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.


Hearts that See

There dwells a bit of hell when love cast a bitter spell.
What do you see when you can not break free?
Perhaps it can be unchained, will we lose what we gained?
Can love be a cushion for a world untamed?
What love is in name gives a rightful claim.
So another look at my life, knowing love is a double blade knife.
The love I know is gentle and free, and always the better part of me.
Love set me free when your love was clear to see.

Standardizing New years Greetings

Time lapses again and again
into its own golden, nay diamond casket
Another angel passes by
and a new one will emerge tonight
Twilight to twilight

The winds of change as usual continue
CORRUPTION and POLLUTION still continue
they have become and are order of the day
And best of all, all Religious ones have discovered
the imprisonment of LORDS
in Mandirs and Churches and Mosques
need to be abandoned
to keep alive the modern generation


I read our chats,
When the juvenile sun bloomed from the eastern creek.
Smiled heartily,
To be probed by the hands of sour reality.
Just like perennial crops we wilted too early
And shed our green youthful leafs.

Love lost to lust,
Consistent craven cravings, cradled carefree love
That cost trust rust,
Our future in the flames of burning nostalgia.
Why does fickle life look so perfect on pictures?
Love stand tip-toes on youthful lips.

Aperture Magnified Yield

pacing for angles: track photographer
posed stationary in her depth of field
dancing with light, (life's choreographer)
crow-footed storylines airbrush concealed
motorized aperture magnified yield
fingers fluttered and shuttered in burst mode
closure, exposure; images revealed
dateless lithium batteries corrode
overpressurized high-def-cams explode
kept my eyes peeled through foggy viewfinder
color-coded overload episode
red-flashings serve as gentle reminder
framework friends/ artists with both lens and pens


His eyes look as they have for years
bright, though with the barest haze,
I've never seen them wet with tears
while time ground relentless gears.

And we've shared a near lifetime
filled with ups as well as downs
from almost youth on through our prime
stolen as surely as a crime,

I see those aging eyes today
as I stand with him to say goodbye.
Those eyes once green now tending grey
as we see his life's love on her way.

He looks from hole to sky then pain
makes tears fall like a soft rain.

My Thoughts (Reviewd)

My thoughts are my thoughts
or am I dreaming
are these my thoughts
or yours
I don't know still

does our mind ever read
other's thoughts
I don't know
but do not instil

yet my thoughts resound
the voice of many
are these thoughts
of any use to any

but without these
one can't convey
what's hidden
beneath the surf of stress
the mind's domain

but one must be re- assured
that thoughts alone live down
memory’s lane

The Apology

Socrates, the man, was old, his voice frail,
Though his wit was sharp as steel;
Battle scarred from three campaigns
Using the short sword,
A poor husband it was said.
He owned at least three slaves
And known to have walked with a limp.

He struck at the imperial chambers
By declaring himself a fool,
And everyone else too.
Convicted by his fellows
To either die, or go away
Far into the desert of exile,
He chose to challenge the gods
To see what was behind the oracle.

Long Season

darkness falls from night
I am still here waiting
after you are gone
azure veined seraphim
i think of you through this long season of my life
like swallowed ivories

you always said you did death best
and haven't made a gasp since
laid out in the field face down
my grey goddess of the wan sinless moon
smiling vacant
mud mandible
tempest that beats the grass

are you here
shrouded wave
is the wind your voice?


Sometimes I don’t want sex

The moonlight
White oak leaves

The nightingale’s
Midnight serenade

The passerine’s sigh
In bed
At first light

The scent
Of library books

That a hundred or more
Have turned with
The tips of their fingers

Walking the city streets
And seeing hair colored
Black or red
Purple or blue

Or curled
Or draping down

The twirl of a chiffon dress
Or an umbrella
In the wind


Angels fly
With beauty and grace
I could tell you are one
By the joy radiating from your face

You have always been my guardian
Protecting me on piers above
An advocate for peace
A soaring dove

You are the sun
Brightening my day
You can not protect me from all evil
But you try anyway


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