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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.

Awake Entranced

Walking the half mile a whiff of rain
Pelting like vanilla wafers.
Doors are always a cause for anxiety
Tasting like black mambo venom.
Ideas of what to do began to swarm
Black tornadoes whirled me blushing
There is no way in the lock is engaged
Reminiscent of her peach candles
On lips chaffed waiting for me
She is there looking at the knocking
Of rusty knuckles black and blue rainbows.
Fading like an old record that breaks like steel
She is soon a ghost of palm trees and coconut

• He wants sex not love •

I'm now a mango to you,
you throw stones on me when you see me ripe on tree..

I thought you loved me not knowing I was fruit you lick and throw the seed.

where is the first apple you called me?
is it in your eyes or heart?

Why do you use me like mop to clean the house?
You held me and fold me like bread is that the love?
You kissed me and threw me on the bed...
I believing you loved me not knowing you hated me

Night Terror

Don't come any closer
If you know what's good
Don't come any closer
I wish you would

You push me
Break my bones
Don't come any closer
I wish you would

Blood on the floor boards
Blood on my hands
Knife bent
Shattered end

You run your mouth
Even tho you're dead
Your poison words
Get out of my head

Blood on the walls
Blood on my clothes
Body lay dripping
In the hall.....

Lovers' Secret Thoughts

Lovers’ Secret Thoughts

Ha-ha, Cupid, you prankish
little imp, with your bow you fling
random darts across the night sky

Lovers look at those as falling stars,
then make wishes, keeping them
from one another, but one can guess
their thoughts:
“I wish she was prettier . . . .”
“I wish he was handsomer . . . .”

See this aged couple? His hand
touches hers and he wishes—
but he hesitates to tell his old sweetheart
what he is wishing for.

Innate Desire

They came to say
about their experience

then dictated
they have gone

but not left unheard
hopefully

though human mind
has a limitation

it retains but little
for an indefinite
expanse of time

so even what I say
will not be ingrained

on the walls of Time
permanently

nor will I get name
in my living
as I chime
greed for fame

but
shall remain
for long impacted
on the psyche of human mind
till ordains it
my Time

Scratch-Off Spring

If you like Spring, Maryland weather
is like a scratch-off lottery ticket:

your lucky penny may wipe away
the snow for one week, and a cluster
of tulips appear.

The sweltering heat of summer
be interrupted by zephyrs,
cool as Canada.

It is a poor man's delight, these anomalies
of paradise.

Another type of unearthing,
the treasure of treason
against a bitter or blistering season.

Scratch-Off Spring

If you like Spring,
Maryland weather
is like a scratch-off
lottery ticket:

your lucky penny
may wipe away
the snow for one week,
and a cluster
of tulips appear.

the sweltering heat
of summer
be interrupted by zephyrs,
cool as Canada.

It is a poor man's delight,
these. anomalies
of paradise.

Another type
of unearthing,
the treasure of treason
against a bitter
or blistering season.

TWO WAY VISION( JANUARY CONTEST)

New years is a couple weeks gone by
and January thaw is fading fast
heralded by wind tossed cobalt sky
which soon will bring an icy blast.

Artificial knees allow this stroll
yet still ache (and always will)
but I take to this wooded knoll
overlooking a little rill.

I spy the chair which I left here
a year or two, at least, ago
one summer when this land was sere
and weeds even refused to grow.

The Seven Ages of Modern Man

All the world's a shithouse,
And all the lads and ladettes mere defecators,
Gratifying oozing exits and entrances;
And one man perforce enacts too many roles,
His acts being seven deaths. D'abord, the baby,
Shitting and pissing on his mummy's frock.
Then, the errant truant with his rucksack
And pock-marked wanker's face, creeping like death
Foul-trouser'dly to school. Next a teenager,
Panting like mad dog, with an oozing pustule
Dripping oe'r his girlfriend's pubics. Then a hoodie,

On the Eve of 2020

Once before the nation was split like wolf-packs
Fighting over a bloody carcass.
Wars and corruption was all the news
And everybody grew their hair long.

And what did all the tumult bring?
As all we wanted was to laugh again
Like the children we were then;
The roaring years of drugs and fun,
And roller-skating to a sonic drum.

Hope’s a homeless animal on the streets of now
In history’s dialectic of psychotic despair-
Everything’s impossibly different
And yet the same chaos governs all things.

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