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d e c l i n e

this light
it fell upon her in a way
draped down
her spine
where the golden
fine hairs lay

my heart
was shorn away
and dropped like
a sthone
an anchor thown
its chain with
that borne

in a stalled beat
came alive
in the electric sheet
of euphorias
fuck compassion
in pink pearl wonder
i want to get drunk
in the darkness
and blunder

i see around
the cracks and crevice
how strict a love
can be a nemisis


Editing stage: 


its just about hate love and desire
a lot of poetry
the war of hearts
oh blazen gunships
in kneaded water
all ghost pillaged
in smoke and wonder..

author comment

You dance around with your thoughts and sometimes we just can't keep up (that's what the gardener said to the art mistress)
Apart from the quip it is hard to follow you sometimes this one is easier and each segment of thought was there in plain view, even the Titanic and Ice came in from one of your other works, so that must have been a grand line or two.
I often wonder what would happen if we could hold you in one place for more than a moment, where you would write a poem on one Item fr our mind and eyes to rest.
Take care young wolf,
Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

No offense, sir. But if that were to happen, he would no longer be...

I spend my writing moments looking for the fringes...aching for them...dying for they are the purest essence of everything we are, can be or will be. Without, we are nothing more than mortals feeding a larger monster.



Just a thought that Steve could write a piece where his style became nearer the average, just to let a lot of others see his great range of thought, I don't want to change him, that was not the point, so you read his work and understand them, well to me I understand about 50% of his stories and pieces, but there are some that are unable to gain from his work as they cannot fathom one let alone all of his writes, Yours Ian.T

PS:- Steve wrote a comment on this one which is as prose "S a t u r a s h u n n e z " if you read that it is poetry in its own right..
This is the sort of write I was speaking of.

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

I don't claim to understand everything Steve has written. In fact, when I joined Neo I don't think I understood any of it at all. So, in the spirit of Neo, I struck up a pm conversation with him and sought answers. I certainly don't have all of the answers but I did gain insight into his work. Now I enjoy them as I read them, but perhaps not as he intended.

I for one have always thought the reader should have their own interpretation of every work. Who am I to tell them how to feel? Perhaps that is why I am not a very good poet if I am a poet at all. Or perhaps I am a good poet just waiting to be understood. This is for the reader to decide.

Each of us has lived under different circumstances with varying reactions to those circumstances. To me, poetry is the description of that varied range of emotions that lie out there with the stars waiting to be seen...waiting to be felt....waiting....just waiting...for some poet or painter or sculptor to come along and capture it for posterity.

I have read Steve's response. I have corresponded with him in the same manner on a number of occasions. It is poetic, but he shouldn't have to strip it down for us. We need to step up to him. For the first thing I noticed about his poetry, whether I understood it or not, was that it was beautiful.

Obviously you don't feel the same way as I do. I think that is great. I have conversations like these in hopes that I can find insight and become better at what I do. I hope this time makes all of us better at what we do.




The pain of broken hearts
empty promises
the numbing void
when you realize
you are just not the one

the heat of compassion
Flesh burning with desire
the sinking feeling
we may never feel that again

Keep Writing,

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

to be shunned lured in for the betrayal..the final trust to their macbess..(super stitious.i refuse to write
the name even here..) th....duncah i chose to be....robispierre..rasputin even with bullets and poison....his manhood in the ukraine in a bottle of the good stuff....preserve what we want ..what we want to have and its distilled vitrol that fuels the passion like jet heights further then spires...

i am in love with the idea of being out beyond gravitys magij that drug infested
love sickness.....desire.....desire...drives me loathes me...pains me and tortures me to ...perspire..expell the adrenalin from the pores i drench in cologne cigarettes and sweat...the ladies bottle purse rolls...the idea is that the female refrence is that i am with ..have been with...or like to smell like the women...males roll in the woods in the urine of the love drive interest..animals that is...four footed...
but we are animals...giorgio colonge....i just use testers when im out..lasts two days on the shirts..then its back to prowl the mall for a is a glide lift....wings out....the lust of the thermals drifting me up..then the cold front crash down.....the burning wreck spiralling down....watching the cruel world arriving in its intricate fascinating detail..the sun smoothly travelling around throwing light on wingtips...cockpit panels dashoards and shinning behind sunglasses to give a glint of the expression at the the the corner..i passing....i have always been never the number one..a place that is more perilous then this...i would rather live in this un world then the actual working world that disentegrated for so many...but of course there are happy couples out there...good for just writing of my perspective...what my whole scheme of poetry writing is here..........a wanting..a pizza...a beer..a coupling somewhere..forever..brief.however...saturation is my title...after awhile its a density..a wavelength living like this...replacing true real becomes a synthetic a steroids..the drive is fake...the hurt more deeper then true whole rejection....after watching people pull out of the ruin of their happiness with mortgages shared..children an huge debts.....waking to discover their looks have been set aside numbing with lack of sleep morality or some kind of coping mechanism....etc...that picking up is harder without that...put they have skills experience.....they can corner on the roads with the hairpin turns..they can twist and turn when others crash and long mo fo' version of the bumper sticker on my ulternate reality full size sedan with rear differential and full v true love......maybe i could have been someones number one.....but my ego defense spared me...narcissm said i am all whom i need...sad really.....because the arms of another....that lean on the street at the club on the train or well the true non synthetic drug.....but it comes with everything...the add on apps...the running energy drain on the endless energy i burn....i like that wild flame wilting and roaring at times.....

the replys here are beautiful .the substance that is truly poet born poet given..poet loved here....this is what i love about poets....they have their foibles...but they are their own loveable and loathed personas.....

thank you for the input on melt down is coming along well....
this is the reads i soak lay back on the bed in this sweltering heat...a day on the hill with the dog..on the bike roaring about like a madman....designer playboy new york cologne....designer dog curled up at the bottom of the bed..a shar pei female..beautiful....and im a freak.ugly an i have to create what i need to survive.....its a loves me out there.........we are like distant stars a thousand miles apart sending out beacons in the ether.......

author comment

The bane of my existence, the dirtiest four letter word in language
it haunts me, mocks me as I try to master its ways
as I try to learn why it turns me away
the men I have been with are all successful family men now
the man I am with, can barely tolerate my existence in his life
So I search within myself to find what im doing wrong
Over and over again

Keep Writing,

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

an unbroken steed. You don't try to master her. You coincide with her.

Your exes may all be family men now, but that does not mean they have found love. They may have just found comfort after being thrown from that steed too many times.

I have never met you, but through your writing I presume that you are a free spirit. Such is love. Don't try to mount and saddle her (him). Run along side until that spirit runs out of breathe.

Haven't touched base with you in a while. Hope your son is well.



Your words are true. It is my free spirit that makes me undesirable. My aversion to rigid structure makes me a poor partner . My son is doing ok, thank you for asking. Every day is a battle but we are getting there.....

Keep Writing,

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

Being free doesn't make you undesirable, it makes others envious to the point where they seek to cage.

If you're a lion on the hunt, do you chase the fastest gazelle or the slowest?


I would chase the slowest....easier to catch.

Keep Writing,

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

I love to read all.
it is enlightening and soothing
both to eyes and ears
a rare kind of peace prevails
across troubled minds
in all complexity
but in your works
solace one does find
without perplexity

say groups to get better which i accepted save the court appointed
ones..and even that one i is something that one must be willing
to accept....even here i can see the principle of working would
be like joining something...given an outfit and asked to do what you want..
remember those old notions with the hippy nerds of the day sixties seventes

speak english...hmm okay

i only really understood poetry when took out a book out of boredom fro the
library on a poet...gwen mckeowan..a canadian in the sixties.i thought she
was beautiful and i was looking for female muses was a spell
where i had no woman in my life and thought i was missing out....hell i was yah
so i turned to books like some whom cant read turn to saturday matinees or
cds or cable for females they like.....sound like a stalker...that i do understand
but im not a true one....back to story..

i read about her life....a sad tale....then went and read her book and she wrote
beautifully....that opened the door to other poets..after awhile i didnt need to read
about their lives.....story tellers i did know a lot about....but poetry is a different

its like saying a roller coaster is not a railroad..
thats the extreme metaphor...the old woodies im talking here..
not the computer generated rides they have now..
writing is a dfferent way to move idea traffic..
and poetry is the roller coaster

meant to tittilate the sense

to me...for others its in mechanic..
bach did not write iron maiden
one cannot bend electric guitar chords
but one can play bach on electric guitar
and bend notes....

see how poetry and writing work
its still structure but a different structure
and thats a personal thing..
as does things here get way too shouldnt..

scots right.....he has the book version of
how i think..feel in real time...
and the rest that i have done that with here
the same...

maybe scott more so on a level to level
station to station chats..

so to just say....i dont understand your modern to ask....i dont give more long explanations
here....i used too before when this arose when i changed
the way i wrote....after awhile its just to get something
on you competition insider notes..

im not writing
im pushing it to a level that i want to try to get it the same issue about twinkle twinkle little stars
and romance writing poetry which is big business..
means im trying too hard and have slipped into the far
beam of what one or a few consider too far...

that would be like what the beats encountere in their day
they were told they couldnt write in a manner or style
because it did not fall into this ideal of form..
over and over and over again...
so the one who knew that form top tobottom would be
the king.....the cult leader..
that was the cult like fifties...
fear....power..race discrimination
beware of the different..the special..

im different and i will always be different
i embrace this...not ashamed..

so ginsberg wrote.and others.
auden did not publish
or did he...
i dont think so he liked boys
which at the time was considered a
rather unfavourable thing
still is...
so much for social equality
and poetic equality is no

i believe in openess
and fairness
and like these discussions
as much as the poetry...
chats one can say much
and it gets removed
to cyberla la land
but here..we get hardcopy
of what goes down man..

i sound like a hippy radical.
which i seem to be these days..

ive pulled back a bit of the writing
in a more understandable format
because i would be unlike
me to say....create and be bold and verve
like me....
then you would understand better
but you are either good at creating
and feeling from the heart.
be it romance poetry
or about God that i believe in
or the people that are here
that want to be a part of something
grand and special which i think
neopoet is..
they had the moulin rouge
for those that were wealthy and connected
they didnt just let anyone was parise
remember..much like today

they had the cavern club
are any of these places left?
there is one..




author comment
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