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The stream (all workshops)

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



What hope
of heaven
here on

Our streets
are secreting
bile from

Happy Earthday (parody)

I see trees burnt black
Dead roses too
Nothing can bloom
No flowers new
And I think to myself
What have we done to this world ?

The sky is ablaze
The sun glows white
Smog stays all day
A forest burns at night
And I think t myself
What have we done to this earth ?

Dad, I, and Arcangelo Corelli

At my age of 10, Dad began tutoring
me on the violin. The guinea pig
I kept in my room cringed
at the horrible sounds this student produced.
It’s true, I never became a child prodigy,
but barely a passable amateur musician.
Still, Dad instilled his own love for fine music
in me, and to this day my house resounds
with the music of the masters.

Gassy Human Stations

Three months Quarantine
added no Quinine

No Rose Mary(Corona-red)
came for me
but added
a bombing
gas one

Have you not
the flavour/toxity
it's been ages


Do we love our sunburnt country,
this land and sweeping planes?
Her abundance is exploited,
Profit drilled out of her veins.

Of rugged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
A mining tortured landscape,
depleted resource, climate change.

Drought scars her broad horizons
The Wilderness is burning
Wildlife suffers death by fire
Ashes, to mother, are returning.

Little Girl

Little girl
Little girl
Don’t you cry
I know it’s hard
It’s hard to fight
Little girl
Little girl
Your not alone
We’re here to stay
We’re here for you
Little girl
Little girl
God is with you
God will keep you alive and safe
Little girl
Little girl
You will be ok
Little girl
Little girl
Your the strongest we know
Little girl
Little girl
We all love you
Please don’t lose this fight
We can’t live without you

Your Hand in Mine

Unfold the scrolls of time
those unforgiving years,
you’ll still see me here,
sitting through the haunted night
full of wind and rain.
Shadows in the transient light
shall forever chain
my heart to yours,
wishing for your hand in mine.


Imagine a porch swing,
weathered, all-white,
gazes west as the sun
journeys home.

You, wrapped in linen,
thoughts lost in last light,
caress the words
of your poem.

There falls your bookmark,
worn thin and blue,
tattered where once
it wore lace.

You, wrapped in dreams,
some of which you outgrew,
softly settle it back
in its place.

Gather the moments
when paper met pen
and your poetry
traveled the page.

What Buddha Says

Mind is everything
What you think you can become
Why am I still poor

Tannenbaum (O Christmas Tree) ~ Title Shop

Here I grow, a handsome fir tree
Standing upright within my wood;
An innocent, then let me be.

Where now I thrive for all to see,
Strobilus stemmed out of the bud;
Here I grow, a handsome fir tree.

Today I prosper, living free,
As streaming sap spawns my life blood;
An innocent, then let me be.

Forever green and wild are we,
My friends and I'd age if we could;
Here I grow a handsome fir tree.

The gentle breeze may hear my plea
And listen to me as it should;
An innocent, then let me be.



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