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The stream (all workshops)

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


Blood Red Heaven

Pearly gates, for heaven’s sake, are so non-existent
Among the stars mister mars is now one assistant
Horses red and of the sea, captured in this vacuum
Muscle men, marble sin, removed from them their scrotum

Holy holes of blackened souls suck up painted women
Planet rings, gold do sing in concert also woven
Icicle swords, ruby lords are universal whores
Razor stains pillar chains, two more black holes make for doors

Love Ya " Weirdelf" (JESS)

cheer up young brother is it any wonder that made Stevie still wonder..,
back side of the porch scene politicize its people scene then below a pillow
the golden noodle pierce you head in fondness to flow very often in a dream..,
the old Caldor right at the door & Two Guys to my surprise put aside those lies
love the ovation set out on a prowl of dedication piercing the inner arrangement scene
it takes a hero to move pillars stand tall & deliver...


Long terrace of hopelessness,
Sheeted with the beams of sand,
Like a brown blanket,
Spread over a grassland;
That we begin to decay,
In the hustle for photosynthesis.
Will this race die away before this harmattan mist is lifted?
It is the question that cloud my mind,
As I watched the emaciated children,
In an endless war with malaria and cholera.

Nutty Thing

beneath the mask
lies a guarded myth
for eyes to seek
then say Ah!

Helpless Idol

Who could be content
with this wretched world

religions bribe

death; bovine silence
tears of my beating red heart

without passions arc
there would only be rational thought
and grizzled earth
arctic cold

poetry beats the gravity
of this rock
deepens the mouth of inspiration
worming through
the machinery of desperation
like Jesus floats

eloquence it's revenge
a helpess idol

Old Man in the Tenements

“When I go out in this shithole city
The streets smell like oyster shells.
The tents of the homeless hug in the underpass.
The buses arrive with refugees from the warzones
Beaten and battered with scars
And memories of horrific silence.
Loudspeakers play deafening drumbeats,
Torn meat fills the shop windows behind barbed wire,
Steam from the cracks in the gutter
Sting the eyes with peppered tears
The smokestacks drip urine from their spouts,
Above the oils reflect a yellowness in the clouds.

The Queen's Garden Party

This poem was inspired by a wonderful day, I was privileged to be invited to her majesty the Queen’s garden party 2015 in the grounds of Buckingham Palace.

Autumn Dawn

Forest entrance is beat up, is wrecked.
Run down from too much hurried traffic:
broken bicycles smashed, cars – people.
Lots of people make there start here though.
They go in and I’m going in too.
Next to a brown steel gate that is locked,
a worn path guides me from all the noise
into the quiet, very quiet
world of Lowell/Dracut State Forest.

Autumn arrived this morning, dawn
shows ferns and foliage turned yellow.
Honking Canadian Geese are near
flying to their warmer winter home.


I am like a thin glass
full of water.
When you are thirsty
I will replenish you.
When your throat is dry
And you find it hard to speak
I will help you.
When you need me
I am there.
But if you drop me
I will shatter.
And I will cut you open.
Leaving scars all over.
So you will never forget.

The old Muses

A Musing


It is a long story to write of you,
An Epic will that do
On many tablets as in days of old
This is how your story is told


Of times past you tell
Of battles won, and times of hell
Rest a while let your scrolls foresee
A calming image, for you and me.


Now let me see a lyric you do sing to me
The beauty in the instrument you hold
A lyre from the Greeks of old
Play for me, let days dream by



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