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The stream (all workshops)

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



Building a house you must-
start from the foundation,
there is no top without root,
no roof without structure.
eliminating poverty-
a nation must plan properly.

in my nation,
the I concur policy-
becomes a culture,
which nurtures no masses.
rather applies torture.

Life .. still .. game.

(After Gould again)

How odd or even
obvious that we seek
the serene artifice
of a library, easing
our dripping sweat
with its slowed, cooled time

Here we first met,
face to face, I laughed
as I saw you had comically
draped a lithe trout
clumsily over a jar
while a rabbit, hare or
something similar

Balinese Eyes (for Nat)

So much is unknown, my life is almost beginning
there is no choice but to write your
face on green and gold panels
to finger the telephone cord next to the phone box
where a cat’s eye grows minute by minute
and the irreal tune of your spinning gelato
hearts decaled with balinese insects and their hard
shells, unbroken with these sieves of memory
which i trek as close as touch, as close as eyes
spinning like haunted olives growing
color in the contracted night, the burning
of these noir chapels, from my clay hand


I stepped outside
To see the view
The sky still dark
The rain just thru

Then the sun
Burst out its rays
And they shown down
Thru all the haze

So it appeared
As if next door
The arc those blazing
Colours bore

It seemed so close
I could just reach
And with my hand
Those colours breach

And as I stood there
In the light
It was so clear
It was so bright

The air was fresh
So clean and pure
I was amazed
By its allure


Although I'm godless, I'm not bad
but some would think it so
I would say, that I think it’s sad
I’d say that you don’t know

I don’t kill, because you’re not me
I don’t shame, nor do I shun
In America, we all are free
I've no need to kill God’s son

Mother Mary and saints galore
There’s miracles everywhere
Original sin and lots, lots more
And proselytizers share

Buddha, Mohammad, Sister Jenny
Catholics, Baptists too
I’d name them all, there’s so many
But, I don’t want to bore you

Cogito ergo sum.

There is a brilliance
in the darkness --
that only the blind
will see.

There is a symphony
in the silence - -

A heaven - for me.

We are but a breeze
amidst a storm at sea,

This precarious spark,
We - - humanity.

The Melancholy Blues

At least
that's what we called it.
Those hours after
an eight-balled binge.
No coc, no money
and nothing to shut down the itch,
the tossing within,
scratching to ride just one more train
and churning to the chugging need.

Underneath the lids action is enhanced,
brain racing with the sound of board-parks,
over the tops,
making the loops,
minutes, hours,


If you’re hoping,
that your dreams come true
You’re dreaming about,
what you’d like to do
But it’s a mere illusion,
wishing in your sleep
A dream, that once awake,
you’re hoping you can keep
WIZDUMBs by JA 737

Space Apace:

All routes we traverse
Places and phases diverse
Speck of Universe

Human race in prime
“A Brief History of Time”
An era sublime?

Striking Mother lode
Many light years from abode
To enforce our code

Established in Space
Living our usual ways
An alien race?

last, Last Drink

I remember to look up
into recycled air.
Slow gray waves weave around the curves and necks-
of liquor bottles.
Slabs of smoke drift across the blue light
like Wales rolling in the sea
and fall into my lungs,
un-asked, un-thanked, and are expelled out again.
The guy next to me takes a deep breath
leaning into the bar -
embracing it, like a child and its mother.
He tilts his glass on its coaster
and gazes into its eyes
falling helplessly into the same old stories-
things he’d rather forget.


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