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The stream (all workshops)

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


wagon bearer

he ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

My Misplaced Heart

Return to me my misplaced heart;
For you, its work is done.
I’m off to sail the seven seas
To take it there to shun.

To shun your eyes, your smile, your mouth
And teach it to forgive.
Retrain it, to get over you,
Without you, try to live!

Please send me back my broken heart;
It followed when you left.
It will not want to hear you talk
When feeling so bereft.

To hear you speak my name with ease
As if a common noun.
Like talking cheap about a dog,
A cat, a coat or clown


A star among stars
The big tree has fallen
But nature I blame
For such a blunder
words are tiny
to paint your relevance in my mind.
death has only played his part
but your path is immortal

I know you look down
Up there
Your footprint still draws breath
Yesterday your legacy I saw
your inspirations, your insights.
Concocted on us
The one I cherish, “Poetry”
is it "Things fall Apart"
that one a global boom

Running out of life

Not ready to ascend
the stairway to heaven,
as blood runs out
of my body.

I call out,responses evade
like echoes in a box.

Into the night came a shield.
I still had a chance.


Greatest threat right now
Mistakes leaders disavow
Creating new row

The Chinese Dragon's Period

Electrical tape drools on the camera,
and only through a music box

are you half the blue noir
phantom baby—the Mattoid, Mutant in
the Lava Lamp and Madame Choule

are going at it. Slurping, the donkey
crank, a C-Note, Mattoid’s dirty fingernails

on the phonograph; a baby coffin
with a bone picked. The sampler bottle

shattered in Oriental origami, noiseless
as a blue impatient spider on the cusp of….


“Childhood only exists”
“While its innocence lives”
“In time, it is stripped away”
“By what, our invidious reasoning gives” WIZDUMBs by JA 223

When I was very young, some years before my teens
Before those wild ambitions, invaded all my dreams

I was naive, yet unafraid; my life was filled with awe
I ran and played, unperturbed, exploring things I saw



red wag on

All your poetry is
mine will be like
garlanded ancient

so I will bask
in my last month's
Stan's BLOGS
see progress of younger generation

youth and younger ones
must take over
release us to relay
in the red wagon's
as in olden times
oldies did also play
ere their progeny
did them finally lay
Just pray!

Enjoy Loved's mental
zig-saw play
Red wagon is likely to come
now any day!


He said she was fierce
Too intense, too deep
As if that was a bad thing
As if it was her fault
Why ignite fire
when you can't dance with her flames?
You didn't know?
That she is the sun
Why come closer if you had no intention to burn?


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