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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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The stream (all workshops)

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




my beauty,

tear it apart,
torture me in Love’s tempest,
expunge my heart.

this way of Being,
no form, no shape, no Art,
piece me back together,
a new creation’s start

my arrogance,
smash this pedestal of pride
dismantle my mainframe,
leave shame nowhere to hide.

in the Ugliness
of deeper, darker, longer
thrash me to enthrallment,
Samson, only stronger.


A huge old barn sitting alone
overgrown fields all around
its foundation made of local stone
with hand-hewed framework that's still sound.

The once red roof now rusty brown
with faded "See Rock City " white.
One rolling door has fallen down
the other is leaning toward the right.

All the siding's bare and gray
save peeling red beneath the eaves
betraying a well kept yesterday
now dilapidation, no one grieves.

old feather

white dove feather
fell to sand

small wind gathered surf,
spraying faces
assembled there

clock ticked twice
died --
no more time

white dove feather
fell to sand
sun illumined
it fell

surf touched it
sand caressed it
ocean swallowed it

dove flew on --
old feather

Impressions From A Distance

rock stars
a silly mess of men, by in large

high strung
daredevils of emotional expression
...and tantrums

actors and comedians
hyper-active look-at-me-look-at-me's

strangly aloof
apparently trying to stay afloat
even when not a'dance

I have nothing to say of them
though I'll venture to guess
they are as flakey as the rest

and now,
for the last act of the show...


Living by the feeling of love
That there is a soul on this earth
My identity in all times
I believe without any source
Repudiate the signs of horoscope.

Living by the feeling of attachment
And a thought that I am loved
A candle flame in the dark room
She burns and lightens my darkness
The dictionary of my name.

Living by the tears of her absence
And fear that is always hovering
And my poetry is my teacher
Calms the frustration of loneliness
In her thought I again smile.

forks in the road

As I stumble across
the forgotten fork in the road
emotion threatens to overwhelm me.
Five friends long ago
we lost in that collision
my first real taste of things not to be.

And I remember how everyone said
(with after sight’s twenty-twenty vision)
if they’d taken the right instead of the left
just made a different decision
or had perhaps been ten seconds earlier or later
they’d still be alive today....


I'm a creature of many habits,
I defy definition, I refuse to be boxed in.
I'm unique , I'm quirky.

I'm a creature, I won't be told how to be.
You won't cage me.
I have autonomy .

I'm a creature, a member of humanity.
I live and breath,
And yet I reek of insanity.

I'm a creature, I'm free ,
I'm who ever I want to be,
I me

Photos Fade

Last night as I rummaged through
A box of memorabilia
My hand fell upon
An old photograph of you

How some things never change
Still holding the weight of the world
Upon those strong shoulders
While the sorrow reflects
In your eyes

A mystery
Without an end
An enigma
Never to be known

What was then to you
Is still now
Dismay and distain
Show in a furrowed brow

I slowly placed the photograph
Back in it’s rightful place
Along with the dust of old memories



When we first met, we were travelling on the same road
Same locations and destinations
Each time I touched your face my desire for you overflowed

When we first met, we were floating on the same cloud
Same destinations and locations
Each time I touched your face you made me feel so proud

I am not on the same page as you
Never was, never will be
A different page ,a different book
You'd clearly see it if you opened your eyes and looked


A gently falling autumn rain
breaking a long dry spell
bringing life to plants again
as waterways begin to swell

The days henceforth won't be as warm
nor the woods so sere and dry
should the season hold true to form
'fore long the peepers won't croak or cry

Perhaps this front will bring a frost
or at least some cooler days
as the green from leaves is lost
and puddles gain an icy glaze


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