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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Trapped in a Nightmare

Submitted by WonderGolly on Fri, 2012-04-27 20:34

For some of us, life is but a garden of thorns
The agony is the sole sweetness to savour:

If this be a nightmare by your making, dream-maker
Into which I am trapped, I pray to wake from it now
Before reality tattoos me as an outcast
I can no longer linger here on this gray field
And listen to the weeping winds sing melancholy songs
To the lonely willows wallowing upon lonely hillocks
Heartbroken underneath the dull moonbeams

End Days

Submitted by judyanne on Fri, 2012-04-27 14:31

 

Reflecting pools of glistening memories,

there'll be a golden octave reaching down.

'Twill signal final end to all our quandaries,

so when the man they talk of comes around.

 

There’ll be a golden octave reaching down,

this universe of ashes will go Home,

soft liquid shimmers, silent lights resound,

as angels will affirm shalam shalom.

 

'Twill signal final end to all our quandaries

You scratch....

Submitted by loved on Fri, 2012-04-27 12:19

You scratch my back
and
I will yours
you continue to read me as
I always do yours
and
then why compose poetry
may I ask of you?
as not any,
if at all not many
read ……
why should I post one
for none to breed?
as I might as well write ........and compose
music it to my ears
ere I myself to the garbage bin
my bed
do dispassionately ...............dispose.

Lost Phone Calls (Take 2)

Submitted by AnnaNJ on Fri, 2012-04-27 11:47

Picking up the telephone to hear your voice
always comes as a shock.
It's so familiar
and yet so different.
You sound the same
but your honey-sweet words
seem to wrap around my throat
and make it impossible for me to speak.
A strangled cry the only thing
to escape my lips.

And then there's silence on the other end
as you realize that these words
don't settle warmly throughout me
like they used to just a short time ago.

A Murder

Submitted by Rainy Day on Fri, 2012-04-27 03:21

A murder appeared today,
Landed in the trees,
Unbelieveable the stories,
I heard amongst the leaves,

Orange foilage amongst black shapes,
The branches weighed down,
Heavy ladened beneath the feet,
Of the murder that arrived in town,

Hundreds of black eyes,
Beaded with cold rain,
Watching from limbs high above,
As the wind moans and wanes,

Shall they shout accusations,
To the passerbys below,
Who will be named the culprit,
As the mystery grows?

sub rent

Submitted by Eislen on Thu, 2012-04-26 23:39

Occupancy and lesser
atrocity,

thrown eccentricities.

My wheel is thick,
and the mile is wicked,
(burberry light frownings,
unicorn drownings)
In umber steerage
I heel!
elixir parties rush,
and the club crush.

"into the rushing beast of the night
sucked up by that great dragon to split
with my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry."

A Sexton Qoute from
ALL MY PRETTY ONES

Eislen 2011

My Moon (Jess’s poem from Barbara’s prose)

Submitted by weirdelf on Thu, 2012-04-26 22:19

My Moon (Jess’s poem from Barbara’s prose)

Moon shining on couples in love,
waves that wash away aeons
counter of celestial events
cataclysmic and pastoral

Omnipresent moon,
both distant in meaningless ways
and as close as a touch
speaks to us everywhere
man, or beast.
Where creations brilliance in a dark starry night?
Lovers and thieves, complicit in moonlight

Workshop: 
FROM PROSE TO POETRY

"REAL MAN'S DOG" (prose to poetry shop)

Submitted by scribbler on Thu, 2012-04-26 21:51

Here's Wesley's prose entry. Dick knew where it was going the moment the Akita and his young handler arrived at class. He was confident the dog weighed 120 pounds while the boy, all of 12 years old, wouldn't tip the scale at 90. The mother and son had wanted a Labrador, daddy wanted a "man's" dog.
What they got was trouble.

Workshop: 
FROM PROSE TO POETRY

On Learning of Your Death

Submitted by faerybeki on Thu, 2012-04-26 17:31

I cried
initially
I wept
for you
and for those of us
left
here
reeling

and now
I have an
overwhelming need
to write
this poem.

I choose
to celebrate
Life.
Your life.
The handle bar moustache
and the alsatian,
Slopey, who would
always give one paw,
then the other one
whenever you asked.

Stars

Submitted by MDT on Thu, 2012-04-26 16:57

the sun has set,
as we lay on the warm earth
and look upon the purple sky
to map out our destined birth
in constellation of astrological sic-fi

i Whisper,
look how our cosmic myths interweave,
how the planets shine this eve,
Venus is always first to appear, and disappear.

As we sit on the windowsill
and gaze into the night so still
life's mystic notions draw us
to wish upon the sparkle lights, millions of galaxies away.

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