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Our election recently began with the following individuals on the ballot:

Eumolpus
Keith Logan
jane210660
Rhiannon1010
lonlyhrtsclub13
Paul

The election will concludes on Wednesday, May 24th.

You may view the voting guide here: https://www.neopoet.com/community/vote/guide

Ballot: https://www.neopoet.com/community/form/3042

The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Game Up

You played a game;
You thought me dumb;
You dumped your blame;
You checked my pulse;

I'm down for count, but not out;
I'm ready, for another round;

You examined, my quieting thoughts,
You looked for signs of life;
You found, me hot and bothered;
In your face, a ball of fire;

Lurking in my soul, there's a beast;
Protecting my heart, healing peace;

WINDGUST: A ROMANCE

Sweltering in the haze on a summer afternoon,
We contemplated the fullness of the daytime moon-
A dandelion sphere, afloat, like a hummingbird;
There was absolute stillness, not a buzzing heard
From a passing bee, not a sigh from our breath

We sat separately on the moss by the steaming trees
Out of a horizon came the wind,
Coolness brushed fast against our sweated skin
With a mass of moaning and whirling sounds

BENZODRINE

The eye of windows on its haunches
watched the crows wiping beaks
after smart lawn lunches

Esther Greenwood sits beside me
summer dress
sits fidgets
every cat bell eyed mail
sends the shiver of rings
in the rooms for awhile
shes the most magnificent
of things

i the pauses of breath
in this pre storm air
she breathes out softly
and runs her fingers
through her hair

Old Flood

I used to write poems,
Back when I was twenty, maybe twenty-five or so.
Sorting it all out, writing it down.
What am I really trying to say? I would say.
Just say that.

Then I grew tired of all the sorting.
The backing up, reworking.
Was I writing the poem or it writing me?
These depressing little bastard poems, like my own children,
I tended to them.

Draw your pen drive

Draw your pen drive

There was a time
Dear poets
when you all read me
and
my silly machine gun poetry
and
at times you also said
you’d liked it...

Much water has fallen
through the heights of Niagara
and
more shall

But it's been a long day
in the battle of my life
since most of you last read me
has my poetry been anchored lately

all do tell me
be free
to pierce
as you may feel
I will live or die
in peace

Dreaming Of A Beautiful Night

Am dreaming of a beautiful night
A night devoted for just you and me
A night when you will hold me tight and Kiss my lips
Am dreaming of an erotic night, a night you will romance me like crazy
Making me feel like I am created just for you and you for me
Am dreaming of a beautiful evening
When I and you will take a walk on the street of snow
Am dreaming of a beautiful night
When I will find myself fall asleep just to get awakening by a sweet kiss
Only From you

Citadel Of Ruin

Know your place
Get off my case
Those that can
Don't give a damn
Of the Tau...

The signs are there
on the top
of the Mountain

But the holy sanctus
want you to
cowtow
to convention

Do your time
workshop
learn from mishap
Do what we want
And don't complain

You think I want
to join your cabal
of creative cretins?

Be still my heart!

Be still my heart
Arise awake rejoice!
Even when dark clouds cover my sky
And hailstones fall as raindrops
As earthquakes pull the ground from my feet
And whirlwinds toss me through earth’s corners,
I hear that calm strong voice say;
‘’peace be still’’

When hell’s messengers invade my body
While those of hades leave destruction in their wake
And the sores of my flesh compete with jobs
As i crumble to the earth like a pile of dust
I hear that still, soothing voice say;
‘’be my stripes, you are healed’’

AFTER WINTER May Contest

Winter is but a memory
cold days and even colder nights
with hardwoods all standing leaf free.
Minimalist, near sere, all in sight.

But now when I step outside
warm air washes over me.
Butterflies dip, swoop and glide
and blossoms adorn each fruit tree.

Wild birds each sing out their love song;
here and there dappled fawns are seen
while the days slowly become long.
The whole world has turned emerald green.

A Chair On The Porch

A chair, on the front porch, I stew;
I sat, absorbed the view;
The universe, I'm drawn into;
It's source, I quietly know;

Birds sang, in smelting heat;
Babies fed, on mother's beak;

Life's unfairness, deprives;
Inner peace, locked inside;
My wit's end, have arrived;
Another day, another strive;

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