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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.

Ink to write poetry and One Extra for Gee

The ink is on its way,
Black velvet of empty space.
That gives you so much.
Its drops shall become as figures,
On a white expanse that tell stories,
For us all, it will stand out, on white virgin pages.
There you will mingle with the kings of poetic forms,
Words formed as a stark blitz against the snow.

wow oldie goldie

oldie goldie
well nice,
I too saw
a lovely oldie couple

I was traveling in a New York bound bus
and the highway had no crossing,
yet, across the opposite road,
I saw an elderly couple,
who could hardly walk …

the man moved inch by inch,
his woman did not flinch,
all bus drivers slowed down
in obeisance..

then another set,
I saw an old lady
who saw her hubby
fumbling with a toast,
he could no longer butter…

Point Omega

Point Omega
(to Don Delillo)

decay sees through scaley eyes
glassine atoms cracking
flinging electrons
rapid fireflies colliding.....sparks

eternal experiment has failed again
its' designs fall to the will
of the pack
gold verticle eyes aiming the gene of destruction

consciousness
spun ancient and thin, dreams of a collapsing universe
it pleads for rest out of time
implores to throw off matter
once again

to become

stones upon a molten field

The Instability of a Desert Twilight versus You

When the shadows arrive a bit, early
the moon giving just, enough light
felines, and canines both playing together
and running off into the desert's cold night;

out the corner of your eye,
something moved, over there, just then;
must be twilight in the desert, once again!

Relax everyone, keep your heads clear
don't fixate on the fact, none prepare
no-one could possibly.....ever "ready-up"
be the first of your kind if you dare!

Canto Eight ~ Though many would dispute it, for little conclusive is known even now of the Clovis, Colonel Cridge is the greatest man of this age in Life’s Lurien and perhaps the world.

The old pervert

The old codger sat
His hands in his lap
Waiting for pleasure
The moment to treasure
When Constance walked by
No stockings or tights
And he could expose
And see how she froze
When she saw his red flesh
Which he firmly pressed
Tween thumb and forefinger
In order to bring her
Alert to his action
asking for reaction
Showing she had seen him
Throbbing pulsating
His fingers gyrating
Juices escaping
in the back of the bus

The First Poem I Ever Wrote

Pass me the cheese for my peas,
please,
Before I get stung on my knees
by bees that carry disease!

to the preying machinations of madness....

to the preying machinations of madness
I don't want to subscribe….

in the wilderness
it's nice and cold
no one who confronts me
is as bold…
as you seem to be thinking only after this bard
that I could be
and in the midst of a maddening crowd,
I'd like not to bow
but to you alone
I seem endowed

as you do more than others read
many perhaps are now fed up too
what will Loved do
if none read ....

Generation Gap

shiney sax
youngster brash
honkin' and squawkin'
shellacking a tune

"When Sunny Gets Blue", I think

she's wailing and flailing
with hot mustard gusto
and slap-happy swing

it's 6:00 am

I'm wishing she were older
caressing the tarnish
and weathered lines
in breaths long,
slow, and sure

Canto Seven ~ It is Late at night and the boy crouches near waiting for his hostage to wake. He has ministered to the warrior’s injuries and takes only passing note of how swiftly they appear to heal. All accrued in combat with a monster the boy knows nothing about. His anxiety grows.
The man is more exquisite than any he has brought here and of a strange nature whose origins play tantalizingly at the memories he denies.

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