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between the sighs
thigh shift moonkissed eyes
gentle nocturne

sweetness over black winged death
therein falling breaths
from snow stained skin
a satin turn
from the landscaped burn
a ravaged dreamspeak
fresh with stars
this singing stream
crying your song

sleep far
within touching scars
innocuous stays
on your palms
like a breeze swift fast
a leaving

Editing stage: 


This is a beautiful song to the mind, the words are irrelevant it is the whole piece that sings of being, innocuous was the only word that made a sharp noise in there, not sure if it belongs in such a feeling.
Yours Ian.T

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

If only between these incredibly creative febrile turns you had the patience to punctuate, delineate, you would create such original pieces. On their own they achieve a strange, fascinating almost mesmeric power but at times they're like a train of differing carriages, at once colourful and fascinating but of differing gauge and architecture. There's no point pointing out any individual phrase - all have a power all of their own if only they were joined by form or narrative. As they are they remind of the corner prophet, speaking in tongues to any of the fascinated who stop .This is driven work, work that makes me feel humbled by the insight and originality but also angry that it simply passes you by without the necessary polish that would raise them to true poetry. Just a little focus, just a little patience from you would be rewarded so deeply.

Your poetry, Steven, is of rare quality, What is not understood is felt, and I am taken by the sudden "colours" highlighting different angles of reality. Fluid dreams of the subconscious...needs no punctuation,.

Thanks, my friend, Rarely do I leave my solitude to comment, This was a rare visit I enjoyed greatly..


i am accepting them now in my life....i had little self worth or esteem but it is important now to
seee works for their merits and work that can be incorporated as the old ones did in their heydays
for me at this old age its still a heyday.....falling stars...a creeks song is still a joy.....if i cease tomorrow i am happy that my works here that i share bring thoughts and moments that give a creative verve....thats what i get when i read poetry here now instead of the books before the internet age...i feel like i am a poet these days!!

author comment

accepting direction
that is not easy for a persona i created
from the start where i came from
and siblings
love was love and the shame was shame
hate rage indifference came after
we are all self builders now
all the peices from the great articulation
and talk show we were then
colourful entertainments

rewarded and discarded in one
fell swoop and forgotten
within the minute

i took business machines
law in high school and could
not focus nor care at that time
later dating the year i left
the school valedictorian
not because i was driven
or smart as she but of the
value here you have shown

that the storytelling i learned
to turn the inward storm outward
and calm the waters has been
a work and is still a work in the
progress towards an easement

punctuation i threw away a long time
ago when i stopped to look for
them it broke a train of thought and
the poems were broken
(this is for me mind you)

polish would be grand

my girls are dressing me and
managing the simple tasks of
paperwork some of the men
mind it....but since my mother
i have ended up working for
or with women

i tend to compete often with

i dont want these works polished
to be honest
i want them to be what they
are rough hewn

thrown out there
a moment occurence

thats what i want

eventually there will be
a moment when i will
finish them

i run them as i do
myself not finding a
relation to words or logic
at times but liking the word
flow of them
the imagery jumps

like an art college film
at times
not as smooth as sexton
or kerouk
but both these american
writers knew the value
and purpose of being
published for money
Neopoet did not exist
then for our times

the reward was cash and
exposure to the american

i just wanted to become a
poet..with a different voice
then others

thank you for the comments
and time spent here

Mr Esker

author comment

I can really understand where your coming from on this - and more power to you - the rough hewn and abstract pieces you put up here and from the past I see have a quality to them that is quite beyond articulation except through of by themselves and if they were say painted or printed with attachments would be quite stunning pieces in themselves - the closest I have come to understanding them is through Outsider art that seems to be sweeping the intelligentsia at the moment; Do you paint? I can see these in images, bold colour, with breadth and impact beyond mere words. If you can in some way attach them to image, represent emotion through colour and shape; then? I don't know but there can be some immense satisfaction to be had. I specialised for a short while in art therapy for traumatised children. Sometimes their images were beyond anything I could articulate and revealed their trauma in ways that left me broken and weeping - its the same with your poetry, short lines full of trauma, snippets of hope, chords of misery, linked with measured paces of requiem flow from the pages.
Someone should get you painting ASAP.

you are far above the maddening clouds
which thunder
to sound asunder
just to scare
than flare

then they slowly ebb away
take care
no one should inject an iota
of their venom
in your original

this new guy taking free rounds
as a know all I have now found
I know FA of poetry

is it true???
I'd love to hear
Esker from you

I ain't no kid!


common fodder for the coffee house days or old
live readings the egos flaring
the picking at feathers gathered on the wire
everyone has asked me for punctuation
and a simpler word association flow
in the old archives i did this......
we had a small group in high school
art students and very bright staff gathering
round for moments of talk of the then eighties
mostly about timeless issues and they were
all flavoured with the ego and jostling

i wish my paintings were more abstract and i found
that it took eight years of writing to get somewhat
close to what i can like....but equally so the flow of
my own influences that govern how i feel now about
myself from some good direction...

i was not always a good person
and like a friend abided towards me lately
the only reason to growl now is because
im not awake to that part of myself that
will focus and be of more alert and working

i am talking to people about their art....i draw
cartoons and sketchs on the street sometimes
for free....some donate happy if this sparks
an outlet for their own creative outlet then its
a good thing..... i read poetry for years before
running through much effort to write as i do is impressive to come here and find
the youth writing in their amazing talents and find
the older brave writers like myself crafting works

lately i have the time to be here more often
maybe in the new year less so other then the
daily addition and read is allowed

thank you all for your words today
and always thank you neopoet...

author comment

Yes , I suspected as much. You far too talented to have come through the education process without being jostled by our elders and "betters" to change, conform, set oneself into concrete and "belong" to the age. You're right some art is simply too extraordinary to belong to the mass and as a result must stay "outside, personal, a unique creation just like the face of its creator. A bit like the world itself. Then from now on I will read only and enjoy the extraordinary creation that is you from a cyber distance knowing there are words flowing from you as extraordinary as any psalm, as wonderful as any prayer and as unique as any man.

minds more clever and c risp then i
wrung out with all the tender patterns like
the leathers of animals with unique bold
grains for dressage and wear
their lives
their anima and intellect
caught up with live lives other then
the purity of poetry expression

they show me tell me their poems
memorized..their phrases of looking
at life...their focus stabilized..safetied
on the need and want of a partner
holding them close or a job a
circle that keeps all their hours

so much i could be doing when sitting
on neo or the other site
but this is my dedication to these works
words.....reading and pushing away
a lot is a choice.....dropping in and
hustling to put out a poem...type fast
on an hour at the library or here or \
elsewhere when i get contact like
a radio signal in movement is exciting
talking to all the others and having them
approach me in random when im not
looking not asking for the unique
voice of others is the benifiet
that is a gift
like any contact there are much hustlers
and people wanting to catch you off guard
brace and contact is a skill of life to watch
ones front and back
be it rear guard watch or point man

these are just dispatches
and sometimes in the rough they are the
most beautiful discoveries

like notes i find all over the street
and scraps at the suppermarket
supplements of a glimpse of
everyone and others...

that static soundtrack that we are
not alone....that we are tuned to
wavelengths that we all can
relate too and interpret and\

and often when illness
or other...the random broadcast
of struggle that is full of angles
and a language
a diamond cut to a cube is beautiful
but shear it in definitions of multiple
and it becomes mesmerizing

author comment

As with most of your poems, this one touches the inner reader with its subtle tones and contrasting imagery. You never fail to deliver a slam-dunk when it comes to intriguing poetry! This one is no exception!

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