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Earn A Poem Workshop 1 workshop

This shows the poems in just one one workshop. To see all the poems on Neopoet, go to the stream. Or go to the workshop page itself, where you can find out more about the syllabus.

Thank you, Laughter...

And I thank you for Billy Collins,
George Carlin, and the Archie Bunkers of the world.
The laughter of our inner-most children
making snide jokes without rancour.

Too long have we been sleeping,
and not yet awoken
to the truth of halarious and loud laughter,
hidden behind hands of protest.

What freedom to imagine the joke on us,
letting no one in or out,
holding the rest of the world hostage,
with words of wisdom and grins.


I should be working now and yet,
My mind goes back to nights of yore;
My fingers freeze against the keys
For all I see or think is her.

She captivates me with her charms,
Seduces me with sensuous moves.
Entices, teases draws me in,
A spider in her web of sin.

And though my heart belongs to her.
And though my soul is not my own
I know,deep deep within that I
Must use strange powers to bring her near.

So many years since I have done
That which I plan now.

Death's Kiss

Drowning in blood soaked regrets,
Razor's edge, cuts deep.
intrusive thoughts begin to seep,
soaking bed sheets as I weep.

Neverending torture, how I tried
to break the invisible chains that bind.
Stumbling, falling, nearly blind.
Was it so hard for you to be kind?

Time is a thief, for the things we love,
yet stood still while I burned at the stake.
How do you sleep under all that fake,
there is no give, only what you take.

Traveling Man...

I'm footsore and weary,
upon the road again
Through blazing heat and dust
drenched with cold and frozen rain

Many miles I've traveled,
up mountains and over hills
always keep on moving
I am looking for new thrills

What is on the other side,
around the next blind bend?
I wonder; keep on walking
is there ever any end?

Blue skies are never promised
but I keep looking for,
whatever treasures hidden
because I've always wanted more

Qadesh Mistress of Pleasure.

She lurks in the darkness, waiting, waiting,
Patient as gold orb in her web;
I know she waits but dare not open
The door to the fate where I shall be led.

I close my eyes;
I close my mind;
But in the silence there I find
No solace from her piercing eyes
That stab the impenatrable with her lies.

I hear her speak soft to my soul
Command me clear her lust to feed,
Ope' the door, let desire take wing
My mistress sets my soul to sing.

Dragon Dawn...

Dragon's breath tainted with gold
a piece of fair maid in his teeth.
Snoring lightly, blowing smoke rings
resembling holiday wreaths.

Green and bronze scales, so pretty
burnished by the sun,
glisten in the dawn of tomorrow
seeing his enemies run.

Awaken, continue your terror,
stretch your wings out and fly
Scorch the earth, make it ashes
seeing your enemy's cry

Black are the shadows of flight,
wings that quiver and float,
winging over the castle,
see the bridge down over the moat.

Passed By

She is the most glorious thing
I have ever seen.
How can I describe
the most wondrous of things?
Hanging Gardens of Babylon?
I follow her blindly – everywhere,
when we are anywhere.

Last Ride

Back the trunk up, open wide
slide the body deep inside.
Box of pine, nowhere to hide.
Take one last breath, its your final ride.

Pulling over, take it all in stride.
Maybe you shouldn't have lied.
Then again it wasn't your soul that died.
Stop squirming and enjoy the final ride!

Falling match, one for every tear I cried
Oh, looks the Great Pretender is french fried
Into the water below, the box will glide,
Hope you enjoyed your final ride

Five or One Hundred Percent.

I'm running on five percent,
A frame that is worn and bent,
Should I expect less?
Eighty years of excess.
A price worth paying for the bodies rent.

My brain says 100 percent,
It screams at me every day,
I do crosswords, read books,
Write poems and cook,
But my brain ain't my body, OK?

So my mind may be running just fine,
But my body lives under a cloud;
Muscles, they ache,
Joints scroop as I take
Hunched steps with my daddy's old cane.


"My Morticia, you're an ice-cold bitch,"
he thinks, unto himself.
"You don't believe my need for you,
you try to put me on the shelf."

From inside Morticia's head:

"We've so few that pass this way,
perhaps no one comes for years,
please dear one, we'll be good,"
in little sister's voice of tears"

"Very well", she murmurs
slight put out at this.
She braces for his ardent hug,
his smoldering lips, up in a kiss


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