The stream (all workshops)
Constraints, constraints
please don't my
ANONYMITY rein
kindly refrain
poetic lure is my domain
since eons
I'm not a poet
of what many think,
one of overnight
but still I'm learning
how to relish praise
and
abuse alike
let the venomous ones strike ..
Thanks I like your refrain
for many Neopoets
perhaps maybe disdain
Life prepares us for Death. "It is my hope that every human boy and girl can graciously learn some of the dark or scarier things in life. Bruce O'Ugie recalls: One day, not too long ago, i stood there with my children, and wife. All of us crying, all of us lost. Not really sad, just longing for that oh too familiar untainted, unconditional love. Hoping for her words of wisdom. Like life prepares us for death... I had this friend named Brodie. Our mothers were the very best of friends all while we grew up, since we were babies. More like brothers than friends.
flower petals
soft as velvet
caress this soul
paper lanterns
mystic as ancient scripts
entice these thoughts
cobbled streets
old as gold
form this physique
emerald eyes
deep as sleep
captivate these emotions
poems fly within this mind,
as paper lanterns in the starry night sky.
Sometimes I want to melt...
Melt into my bed,
melt into the background,
melt into your arms,
melt into myself.
Sometimes I want to melt
until there’s nothing left.
And their death came to them on horseback
After echoes of Halloween horrors
Roamed through their haunted village
Screeching like a witch aboard a broom
Jetting through their eerie nights
Sprinkling dread melancholy on their wretched souls
Call them corridors or halls
those spaces linking here to there.
Polished floors and bright glazed walls
which lead us to that next somewhere.
And the doors along each side
which one to open, which to be passed?
Once opened up and we're inside
they all become, in sum, our past.
Some of them we walk alone
others in a jostling crowd;
some are quiet as a long dead phone,
others are often really loud.
you get to know the neighborhood
bums
recognize their palms,
the misfits of the street in their
divestment of the American dream
holding tight to the graffiti of hollow men
and their wild wild west empires,
bullets in their pockets and weapons for sale
in always-shallow hearts;
you might blame the corporation elite,
its stock
and shareholders
for having their own way,
or the politicians bought and sold on the
auction block,
slaves,
rendering to Caesar his image
A rock, bound to a leaf
The wing to free the moment
Flutters green or autumn crimson
on the rich tended soil
within the forest of the "aaaahhhhh"
The holy garden sanctuary
I feel your feet tread
The focus of your creative mind
Weaving it’s wonderful magic in your space
Making more beauty
Beauty forms the feathers of the freedom that is peace
Peace, no matter what the circumstance
Settle in the moment,
the present,
the gift of the rock and the leaf and the silver fox
in the holy garden
now it has come to a wretched affair
telling you this while I'm sat on a carton
telling you life is so blasted unfair -
grateful for flagons of watered-down bourbon
reason I'm living this awful nightmare ?
nasty old bank is now taking mean action
moving my furniture to who knows where
threatening to sell it, tomorrow at auction
woe the great hide rises
while the great one dies
day of another
awake sweet fascination
shake the shackle of this slumber
let the crown of constellations
ride upon your mantled head
tiara of mystery
princess of darkness
let thy breath decree excess
of surly want and lick the lips
of tender lust
the blood fast
the smouldering ruin of
bridges
archs of cascade
the fire drips
like hot life
oh how we delve this hot
famine in succulent
prurience
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