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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

DEAR MAMA

Dear Mama, can you hear these cries of a sinner,
these deep felt pains not the outside the inner.
Wondering if you can feel these mistakes that i've made,
how I tortured you inside threw your name to the graves.

Dear Mama, are you feeling when your remembrance brings me tears?
thinking about the verbal abuse I dealt with for years.
Not to mention the neglect even though you were there,
neglect from your heart raped the love and the care.

Or We Must Forever Hold Our Peace

George Washington once said he couldn't lie

then Abe Lincoln announced his honesty,

each President has since claimed they were, too

the only thing twas shared by all were lies.

~

I must admit a voter can cause change

or else at worse can shine a light to all,

that with a government that always lies

we'd better all unite or else we're doomed.

~

Widely not a recommended topic

political discussions do go sour,

we all must try and be good examples

Workshop: 

Antidote

In a dark room she is a glimpse of light
On a sad face she is a glowing smile
The sun on a cloudy and misty day

She is the antidote to that dis ease
The sweet sound of friendly conversation
When the only one listening is the wall

The scissors to suffocating ropes
The promise between all the lies
The honest Abe amongst politicians

The artwork on a blank wall
The enemy of uninvited insecurity
Meet my better half, poetry

Defibrillator (Iambic Pentameter)

Far down the vale slow death has wrought from time
no offers tempt an extra hour of life
no promise makes new offerings of strife
seem real enough to take from what is left
before the water's icy shock makes sear
of power slammed into a pounding chest
by Science seem as pure as fleeing soul.

Workshop: 

The Iron Hog

Under a hog made out of iron
where libations flow so fast
and the music will coerce your feet to dance;

be aware of your surroundings
and forget about the past,
let the room fill up with party, and romance!

~

There's no way you're in the wrong place
it's "hog heaven", as they say
let's celebrate together young, and old;

we'll all raise high our glasses
and toast the aging of the day,
staying well after the final joke is told!

~

Ends

 

Workshop: 

An unrhymed piece in trochaic tetrameter

A unrhymed poem in trochee.

Nonsense is the answer, poet.
Incongruity in poesy
hides a lack of innate talent.
Nonce words need no vindication,
whimsy never wants but fancy.
Cognizance is over rated.
Since the reader does not “get” it,
why should we write subtle verses?
Dr. Geisel understood it,
Dodgson wrote to feign dementia.
Audiences thought ‘twas genius.
Why, oh why, should I make sense then?
There is only one good reason-
“I” would like to read my poesy.

Workshop: 

Bitten

Narcotic  grin, agitated 
Demon jaws swallow her whole 
She is afflicted

Savage, insane, horrified and stricken
Terrified She will rip out throats 
As a result of being bitten
  
Holds herself in prone position
Lamenting what has come to pass
Longing to be forgiven

Were wolf lover addicted
To her sensuality   
Stalking her in the undergrowth , undetected  

Fatal collision only one will survive 
Tooth and claw
Who will be victorious and end the fight alive?

STRESSED by STRESSES (meter workshop)

Damn! there goes another poet
off to the land of nonmeter
overstressed about the stresses
made to write outside of rhyme
(though he did it this one time)

Syllables spoken naturally
though in a southern dialect
even when spoken out loud
stressed and unstressed run together
as his head turns into mush

Losing count of all the lines
as he slowly loses his small mind
while sitting in the padded room
trying to write trochaically

Workshop: 

The Forest At Night

sunsets beauty showing pastel lighting
mother nature's canvas unfolds to earth
the tress outlined in shades of dark shadow
hanging heavy from nights dew drop splendor
forest creature will sleep without the fear of harm
upon it's floor a bed of leaves and twigs
cushion the sound footfalls that man will make
all is silent at peace and rest for now

Workshop: 

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