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.

 

At Crossroads

Meet me at the center of my dream, at the juxtaposition of time and moment, at the confluence point of my endeavours.

I met a chuckling stranger once, a score ago, by the entrance of the streets at the rustling of childhood fantasies. "What way are you headed my child" ? I sneered at his decision to stay blind to the apparentness of my direction. Still, reluctantly I pointed at a path, I saw him smile as he shook his head and I was irritated by the abrupt end of his expressions.

L o s s [September Contest]

Loss?
rid it soon
don't rue
travel light

life is good
add value to the cart
shun worldliness

loss is a notion
like grief
even that eases
into impermanence
over time

Spirit of a Negro

It is the origin and hope of a thousand children. Tis the love that transforms young seedlings to plants. Its breath canvasses the woods of the Zaire o'er the hills of Zimbabwe down to the lowlands of the Mozambique. It is the great tide that accompanies the Nile to kiss our cheeks at first light. Tis the stars that glitter when the sun slumbers in celestial furlough. Tis the bravery that enveloped the hearts of our forbearers. It is the burning lamp at the towerwatch of the Zanzibar. The courage to walk the dark places in mythical lore.

weaver

silk wool sari thread
blind mares' mane
egret feather magpie song currawong
dazzled- close your eyes -
still weaving

ships' rope jute golden baling twine
mud damp reeds scented dried
warp and weft weft and warp

single ribbon snake skin slides
unanchored

by the loom

Jimmy Carter Was a Goober (In All the Best Ways)

Jimmy Carter was a goober
who didn't stand a chance
between the perpetually lame duck Ford
and the Juggernaut Reagan.

I watched TV one morning
when Jimmy was president
and even as a boy thought
"what a fine man this is."

Now I don't know
if he was up to the task.
I was so young
when he was swept out of office,
but he seemed like the kind of guy
I'd want to grow up to be like.

BC (Before Cellphone)

Tucked tight in the palm of my hand
It is my staff, my cross, my wedding band-
I am hardwired to the great humanity
And everything ever known BC.

So many friends support my moods
In the Church of the Holy Internet;
We share our love, our music, our foods,
Our liaisons connected like an alphabet.

I shield my phone as it were my child
From the roughness of the rain-
Without it I’m lost, I’m zero, I’m blind,
Disconnected and afraid,

All alone in the digital seas;
I do not carry it. It carries me.

A Wedding Toast - For August

You have embarked upon a new adventure
It will be a rough and rocky road.
But if you remember
Not to be selfish
Love each other, in good times and bad
Consider each others’ feelings
Be honest, straight and true
respect each other
Never take things for granted,
The road will smooth itself out.

The Anatomy Of A Popped Balloon

objects of joy
litter the carpet

some that use batteries
some that move — enthusiastically
(with or without our help)

some to cuddle
some that make electronic noise

the sounds of childhood progress
the alphabet
for example
a MIDI soundtrack

eventually something will
burst
like a balloon

and that sound will be
as educational
as an episode
of Sesame Street

triggering tears
the feeling of loss
gifts taken

even surrounded by
things and people we love

Nature's Eternal Struggle

Lilting, harmonic
A light tune plays near
Tilting, demonic
The chords twist, shatter my ear

Two sides of the same coin
Fire battles frost
They turn, fuse and join
One defeats the other, and lost

Which will prevail?
Light, or shadows?
Like metal without the nail
Like grass without the meadows

A neverending circuit
A sphere without edges
Emerald bushes were cut
By the gardener, the hedges

Everyone Dies In Their Nightmare

My eyes close in defeat to hormonal brawl, I am clothed in senile shawl as my lungs gave breath to sound proof sizzles of a bear. In a misguided drift from consciousness, I dissolve as smoke in an unconscious saunter. I have wandered aloft, I am strangely lucid then corded to a time machine, like a tossed coin there is a reversible swap in equilibrium. Recurent visions of events take me; some of which have been and others yet to meet the seer's light hence a premonition of sorts

Pages

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