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The stream (all workshops)

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My Name Is Damien Stryker(WORKSHOP SUBMISSION)

Submitted by China Blue on Sat, 2012-02-04 07:58

My name is Damien Stryker
In life
A beguiling rogue ,born to royalty
Nary a care in the world
Believing in neither God or Satan

On a ride to my home
A road taken many a times before
My horse began to rear
Ah but what is this I hear
The trees are chanting my name
Voices drew near
Captured
I was set upon an Altar
As a sacrifice to whom

Workshop: 
Storytelling in Verse

The Failford Falls

Submitted by Tam the Chanter on Sat, 2012-02-04 07:19

THE FAILFORD FALLS

If by the River Ayr you stroll, from Mauchline to Mossblown
And winter light is fading fast, you might wish you'd stayed at home
But if it is the 29th of February (Leap Year)
You may hear a noise, like great Neptune's voice,
As Failford village nears.

Letter to My Lovely Rosy

Submitted by WonderGolly on Sat, 2012-02-04 06:45

My dearest darling Rosy; beauteous as
Ever I pray, despite long ages since separation cursed us
That fateful day on that crossroad
Leading to unlike wild worlds apart and their agonizing load
It has indeed been long my love with torment
But fresh memories of the first day we met
Still looms like restless shadows spooking aloud
It was dusk of which the sun clutched in an amber cloud
Gracefully shone thy face cheerfully like a cherub
That descended down in charming robe
From the heavens - so timid, natures beauteous rub

Joy Overrides Pain

Submitted by Barbara Writes on Sat, 2012-02-04 02:53

The most joy I ever had
Sharing ideas, experiences
Those help others where they're weak
Poets’ young, young at heart
Beginner, intermediate, advanced
Sharpen creative writing skills

I lie in my bed, tired
Feeling pangs of trials, hard hitting
Heat flares in my flesh
I take a break often, closing my eyes
Weary from pain controlling my life
My joy soars, excelling my inner peace

SHED NOT

Submitted by SAKTHEEE2007 on Sat, 2012-02-04 02:35

Shed not tears
He is there to invite you
His palace is overwhelming with glee and peace
Come and enjoy in his hands
Fear not
Life is great and enormous
There are a lot of ways and means to travel
Just come forward to reach the peak

One thing for certain... I know

Submitted by loved on Sat, 2012-02-04 02:06

One thing for certain... I know

That I don't know...
but archives someday will be unearthed
and
when I get the Nobel,
some guy will say
He/She edited it,
so goes my Nobel
As it is.
Archives or none
let's all have some fun.
Humor is the spice of life,
given by God not to critiques
but jokers of a circus
who we all know
are the qualified ones

So am I in the run…

Emptiness is a door to hope

Submitted by press on Fri, 2012-02-03 17:29

Emptiness is a door to hope Belief is a mentality in the shrugged to cope.
Reality is the deceiver, seducing every dream beyond a reasonable reason. Wishing each wish is hope taking emptiness to a new meaning.
What is left? Is the emptiness of believing?

Finale Me

Submitted by IKnowNoBox on Fri, 2012-02-03 14:37

what bucket must I carry?
to properly contain
all those caring
for my soul?
a soul I am assured
is nothing more
than metaphor
this practice
of asking me
what I believe
only to seek
a strategy of approach
to poke holes
In what others subscribe to
or choose not to devote to
is rather contrived
hold on a minute
does that negate my eternity?
Indeed!
in the Here and Now
I am ready to die
when that moment comes
rest assured I accept Nothing
but DMT

Into the music I allowed

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Fri, 2012-02-03 11:47

you,
far away,
I think I love you

our dance of separation,
heavy-limbed
and shredded
far
into the melancholy night

no cell phone ringing
no shared riffs of space
no feathered bridges
across

mudra hands enjoining
this wasteland paradise

faded flower stains of your heart
like deep ribbon grief
upon my lips

Comrade in my Arms.

Submitted by wesley snow on Fri, 2012-02-03 11:36

 

(Based on a story idea by Joe Kubert)

It’s Belgium ’44, the world’s at war.

The yuletide came and went, but brought no joy.

The Bulge is still a challenged corridor,

 yet with their progress troops now redeploy.                               4

 

And so the Private finds himself alone.

Awareness has returned and with it pain.

It must be night, he thinks, while lying prone,

for nothing can be seen of all the slain.                                         8

 

But then the man looks to the Prussian skies

Workshop: 
Storytelling in Verse

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