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The stream (all workshops)

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




Goodness marrying luck makes a name

So much power in it, made it fame

A name is not a game

Games wear many names

Distinct this yet appears as appeal

Behind the name, is a Jonathan

A dove, born into humility’s manger

A portrait speaking unending possibilities

Servant of all, the commander in chief

Beacon of hope, lightening a dark pained past

Shining star, all depressed gaze

Speak the truth, act the same

Promise all, keep the oath

Lead the way, our willingness will follow

She Walks Alone

She is a prisoner of herself.
Her dreams, she dreams are
Not her own. The tears she
Cries are scarlet in color. She
Is not a master of her domain.
No one to talk with, she feels
As though her gullibility has
Been betrayed.

She walks alone upon this earth.
It seems to be so lonely for her.
Clouds float wickedly above her.
The clouds are ready to burst into
Flames. The fiery furnace scorches
All her irony.

This Old Sweater

This old sweater,
White ribbed wool,
With times we’ve spent together,
The patterned puffs ,
And yarn stitched lines,
By myth I’m told.
But tell my friends as true,
Were first used as family signs,
So those Aron sailors
Washed ashore were known.


Each time I leave my door I see
far mountain ridges taunting me
their deep valleys and steep hill sides
never again will feel my strides

For my story has way too much past
the years have caught me up at last
yet I still have my memories
of traipsing among tall spruce trees

And wading rivers and catching trout
where riffles murmur and rapids shout
walking far to set up camp
ignoring both the cold and damp

The Gift.

The house now stands empty
where the old folks used to be
waiting to be filled again
with the sounds of a family.

Maybe a child at play
on some afternoon
or just the sound of a radio
playing a well known tune.

I will always remember the old man
with his tales of long ago
of how he lived as a working man
and the folks he used to know.

And I’ll remember the old man’s wife
a little anxious, like she could be
but always happy to spend some time
sharing a laugh with me.

The Tilled Field

By three am's deepest light
I had a sudden strange insight
that nothing new inside my brain
could sit and fester and just might
be nothing at all.

I used to hear dull people query
"how'd he come up with that theory?",
"where do his ideas come from?"
but now I look around, eyes bleary,
and ask the same.

A huge blow to my rampant pride,
but now there's nowhere I can hide
I'm just an ordinary man
with nothing special deep inside.
That is the price.

The Political Pride Parade

The grateful cynics have the "house", now
toxicity levels are rather high;

but, most would choose to disregard
if all a group did was, sit and cry.

They did have quite a following
many agreed, and could also relate;

but, their numbers started rapidly falling
after losing each and every debate!

There's a revolution brewing
it's definately in the works,

popular political opinions help lead the charge
by identifying most of the biggest jerks!

Time Passages

Time Passages

Time passes in dreams
A Warrior wandering
Searching for another battle

A Nomad traveling
Through the years
Foraging for sustenance

The Knight riding through the land
With hopes to find another
Fair Maiden to save

A Kingcounting his treasures
Longing for more
While he oversees his Kingdom
Ah then tell me
What are you wanting for

And we follow suit
How often do we feel
An emptiness
Or there is a missing link


It was the darker side
I sought the hooded one
attention bought, became
my editor a die hard spell checker.

A tempo and chorus always
in mind devotion to the cause
undeniable, what an infamous
cloak for such a first class bloke.

When your health was in question
tears I did choke, I've yet to meet you
but I know your good folk, every co-write
was my delight.

Set my imagination alight the darker
recesses never seemed so bright
the knowing of you is my lasting delight.



Your desire to be accepted
Has left you blind to the truth
You're laughing stock
Behind your back they laugh and mock

You think you're respected
But actually you're rejected

Your need to be recognised
Has blinded you from reality
You're laughing stock
Behind your back they snigger and mock

You believe you are venerated
But actually you are humiliated


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