Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Editing - draft

Leave Me Alone...

I wish the trees would keep their leaves
Then I could keep my cool
For raking leaves and bagging them
Is a job made for a fool

It never ends, there's always more
The trees hold them until tomorrow
Just when you think you have them all
You need the rake that's borrowed

Pile them high, great big heaps
The second time today
Come back from lunch to bag them up
Had to chase the kids away

A reflection

A reflection of mind
Dare you look at the reflection
Of that gaping mouth
That gave forth truths

Sometimes cruel words
Crossed those aged teeth
Glowing sickly yellow
Where bleeding gums
Had lost interest in their use

How strained bloodshot eyes
Strained against old dirty bulbs
Clad in cheap fragile glass
Where flys had deficated with ease

Electricity flickered irritatingly
Screaming at modern tubes
Lost in time their story of saving
What is this Martian landscape

On tide slowing time.

Webbing the worlds of threading tides
we watched as the rocks exploded
with a thousand shards of diamonds
ignition by virtue of a sun ripe sky

You sat on rocks, I pondered pools
the blue green azure, pure jewels
of millennia formed, layered and hewn
rocks the might of sea could not belie

All the sun day long, I wished
that this would last an eternity
and the sea would blast, and the sea
would seethe and sigh, while all above us
endless light, where birds climbed

Smile Yes All must (Modern Poetry is?)

Brevity and Essence
of conveyance
makes modern poetry

A poem
shot out like an arrow
to shoot the moon
as did the ancients
well just imagine
what will modern humans
to bring down the sun

You are very lucky today
at least one
could pass your way
be enlightened
surely you may
as along the pathway
you sway

Deep Breaths

I found myself weighted by the heavy--
swaddled safely at the bosom of doom.
A fighting mood with a devil’s bevy,
huddled warm in a dark an' hidden room:
I shed the man-made Lord an’ his levy.
In a frosted spring, my whisper’s on bloom:
I will remember what happened to you--
your uneven growth, your beauteous hue.

Bundle of Joy

My heart’s found joy
That lines this day
My baby boy
Is awake to play
God bless this child, forever love
We seek your protection from above
Ten tiny fingers
Touch the sky
Ten little toes
Kick mommy’s thigh
Days sing your youth, may you be spared
The years of truth, adults have beared

The Iron Landlady

Between the slats of slab huts
Corrugations of tin through time
Roughly formed chimneys
And the sun in decline

I spy her, though not as planted voyeur
But, quite by accident
In the confines of tangle iron sheds
Looking for all things that define

The sharpness, her edge, just
The right tool for the job
In some dwindling corner
Before it turns to rust

Thus her labours can patch up
Once more with twine, a crack or a gape
In the ageless shadows that define
This house, she will never leave

The Web.

The slow progression of a spider
up the dusted window pane
hauling his booty lady bug
pre-cocoon, and way too large
She resists this tiny spindly vein

Hard to focus on the brilliant phosphate
green of all that lies beyond my hand
hard to see the hills and rust sheds
making up this silent land

All I can focus on, is this
struggle in minutiae, nature’s hand
all that life is, and seems to be
is bundled up in its webbing strands

Slant rain on a Wednesday

I turn off the radio's tin clatter voices
they detract from the matter at hand
which is here, like a mandated choice
that knocks you sideways with a command

That tells of winds immaterial source
and drives the arrows of searching rain
into a long dry land, riven
from the sobriety of a dry course

The rain, blast aslant by the bellow of spring,
its first longing chant, in retreat, the winter wind
I watch as it transcribes buildings dry wood grey
into soaking red brown blocks, the droplets impale.

Deja vue...

There, there it is again
A place in time, I'd touched before
Where, where in when, I'd been again?
I reached for it, trying to touch once more

Just out of my grasp, the feeling swayed
None else it could have been
The thought, indeed that it was played
But, I didn't know it then.


Subscribe to RSS - Editing - draft
(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.