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The stream (all workshops)

This is the stream - you can see all poems on Neopoet, live, as they are created.

 

I Am Still

Submitted by Ian.T on Fri, 2013-02-22 18:27

I took the sweep of the weeping willow
To scatter your memory, as gently as I could
I failed, there was a sound from my soul,
that told the willow fronds not to brush so

I cried a storm, to wash away the tears of yesterday
Yet your Spirit built a sublime river with it.
Teach me to remember with grace your ways.
Whisper in my mind that you are there for always.

Replace my Pounds with Fucks

Submitted by godshouldnthave on Fri, 2013-02-22 17:59

it is my
my philosophy

that one should
pound.
pound
their reader.

understanding that when they/the (reader) { U }
are/is reading your work
you are

pounding them
from within their/your brain, you are
pounding them

slowly hard
hardly fast
gent please
fasten your
gentlemen
gent gleee
hard more
soft roar
hard core.

that one should pound
one should pound
you should pound.
pound
philosophy.

pound is my
philosophy.

Love

Submitted by sueb on Fri, 2013-02-22 15:13

Opening up

falling

Trusting

fallen

Regretting

broken

"My Friends" by Komninos (Great Poetry workshop)

Submitted by weirdelf on Fri, 2013-02-22 01:35

This is one of my all time favourite poems. It stands the test of time despite references to events from the '70s and specifically Australian place names. It is very, very long, uses a lot of repetition and yet reads compulsively.

my friends.

Workshop: 
GREAT POETRY (a workshop)

The Door to December

Submitted by docmaverick on Fri, 2013-02-22 00:51

The door to December
She hastens her breath

bringing popsicle cobwebs
that remind me of death;

and the fiddler, he plays by the tree,
Her breath an iced cold legacy.

This door to December
whistles a crepe hanging breeze

Her breath quickly killing
the branches off trees;

the fiddler sought street lamps to see,
perchancing a crowd's company.

That door to December
Solstice shuts in the end

She quickbolts both locks
locking out Her last friend;

S U S P I R O

Submitted by Esker on Fri, 2013-02-22 00:11

suspension eve
the slow crawl of stars
like a sunset of flame

rising like ashes glowing

funeral lanterns
at midnight
shinning like brilliant
cascades turning

How we landed in our
simple craft
from the great cradle ship
rocked in slings
and sung to sleep
by the sighs of the canvas

the maiden winds
in the lines

Nuit

Submitted by Race_9togo on Thu, 2013-02-21 23:21

At the frosted crossroads of my forest garden
I knelt in darkness after work
And thanked Her for my journey home,
Looking up into Her smiling face
Through the sleeping branches of the trees,

And as I gave my final thanks
With arms outstretched
I heard Her footsteps on the path,
Felt them in my grateful heart,

The "Gift"

Submitted by Geremia on Thu, 2013-02-21 20:12

The “Gift”

I look to the quiet of a dream
or the peace and tranquility
that faith can bring.
I agonize from the knowing
of a sudden epiphany
and my thoughts carry me away
like violent waves crashing
on a virgin shore.

Matrixx

Submitted by club special on Thu, 2013-02-21 18:55

Shine on your moonlight matrix maze
The mist of morning-- sought then raised
Your cloak of twilight
Its hem has frayed
As sunset sings beneath
The waves

Come And Get Me

Submitted by brittle light on Thu, 2013-02-21 16:17

I like the slow quiet of a foggy night
and the wailing of a distant train
or the putt-a-putt of a single engine plane
loping across the sky

sounds that propel me into a fantaisie noir
not unlike an hypnotic chicken clucker at a cheap carny show

a gritty, tough, iron jawed
double-breasted shoulder holstered
man on the run

"you'll never take me alive" I snarl

the sound of my voice
snaps me back to my ordinary messes
...but, at least I'm still breathing

and wondering

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