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.

 

The Corrupted Evolution

Submitted by bloke on Wed, 2011-04-13 00:28

I don't believe in a soul,
If I had one,
it's been carted away from legacy.

Be amidst one child devil,
of propensity undiscovered,
a gutless trilobite.

Swimming ostensibly,
existing recognisably,
hidden.

Begrudgingly filing a request for reward,
rewardingly,
soulless may create my non existence.

In bloodless comfort,
existence does not gratify a soul,
why live it.

Then is death.

That death brings life.

To a soulless trilobite.

Suckers

Submitted by lou on Tue, 2011-04-12 17:55

Making a stand for individuality.
Two fingers formed into the international sign
for up yours and ‘V’ for victory.

A war against the ignoble scum suckers
of this universe. Undeviating,
in the search for originality.

Fighting for the right to be what or who you are,
In the face of a disapproving world,
outside their concept of reality.

In the final analyses, the conclusion must be,
Acceptance is all most seek.
But hold your ground, let go of ambiguity.

In the Twilight

Submitted by themoonman on Tue, 2011-04-12 16:12

There was a time when I could sing.
Hold a note to the mailbox and back,
then breathe.
There was a time when I could write.
Not just words,
but explosions of emotion carried out through
a hand of passion.
There was a time when I was a Mom,
someone who's very day shone from the sons,
only I could give birth to.
There was a time when I was a daughter.
A balance of pride and joy from a father
who seemed happy to have me around.

The Wave

Submitted by weirdelf on Tue, 2011-04-12 13:42

The Wave

The ripple on the horizon,
the imperceptible start.

The wave comes closer,
the wave reaches higher.
Now it’s upon him,
upon the tiny surfer.

High the wave reaches,
it towers over,
it gains a crown,
a boiling white crown,
and this great monster,
cold, cruel, curving,
picks up the surfer
and is smitten a blow,
a great white gash across its chest.

In attack the wave rears higher, higher,
higher still.
The surfer rides destruction safe to shoulder.

Workshop: 
Poets first poems

MY LOVE

Submitted by scribbler on Tue, 2011-04-12 13:28

I'm slowly posting stuff from old site. Here is not only from old site but 1st poem I ever wrote. As such it will remain unchanged, but feel free to make suggestions as they may be of use in other works. Poem written circa 1971.

...........MY LOVE.......

My love is like a clear spring day
whose golden sunbeams go their way
and suddenly explode in dew
to sparkle once again like new

Like spying a small calf just born
a frolickin' this sunny morn
crying out with joyful bleat
while running 'round on tireless feet

Illicit

Submitted by Esker on Tue, 2011-04-12 12:31

stars cut like a fire torch
windswept they dance
the darkness fanning
like a mystery curtian
throwing the calm
about their exotic charms

there are leaves of pages
growing on the trees of hope
loping like the flank of wolves
their thirsty ache

all loops and whorls
on acid proof billow
stretching in the wind
as scenery dark and hidden
speeds

you ask me questions
for all the unknowns
and the hollow emptiness
the game has shown

Fine Line (eddy styx)

Submitted by Candlewitch on Tue, 2011-04-12 11:02

Fine Line

End of a performance

Submitted by Eduardo Cruz on Tue, 2011-04-12 00:57

A smile, a gentle kiss
your touch sending shivers
that I have missed
sounds of spring in the air
which you create with your
soft spoken words
how easily I fall in love

these are the weapons
you use
to take me for a fool
but baby, this time you have
lost
the anger has risen
no longer am I blind and deaf
to your succumbing snars
dance your dance
for some one else,
the curtain has gone down
on your pathetic show

love letter #58

Submitted by CCfire on Mon, 2011-04-11 22:46

i found my fingers
trying to grip mountains,
a pen and some poems
and i admitted to myself

you hated the fact i wrote,
words i knew and all their meanings

i rub my hand across my cheek,
it's fresh and soap-scrubbed
there isn't a trace of you there anymore

first time i have thought of you
and didn't cry

Pages

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