coined
it's like dits and dots joined
they will enjoy and say
cee I created it with my
blown up AI

April Fool

He thought he had recovered

When The Girl came in his life

A comfortable numbness of the mind

She broke through walls and barricades

He’d hid himself behind

Opening old wounds that he’d hoped

Noone would ever find…


And as she reached out to him

He restrained his own hand

And countered with: You’re barely out of school:

I’ve felt the things that you now feel,

I have stood where you now stand,

Believe me, I’m not trying to be cruel,

When I ask you to be cool,

a rhymester's life

I languish when my lines are lean.
(You poet pals know what I mean.)
The pen you push outright refuses
to trace the touch of tender Muses!

I suffer when my words won’t rhyme.
You’d think I’d carried out a crime,
like Chamberlain, that crass appeaser
or Brutus boldly stabbing Caesar!

I worry when my verse won’t glow,
and poet’s passion will not flow.
John Keats said poems should flow freely,
like streams, sun’s rays or blood, ideally.


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