Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

The stream (all workshops)

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


Life In The Rearview...

I felt as though it were a dream
the feeling was so strong
Little things in the picture
looked and felt all wrong

I looked up at the ticking clock
hanging on the wall
I listened hard and heard them
my footsteps in the hall

An insistent voice inside my head
wondered what was up
Telling me that it's okay
you just awoke abrupt

It happens now and then you see
this kind of thing... it does
I understand it now of course
when you're dreaming of what was

Golden Bounty

End of Summer;
the combine harvester fires up
to reap nature’s golden bounty.
Over there, as far as eyes can see,
stretches a landscape filled
with waves of wheat that sway
and rustle in the wind.

Undeterred by the combine’s
grinding, churning racket,
starlings flutter and submerge
to snatch up scattered kernels,
then to rise in one black explosion--
only to brazenly settle
on a useless scarecrow meant
to scare off these freeloaders.

On Hearing of the Death of an Old Friend

I’m so sorry, my beloved old friend,
I didn’t even know you had gone,
That you had left us very suddenly,
Some twenty years ago last February,
Please forgive me, my beloved old friend,

For failing to see you more frequently,
For I might have provided some comforting,
Even lessened your terrible suffering,
But I only found out recently,
Please forgive me, my beloved old friend.

Oiling The Hinge (October Contest)

Looking through the window of my mind
I remember all that is sorrowful
and all that has brought me joy

It’s not always easy to open
Sometimes I need a reminder
to keep it well-greased
Memory is a true miracle
and indeed well worth the maintenance

The imagery that I see inside
is a powerful minefield
I can run away or face my fears
confronting my very own ghosts

Opening my memoirs to moments
that I wouldn’t change for anything
closing to those that I wish to forget

Portals of the Mind (October contest)

From the lookout of your attic
you view sleepy autumnal afternoons.
Sky and clouds have soft orange tints.
Gracefully, you embroider with golden threads
on silk cushions.
Farewell to the forgotten doorway,
the sombre faraway lanes.
A mirror reflects the same scene
in the interior of your chamber.

Sixty Pixi In October

Like a Pixi, I hang around
wondering waiting to feel different
on a Pixi 13 October 17
I felt the same as I was day before.

As a wanderer, I move about
wondering why I'm here this strange land
a Pixi 21 a Libra girl
I felt the same as day before.

Moving along the twenties year
I wondered what I want to do
who I want to be
a wife by thirty, four kids into existence.

A Pixi 30 my dream manifested
married, 3 kids, a son soon to be
living my best life
nothing else mattered.

Lost in the land of stories

I pick up a book and flip open the page
the words jump and float out to meet me
they circle me and whisper secrets in my ears
then the bookmark becomes a rope to climb
climbing up I see the most remarkable sight
flowers the size of watermelons
small little men that have hair made of cotton candy and skin made from gold
the ground is curved like the ocean with all the colors of the rainbow
the trees seem to float in the air and sing with the wind
the clouds have giant mustaches and big blue eyes
the grass is made of twizzlers

A Ballad of the Wild Huntsman

Beware of forests, gloomy-dark
at night around the witching hour;
beware of Halloween, the time
when evil gains its greatest power.

The Huntsman rides through clouds above
in lead of his wild entourage;
with hey-o! and huzzah! huzzah!
he brings to naught stout men’s courage.

A wide-brimmed hat conceals the eye
that casts a light of evil rage;
he had been god to mankind once,
till Christian gods usurped the stage.

little light house

You and me sitting
in our
lovely little light
House staring
At the streams
Of dreams bellow
What our light’s of life
Will Show
In the Delphic
Fog of
Our future bellow.



It’s the defiance toward a thing untenable
saying to the universe simply: “No More.”

What decision has been made
to stride towards a distant bright

It’s not the coldness inside turned from
just the darkness outside the door to protect the heart from

needing to protect the heart from that stabbing darkness outside
from pain’s window of careless acts derived from callous thought.


(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.