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Earn A Poem Workshop 1 workshop

This shows the poems in just one one workshop. To see all the poems on Neopoet, go to the stream. Or go to the workshop page itself, where you can find out more about the syllabus.

Granny Overthere.

When so, so young I had a bear,
Her name was Granny Overthere;
A stranger name could not be found
You've not heard that one I'll be bound.

It came from younger brother Tim
Who, whenever mother asked of him
What did he want with which to play
Would point at Granny and loudly say:

"I want Granny, Granny over there",
She was always sat in Father's chair.
Thus it was that she was named
And forever Tim would take the blame.

Wood Bee

You rascally being,
hollowing out the wood beam above my head!
Annoying sawdust alighting onto my lap
like flaky kindling, the discarded leftovers
of your new home, scattered and tossed aside
in the May breeze

We share an arena, a residence -
yours above the porch furniture
within the old ceiling.
Mine, my daily sit-ins with the rocker,
caressing the creaking floor beneath us.

'59 Plymouth...

For sale: 1959 Plymouth 4-dr. Blk. with red interior.
318 V-8, with 4bbl. auto-transmission
65, 000 mi. needs new battery and tune-up
Clear title, no liens - $65.00 firm.

It was love at first sight,
long, dark and intriguing
just a little bit rusted,
she said, to me screaming,

"Take me home sweetheart
You won't be sorry"
I forked over the loot,
my eyes were all starry.

A scrub and a tune-up
new battery 'n more
derusted and painted
mended holes in the floor


In February of 41 promotion came his way,
His wife received a telegram the words on it did say:
Confirmed, Commissioned PFO,
Pilot Flying Officer to you.
Just 28 a wife and child
With hopes of a future new.

Satan's on T.V....

Satan's on T.V.
I see his parties everyday
Game-hosts grinning, "Honey,
"Here's the game; we'll play"

Shaded metaphors for sex,
Lots of glitz, some tits, and cash
Burn your scruples, and your soul,
Turn them all to ash

Flashing lights and head psyches,
Commercials all too loud
Musical skits, with shaking tits
Hear the screaming of the crowd

Now look at co-host Carol,
She smirks at Kevin, all aside
Her legs are smooth and silky
As her skirt goes for a ride

Johnny, Come Home...

He stands a little straighter,
throws his shoulders back.
"My Country Tis of Thee"
his face no longer slack.

Wounded in his mind,
he was left upon the field.
He never came home at all,
and he will never yield.

He spends his days still fighting,
for his God and country.
His wife looks after him,
she prays, "Please come back to me."


Fifteen years in Muller Town...

What day or night are you available?
You deserve me, I'm yours.

"Has anyone ever escaped?
These eternal chains, forged by weird-wired brains.
My emotions have been raped".

He can tell you, no matter what, he didn't do it,
Deny responsibility, never copping to a plea.
"You can't prove any of that shit".

Lost Love.

Should I recall those blissful times
When we like climbing flowers entwined;
Our blossoms scented evenings air
As Love and Lust forsook our cares.

Your laugh was soft and gentle,
A butterflies wings in spring,
Dancing on the sunbeams
Enough to make me sing.

Eyes so bright they sparkled
Diamonds on moonlit snow;
Flashing hither and thither
To make my pulse race so.

We held each other gentle
Yet tight so not to break,
Though deep, our love could never last,
Different paths our lives would take.

My Darling Orchid

tiny bud unfurls
blossom dips her silken face
humble elegance


Paupers of the written word
misunderstood, neglected,
the poet beats a lonely path
to tell his tales, dejected.

Ripped deep from out his tortured soul
bare thoughts wing home to roost.
On pages strewn with errors,
that hang him as a noose.

Do written words bring peace of mind?
Raise spectres of his fears?
Do they bring comfort, set him free?
Ne'er in a million years.


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