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 - rough draft

Lord High Inquisitor by: eddy styx

lies...
just sitting on her tongue,
like apple pies
lined up on the bench.
steam wafting out of the vents
slashed on the surface.
with every falsehood,
I countered,
rounding on her,
until she relented,
conceding my point
in admission.
“what now?” she queries...
"the rack…
or the Iron Maiden?"

Untitled

For a blanket to wrap
It's woven threads between us
For the sound of morning
To wake us from slumber
For our hands to meet halfway
In a gentle touch
To weave our bodies together
For a moment to gaze
At the art of our Creator
For a time to draw close
And shed the distance between
For a night of song
And a twilight of soul
For the wish of a moment
And the treasure of many

Vestiges

Left here in land of hill and peak,
where storms of sorrow slyly seek
to weary me and weigh me down:
I never chose this tortured town!

These song birds, blown upon the wing,
they squawk and sway, but rarely sing.
Since bleakness blinds them, blinds me too:
turns sapphire skies to black from blue!

Left here to age, while clouds race by,
I wait, as one by one they die:
those vestiges of youthful dreams
that flow away like sea-bound streams.

In Praise of Wasps

We adore the bees, for they bring us joy
Yet wasps, their kinfolk, get shear disdain
Everyone rejoices watching bees deploy
But assume that wasps bring nothing but pain
'Tis seldom asked "Is that indeed the case
That bees deliver flowers and honey
And wasps do nothing but assault your leg?"
After all, bees have still attacked my face
And left an unsightly wart on my knee
We pardon them for honey prized like nutmeg

Miles of Blues...

He sings of phones and traveling,
a voice of loneliness and blues.
He sings and wishes desperately,
that he could be with you.

Those bars and stages all lit up,
still don't let you see,
the words he sings, in baritone,
he didn't get them free.

He's paid for each and every line,
with an aching, torn up heart.
He thought he wanted freedom,
he let his marriage fall apart.

Somewhere deep in Texas,
he let her get away.
She left without a word,
there was nothing more to say.

Plots for sale

Two threads intertwined
Just to create a special mind
Clean and empty vacant spot
Built to make sure you thoroughly rot
Spacious area, room to grow
For a lot cheaper than it ought to go
Nice little path for a flower bed
An ex barber next door to shave your head

insights of a orphan

in no will I am named
To a birthright I have no claim
I rummage through the lives of man
Foraging from them what I can
Right from wrong it’s hard to tell
For I’m still holding the keys to hell

Call me guilty, I am not
Lock me up until I rot
You’ve viewed the past & still can’t see
Call me guilty & I shall be

The thread of life that keeps us sane
Is beginning to show signs of strain
Triggers released within our minds
Creating stutters & empty time

Thin Skinned... (the Coward!)

When asked a simple question
she becomes defensive and mean,
preferring to be hidden away
obscured, behind the scene.

When measured against the many
she feels inadequate and small,
striking out against her rivals
fear precedes her, ahead of her fall.

Wracked with strong emotions
she knows her stories are trite.
Naysayers beware of her vice...
Striking first, before the fight!

It’s not me, it’s you

It’s finally over
Not even a long run
My tears trickle slower
All into one

I couldn’t help my desire
My desire for you
My cravings were dire
And nothing but true

So I turn to my pen
And I turn to my pad
Cause they’re here for me when
When everything’s sad

Tho they couldn’t stop the tears,
they could stop the agony
But they helped drag my fears
Back from that balcony

Prosaic Memories

Winter looms near, another year has come and gone without you
I dread the shortest day, marking when I said my last farewell
Sometimes I still behold you in my dreams
Revisiting memories that once seemed so prosaic

Pages

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