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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.

Prince

In the dark your love is the light
He was my thoughts
I held a mirror and saw
That I was becoming more like him
And I loved us

THE CRICKET'S TRANCE

Cricket, cricket softly singing
the same two notes time after time
in autumn with the chill it's bringing
an even cadence without rhyme.

I sit here waiting on a deer.
Not even aware I am listening
to the tune I'm lead to hear
while below a stream flows gently glistening.

And it just keeps going on
the sound leading me to almost sleep.
Then suddenly that sound is gone
By a tree frog's baser peep.

Paradise what

PARADISE
This poem is an outburst of a cloud of thunder of appreciation, by someone who is a wonder Rest you may all read onnnn

Where is paradise friend
someone asked
a masked NEOpoet like me
replied

Where else!

The winding path to paradise
you are welcome to
where human angels
as you know reside

I ain't an angel
but a simple poet of peace
who upon soles of human kind
adoration, appreciation only preach

Advice to his child

It is not the things around:

It is not about the money
or the beauty of the cloth,

it is not the way others point
either to praise, or to shame,

it is not what all the world
in all its wonder can convey.

It’s more that deep deep center
which collects the world to you.

It’s less those events coming in,
as light moving out from you.

Institution is a State of Mind

Tall doors open
heavy and dark
beneath stone cold
ceilings high
with glaring bare bulbs
looming a splash
of caustic light.
Faded green walls
damp with the stench
of urine,
and her slippers flip-flap
against the cold floor.
A door slams shut
like thunder
it crashes over me
like a tidal wave.
My ears feel
its painful echo.
It is now that I see,
she is too far gone
to recognize me.
This is the place
my mother has chosen
for her mind to be.

MASKING'S REASON

I finally got the mower fixed
and with effort get off of the ground.
Those new knee's scars are still tender.
Too many years follow me around.

I straighten up, my shoulder hurts,
degenerating vertebrae you see,
which pinch on my spinal cord.
a broken old man, yep that's me.

With an old man's gait I leave the shop
up toward the house, it's near lunch time.
With head turned down I think of youth,
how I spent it like the merest dime.

Black Eyed Venus

black eyed Venus
your lascivious confessions
a voice of thorns
made the priest jerk off
and for seconds he felt close to his god

i burn for you on this
iron jawed fire escape
crying on your thighs
as if landing on a dream
like a canon
that could take out the moon

feel me fickled fingers
I am potters clay
prom queen
sex goddess
luminous dusty winds
of the miraculous

everything is about death
even being born
clouds like asphalt flowers
and ancient monks

UNNECESSARY FEAR

The fog in my mind eclipsed the haze in the air as we moved closer to the little village built with wooden cottages in my head.

I could barely tell if it was the silence or the timid heartbeats the smokes of burnt houses saw in fearful eyes, or the demon feeding its pangs off our curious minds.

Swords drawn, stood on tiptoes anticipating the horror to unveil, with minds that wished the Lord took that cup from their lips...

A cloud of bats unraveled like pieces of black papers tossed into the wind above our head from the mist.

UNNECESSARY FEAR

The fog in my mind eclipsed the haze in the air as we moved closer to the little village built with wooden cottages in my head.

I could barely tell if it was the silence or the timid heartbeats the smokes of burnt houses saw in fearful eyes, or the demon feeding its pangs off our curious minds.

Swords drawn, stood on tiptoes anticipating the horror to unveil, with minds that wished the Lord took that cup from their lips...

A cloud of bats unraveled like pieces of black papers tossed into the wind above our head from the mist.

UNNECESSARY FEAR

The fog in my mind eclipsed the haze in the air as we moved closer to the little village built with wooden cottages in my head.

I could barely tell if it was the silence or the timid heartbeats the smokes of burnt houses saw in fearful eyes, or the demon feeding its pangs off our curious minds.

Swords drawn, stood on tiptoes anticipating the horror to unveil, with minds that wished the Lord took that cup from their lips...

A cloud of bats unraveled like pieces of black papers tossed into the wind above our head from the mist.

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