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 - polished draft

What Our Dogs Know

I always watch people walking their dogs
Hounds, pooches, mongrels, all of the dogs, really
Their noses examine every scent for messages;
the canine secrets we can only imagine

On these walks, the owners reveal things
about themselves if you pay attention
to the way they move with their companions

Hints about their character, how they feel
about their pet, the way they care for them
Are they patient, or in the usual hurry?



Your mood is the language in which your body speaks to mine.

Your heart is a perfect unblemished stone, beating in the cavern of its syncopated isolation.

I beg hardly more of you than to scrabble forever along the jagged cliffs of your emotions.

To bathe myself, palpably defenseless and exposed, in the frosty moonlight of your acrid, acid, smiles.

Stripped beyond the marrow of the bone, to the naked manifest purity of the white hot ashes of my tattered and tortured soul.

Yes I love this country
To me it’s not a flag
I stand with hand held over heart
But I’m not really one to brag

I wont say mediocre
I don’t think that’s the truth
Believing we’re the best of all
Is something I lost with my youth

Things always need improvements
And everything decays
We need progressive movements
To keep us current with the days

So let’s stop moving backwards
At best we’re standing still
I’ve got a feeling in my gut
It can get better and it will

In Concert

Deep in the stacks of notes and old photos
Ones marked important and shuffled aside
I keep an old file of stories and pictures
In a shoebox all careworn by passage of time

Not a real box, it’s the figurative kind
In a well hidden, guarded, corner of mind
Store all of my greatest memories there
So when I come visit the image is clear

Inside there’s a picture (truth be told there’s a lot)
They’re hazy old Polaroids and lazy snapshots
But I’ve got a favorite, I keep it on top
Protect it from loss when I’m cleaning up shop

Neopoet Challenge #17(topic 2) Letter To MY Ex

Letter To My (first) Ex (#2 topic)
(32 lines)Neopoet Random Challenge #17

I just had to know
the answers which eluded me why...

why wouldn't you kiss or hold me
while I was with your child.
I know you loved me at first,
and I was truly beguiled.

at first you seemed delighted with me
you hung on my words and I yours.
got to know each other by night and day,
discoveries made, opening new doors.

Entry to the Random Monthly Challenge Contest, July 2022

The fog rising up the mountain
slowly clambering up, covering the green treetops of tall pines
is really a cloud, stuck on earthly delights
the trees are going “ohhh, ahhh” as they are covered with moist fuzziness.

I thought of some of the things in life
that look like somethings they really aren’t…

Like the devout praying towards Mecca
with an AK 47 laying beside the prayer rug.

The Fox Ledge

If you find me in your dreams
Would I reside in oaken grove
A chasm between silver skin
And green umbrella up above

The trail to which is lined in birch
Not paperbarks but tall and black
The smell of root beer on the air
From shoots I chew whilst on my back

Interspersed, are maple trunks
Tall and slender, growing fast
pine, witch hazel, aspen too
Peppered through with sassafras

Petals to the Patriarch?

Why don’t we gift men with flowers?
The question puzzles me
Perhaps the delicate petals do
Affront their sexuality

A few could certainly paint them
Rembrandt and Van Gogh
He really liked his sunflowers
But I’m in love with Picasso

Although, we give them singles
For weddings or maybe prom
Carnation or rose adorned lapel
Pinned with pride by someone’s mom

I’m talking about big bouquets
Bunches, a dozen or two
Purest white lily, iris violet,
Billowing clustered hydrangeas of blue


Sightless Homer mourns he cannot see Calypso’s dark eyes, which sparkle like starlight reflected on the midnight sea. He can only imagine her swells and troughs, draped in a gown that flows like the Milky Way.

Seven times Homer begs Calypso, to let his hands see what his eyes cannot; seven times she tells him no. Each refusal stings like maddened bees.

Different P.O.V. ...

In looking through the keyhole
there stared an eyeball back at me
I was really fascinated
and then there was a knee!

They listened at the door
I heard them breathing then
I was frightened, but excited
so I looked just once again

Little breathing whispers
who is that, that is there?
I heard another voice
"Come back, cause I don't care"

"Peeping Tom is at our keyhole
Let's make love again
give them quite the show
what we're doing ain't a sin"


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