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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.

COUNTING SPRINGS

Submitted by scribbler on Tue, 2013-04-09 10:52

There is no warmth outside today
when ice and sleet cover the ground
beneath a freezing sky of gray
whose cold winds set the pines to sway.
No hints of autumn to be found.

For this is winter at its worst
no thoughts of spring come into mind
shoulders hunch, cold lips are pursed
I survey a landscape that seems cursed
a world described, at best, unkind.

Exporting Oppression (Workshop revision)

Submitted by weirdelf on Tue, 2013-04-09 06:23

Conservative Christian fundamentalism
I know good people who hold these beliefs
they are blind to fatal flaws of thought
I tear my hair,
face sinks to my hands
despair

Corporations
are anti human
anti planet
and support only profit.

The facts are clear
CEO’s salaries,
corporate incomes
rise rise rise
as the people get poorer

Workshop: 
Show And Tell: Intensive Critique Workshop

Metamorphosis

Submitted by Josephus on Mon, 2013-04-08 20:18

I can`t believe you`re gone
I can`t believe you died that day
I can`t believe there is no us
I can`t believe your wondrous eyes
Were martyred to an unknown cause
You; mixed with steel and dust
For all the world to see
You; crushed
Your spirit flung
So unprepared
In screaming shock
At such sudden unplanned exit

today tomorrow and yesterdays

Submitted by loved on Mon, 2013-04-08 14:41

Today is that day
that came early today
as tomorrow you may say

but tomorrow never comes
that’s all I can say
for it always becomes a today

all 'todays' cluster as yesterdays
with memories of all todays
as sands of times pieces
one may say

you can recollect all your todays
glorified in shelves of times
but tomorrow is a conjecture,
it will come
but as in another garb
and you may or may not be there
to welcome

EMBALMED IN WINTER

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Mon, 2013-04-08 14:31

I love the winter, its silent cloak
thrown over thoughts, and time,
it's white whispers whistle through my hair,
blown flakes like butterflies spin
to make me blind,
no depth, just void.

It's voice, an echo of the night,
it's light gives cold it's bite,
as seagulls fly in gusts,
the trees, they bow.

We brave the elements,
reach out to catch the staff
stumble through great mounds
of crystals, sharp,
strive to reach the fire.

The Legend of Inve and Tantalla VII: The Silver Crown

Submitted by William Saint George on Mon, 2013-04-08 10:08

The Silver Crown

And end thus came of Inve's life
and hidden since, his witch and wife
within the woods that claim her name
and now her dreadful, wicked fame:
Queen Tantalla now rules alone 5
with silver crown and wooden throne.
For Tantalla, the fairest dread
had sought to rescue prince from dead.
She bore his body to her lair
and with dark magic did prepare 10
a ceremonial, final rite
when bright was glade under star light.

Workshop: 
Storytelling in Verse (sempiternal)

The Legend of Inve and Tantalla VI: A Day of Blood

Submitted by William Saint George on Mon, 2013-04-08 10:05

A Day of Blood
For long, in stillness lay the west,
calm was the air and still their zest.
Long they forgot the war of Kings,
which shamed them so, that none dared sing.

They held thought on their shamed defeat. 5
They brooded o'er the reckless feats
that led them on to fruitless war,
their name to ruin, fame to scar.
They since despised the foe uncouth
that, condescending, watched the south. 10

Workshop: 
Storytelling in Verse (sempiternal)

No Painkillers Needed

Submitted by Rula on Mon, 2013-04-08 09:02

With mornings' breaths, I inhale my pain
and urge it to stop while humming "don't complain."

Those little nagging things are life's daily spices
we need to smell and taste, they're trifle prices.

But what really hurts is this worldly oppression
that paces under everyone's recognition,

and what deepens the aches into my heart,
I find no painkillers work to make my pain a past.

WHISPERS

Submitted by scribbler on Sun, 2013-04-07 20:23

Whispering through tall pine trees
in winter as the air blows cold
or among poplars tall and bold
soft spoken winds as puddles freeze

Whispers pushing southing cloud
in spring time as the leaves all sprout
when bull frogs burp and peepers shout
murmur in rain but not too loud

Whispers through the evening hours
in summer time as all life sings
from whippoorwills to insect wings
soft shushing after summer showers

A Chant For Gregory

Submitted by Josephus on Sun, 2013-04-07 19:55

her faded floral dress
clung to a gaunt and sinewed frame
as the wind molded it
to a hard edged body
no fat no curves
just age and hardship
molded angularity
arms outstretched
holding wet flannel shirts
A mouth full of clothes pins
Coaxing heavy material
on to the swaying line.
his clothes...washed every second day
Iron gray hair blowing
across her chiselled face
her eyes china blue
in laughing counterpoint
to the drab garments around her
she stood out on the hill

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