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The stream (all workshops)

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Those Who Sleep In The Cell

There are groans building up
within the cell of your belly.
Laughter, a first layer,
sleeps at the base of the column,
unafraid of who comes upon his back.
Disbelief holds hands
with an unlikely friend, faith. They
sat together in church last Sunday,
exchanging no glances, but today,
they sleep atop laughter; the church
becomes a cone upon your back
and you graze snaillike, saved again
from the hostility of homelessness.
Then comes the most recumbent,
the one who wouldn't sleep as well,

Late Night Drinks with the Queen of the Universe.

A late night soiree with silence and sternness and silk-laced shoes
and me,
of course,
with you.

Pupils hold pixels thrown from silver screens;
that dance across the pine-wood floors.
We listen to whispered recipes
of turning clay back into gold.

Canned laughter, flood lights,
perpetually happy crowds.
And no-one's seething still.

Yet through it all, through all of it
this second-hand, second-rate youth
they'll continue to pause in moments and wonder
if not yet, when it'll all get good.

Who Is This Trump You Speak Of ?

Heads Are Coming Together
All for a great cause
To love one another
This comes from the hand of God
Strength comes to those willing to explore
Took a look deeper in the bible like ever before
Grab a hold of a hand when to understand
Sad faces will be no more
Lest I implore an opened door
Freaks in the street
They have riots their cause is hate


Staring at the stars at night
Searching for the lightest twinkle bright
In pain of the event
That pushed me to the extreme extent
Nurturing a passion for revenge
Searching deep for the fault in our stars
Living in my dark shadow
Neglected by the friends i show
Unbothered they are about my feelings
Wondering the truth behind their healings
Crossing with a fearless heart
Hiding the scar caused from the past
Blaming the fault in our stars
Just might be caused by the violent clouds


The world does not, revolve around us
It evolves, from within us
Life is not a privilege, on us bestowed
It is a gift, by us owed

Kindness is a virtue, which we respect
But, it is the thing, we most neglect
Life is not, that complicated
Unless, you don’t appreciate it

Hate, is something we should revile
Yet, it lives within us, all the while
And, if you really think it through
Caring, is so much easier to do


Undaunted was your bravery,
this, to your assailants was a mystery .
Your death was outstandingly heroic,
Inspite of bullet wounds you stood stoic.

Had you engaged your assailants in a duel,
your death would have been impossible.
Only cowards assail a man unarmed .
A pseudo glory they only earned .


A beauteous fenestration
reflected the dawn,
a thousand shards of colour
held a moments awe

the stars danced
to a last riff
in heaven,
and the Great Orb
laid down to sleep,
yet none or all
of this wonder,
couldnt muffle
my screeching heart

you wavered,
T'ween the dark
and the spark,
but closing your eyes
you raced onto the
next great adventure,
leaving a scatter
of broken hearts.


Puppeteer, Puppeteer;

You have displayed quite a show.

Your puppeteering talents are rivaled by none.

Invisible strings fastened to your abominable mind,

conjuring up horrors and savagery,

to gift your puppet each night.

Your desire is raucous, eternally starved for more.

"Dance, Puppet, dance! You're all that I have!"

Your poorly veiled affliction makes your only puppet laugh.

Puppeteer, Puppeteer;

There is something you don't know,

I was able to cut my strings,


Kids like me may be bullied, ridiculed
Introverted, seeking sanctuary
Never too old to be fooled and/ or schooled
Disciplinary baggage to carry
Enrolling in (scary) class: primary
Reading Hemingway, picture-book-burning
Graded on performance, functionary
Adjusting to school of higher learning
Returning to head-start more discerning
Teacher grinning at my perfect penning
Earning a recess, classes adjourning
Nervously enrolling, new beginning
Evaluation: complimentary
Registered student, elementary...

In the spirit of autumn (September Contest)

The street ahead
A kaleidoscope of colors
Beautiful no doubt

Chill air seeped into his bones
Hands nearly frail
coming up to inhale once more

Then came epiphany
It was time for change
He let his ego shed like leaves in autumn

There is nothing like home
And home he returned to.


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