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The stream (all workshops)

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


Gothic Beauty

Dark magical interludes
The madness ensues
She dances in a ring of fire
Yet throws off the challenge with a shrug
Light and love
Satan laughing spreads his wings
Long viscous fangs that bite
Eyes full of sullen brevity
She stays alone stationary
Follows her passion through a field
Angels bask in there vast array of light
Forget he day the night is far spent
Black in her wardrobe
Haunting style of vestibules
A pulse beating in the night

A Sonnet for my Choco-holic Wife

A Sonnet for my Choco-holic Wife

“Oh, dearest wife, restore my nights of bliss;
How is it that your heart now comes to rest
Without a flutter at my good-night kiss?
Should I not need to ask whom you like best?”

I toss and turn upon our marriage bed,
Accuse her of some wayward passion’s bloom—
Although she swears that she loves me. This said,
She moans, “O Henry!” in our moonlit room.

Essense of poetry

Poetry is simple emotion
as it effervesces from anyone
from a poet to a reader
though not all.

Some of my poems have been graded as
by a poet yet
another says its crap ..

The poem should tinge the heart of a reader
if the reader cries
reading ones poetry
the poet deserves a credit for his creativity ..

All poetry need not be personal ,
but mostly all poems have a seed/grain
down within ones own soul
deep enough'


when the seahorse of serenity
you fervidly hopped aboard
has bloated to a hippo
you no longer can afford

when the words that once delighted
and magically aroused
pounds you like a blitzkreig
and you long to be re-housed

when your tolerance has slithered
to a knife of knotted nerves
it's time to bait the fishhook
and angle other curves.

For the Broken-Hearted

You could be all alone, a face in the crowd;
beating will in a stranger’s face;
Surrounded by moonlight, stardust…

You can hide anywhere you like; lost shadows of 3 a.m.;
nothing is the same. Open books of scribbled poetry
at empty hands; the ghosts are always there…

You could be restless when mornings
are like a runaway of the gypsy sun. Tell me
your name; I’ll be your friend if you need.
Shreds of poems flutter around the empty room…

Burning Love Letters

Burning Love Letters

This present is the autumn storm
before my final winter comes;
and so it’s time to put aside
the coins that Charon will demand
to ferry me across the River Styx.

I told my spouse and son where they
would find my Last Will and Testament,
and such. But about one thing
I would not say a word; you see,
there’s a spot that marred my saintly life;
a secret I must keep from my dear family.

Mental Illness

Mental Illness

True lovers endure pain

True lovers endure pain

Don't make haste
just to waste...

sex and marriage need COMPROMISE.....
at times one is down...
at other times the other......

the opposite one must up- lift the downer ...
and then move on--------
most of you make haste and search another ...

it's really a waste .....
meditate and recoup/regain your love......
all humans need compassion..
both men and women

even men,
though they don't show
are often more emotional..

The Killing

The Killing

If I had a torchlight at my disposal
or even a flickering match
I’d draw a bloodline of coordinates
on this indiscernible map.

I’d show you that there was a possible
in unfamiliar battles ahead;
I’d dress you in heavy armour
and carry the weight of your head.

I would spit on your boots to release
the slime and the grime and the shit;
I'd polish them with my elbow grease
though leave you a bit of the grit.

Lovers' Lighthouse

Lovers' Lighthouse


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