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The stream (all workshops)

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


the mindset of vengeance

No ailment can prevail over my one
true purpose that my heart yearns towards.

That purpose is to kill the destructive demented demon that
mutilates our humanity . leaving those whom survived with deprived minds
To do only one thing to dive deep down into
the insufferable iniquitous realms
Of insanity.

Tulips Roses And Lilly

Those who endure
love the lure
of Life


having come
to mommy Earth
love to survive

years long enough
ere you naturally die
so @81 I do still try

very niceeeee poemmy
thanx for reading mine

Tulips Roses And Lilly

Crack An Egg On My Head

Is it possible to have the perfect day?
No doors flying open
and none slamming shut
No windows closing
not one nasty surprise
I don’t know if I will get through without a hitch?
I do hope so
I think everyone deserves that?

At least on their birthday.

My Past in Peace

One day, I’d like to go
In search of my past,
Of the memories
Of a misspent youth;
I cry for my souvenirs,
I dream of a beautiful future,
Where I can atone
For all my follies,
And contemplate my past
In peace at long last.

Eulogy The Women in Jerry’s Life

The Women in Jerry’s Life
First there was that girl called Heather,
Who wouldn’t go out in wet weather.
I made her shower--
Some dirt and some flour
Were things that held her together.

the grieving widow decided to
remove canto 2. Jerry
has gone far enough!

I met that thin girl named “Gater;”
She was so thin--no guy’d take’er.
No bun and no breast,
A pencil at best--
I said, “See ya later, Gater.”


The road's gravel groans a bit
as I park on its wide shoulder
then I sneeze and cough then finally spit
on a roadside boulder.

Here on Parsons' Mountain side
I look around at the steep hills
where huge hardwood trees abide
whose shadows lend to autumn's chills.

All the leaves are painted now
and scattered cherry trees are bare
on these slopes that never felt a plow;
around here that is pretty rare.


Poetry is mostly
but helps all to release

some sexily
few lovingly
friendly immensely

think for yourself
will ye
take not seriously

now Sans
even brains


My Music Man

I sit and cry, here all alone

my head only filled with thoughts of bones

I feel so dead, like rotten fish

to feel alive is my only wish

but then there out of the blue

a window appears and leads to you

my music man, the love of my life

the one that comes to me in my strife

i push back the shudders, and step on the pane

leave my dirty world, where it has begun to rain

i step into a bright forest, where fairies surely live

then into my music man's arms to get a hug he wants to give

Kissing the Blarney Stone

A trip to Ireland’s lush, green isle
I thought I would not want to miss;
I had to see that jolly place,
The Blarney stone I had to kiss;

With Guinness beer well fortified,
I slid beneath that fabled stone
And kissed it hard and kissed it long,
Then found, I was not quite alone;

I saw that little Leprechaun
Who sang an Irish song to me
About the lucky Shamrock leaves
And fairies by the Eldon tree.

Such a Short Space of Time

I love, not just those
I knew back then,
But those
Who were young
Back then,
But who’ve since
Come to grief, who,
Having soared so high,
Found the
Consequent descent
Too dreadful to bear,
With my youth itself,
Which was only
No, even less time,
A mere moment ago,
How could
Such a short space
Of time
Cause such devastation?


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