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.


cure all magic
cigarettes and midnight
solving cramped workings
and broken limbs
beneath bulbs and their gathering
of mosquitoes and moths

tired wallpaper and echoes
feel their way like the forest herbs
and alms

outside high above the forest climbing valleys
and crests are stars burning hot and brilliant
sharp eyes watchful

the mill town hungry for anything fresh waits
fresh as the cold spring waters that sluice
away the congestion of past
spring baptisms

cold rains come Autumn
Augusts blessing on cracked
heaving concrete and leaning
headstone angels in moss
bled cemateries

tinned navy beans and cold bread
the flour and yeast run out
the cat brings mice
for a brood long fled

the terrible beauty from words
from the silk paged bible
the ancient town with its silvered
rails gleaming in the cold morning
light and the town mill siren
climbing with its hours run

whiskey eases the retrubitions
and sins

votive candles ease the soul
and my black lungs fill
like sooty snow

for the power of the company

Editing stage: 


sweat glistening backs
thin deep black red ripped skin
hunched backs with tired hearts
bound feet adorn white powder
scarlet letters
hungry babies shuffle rats
impressed fathers tethered to the sail
serfdom wheat

thank you Esker
visual perfection

the candlelit votive nights
as cold crept like a stolen
frozen kiss......

author comment

Another look

The blackness is infinite
The eyes will bleed fire.
Storms will reach into memory
Grasp the sides of sinking tubs
Thrown by lifeless fingers
That cannot protect your thoughts
Days will pass
Your words spewed
Delicate patterns
Fester on frozen windows
Where my child breathed
His last breath
They cannot cry more
There are no tears left
Hollow sunken eyes
Fed fermented grain
Starved of food
Yet we will survive
To regain our rightful place
We can be beauty
It is our spiritual right.

Tell the children the truth, let them as they flourish, make up their own minds, as to which road they take.
They can only take the correct road, if you teach them of many ways..
Yours Ian.T

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

this is a beautiful work
each line vivid
I read it over and over

thank you

I must apologise to Steve, i glimpsed the agony of the children that walk with him on his lonely journey.
I find that to read Stevens pieces, I need to be there some place and this one took me to a darker place, Yours Ian.T

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

vitamins are expensive....and lacking in a lot of the cheaper
pulp food...carrier food....
adults have alread ceased their need as much as
children whom are growing
demanding the input
and sometimes not finding it....

thus the excruciating cost
in bone malformations etc..
sunshine in the coastal

beautiful clouds
and the missing
substance of UV light....

author comment

Poverty ..poor nutrition ..perhaps still
in hard pressed towns based on idustry
it hit the kids as they developed mostly..
powdered Milk was a remedy or part...
My mother was all into this being a
nurse assistant for years....We were
well fed and well maintained as children..
but often others are not...having to fend
for themselves in the schooling system
or street or both.....

author comment

Yes Rickets it is rearing its head again here in the UK where the immigrants are fully covered all the time and the Vitamin "D" is lacking,
also TB is becoming a more common illness.
That's what happens when the ones from hot countries come to us here in this coldish place.
Take care young Steve, good to walk with you awhile, Yours Ian.T

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

prayers ascend
thick soft couches
rip emotion wide
helplessness bound tight in guilt
survivors of the 747
called living
each small piece tears a bit
of Psyche
soft place to lay hair upon

america dream
withered on the vine
and the new tommorrow
pressing and hard edged
cruel and growing

I miss chatting with you
Miss your company
Miss the smell of
your cigarettes
and perfume

how we have the
same damn colour

the world is crumbling
and we feel it
the dust of it
the whirl of it

aged as we grow...


author comment
(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.