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The stream (all workshops)

This is the stream - you can see all poems on Neopoet, live, as they are created.

 

MY Tears

Submitted by introvert on Sun, 2011-08-21 08:47

You flow with a greater force than the Nile river
You do not ask for permission,
Do not even scan the environment,
You just flow .

I have been trying to stop you
If only I had realized sooner,
Realized that you have a mind of your own,
Freedom is what I would have given you.

The Repentance of Coming Home

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Sun, 2011-08-21 08:36

11, 9:28 pm
At the end of a day you come home,
if you are fortunate enough to have a home to
come to:
the key fits, your belongings are all where you
left them,
but something has changed, something's not
quite the same,
you realize you're different, you've taken on a
patina and the stuff of your life no longer fits,
what do you do?

The Glass at my Feet

Submitted by docmaverick on Sun, 2011-08-21 06:43

With every sip from the bottle
and each gulp from my cup,

I know a smack of my lips
will say exactly what's up.

Everytime I remember
everything I regret,

it appears to consume me
and put me deeper in debt.

So, I sing songs that I know
with tunes that make me smile,

I sing of every journey
and, the heart of each mile;

if no one else can remember
then, it was mine to forget,

so, I sing louder for volume
and, make it a part of my "set".

Spider lays intrigue...

Submitted by Roscoe Lane on Sun, 2011-08-21 03:42

Spider lays intrigue

( Another side of the spider tale )

There are those who tear down everything
like your house then promise a new estate.
But first the office block or shopping centre
what of your houses? shucks you’ll have to wait.

You can’t stop or hold progress back
with those who complain I’ll have no truck
There are things you need that you’re now getting
like them or not I’ll still make my buck.

JUST TO BE CLEAR....

Submitted by scribbler on Sat, 2011-08-20 16:01

I never ever say never
when writing poetry
and try my best to just get by
which is pretty plain to see.

In order to maintain a rhyme
it's seldom that I stretch
a line too long to work in words
like the lowly plant which people in this part of South Carolina call American joint vetch.

Cursing is a trait I hate
so you won't see me use it
'cause most poems where it occurs
are hardly worth a shit.

MOUNTAINS IN THE CLOUD

Submitted by t. reflexion on Sat, 2011-08-20 06:10

There are mountains in the cloud
Plains and valleys too

Climbing and cruising at an altitude
Mind, like weather in turbulent times
A state with corresponding attitude
Through the desert or the sea, whilst sun shines

There are mountains in the cloud
Plains and valleys too

Look right, look left, if you get the joke
Like life tossing up and down in motion
Rushing through, you will see them poke
In a gathering storm, where you get a notion

Marvelous Melodies

Submitted by docmaverick on Sat, 2011-08-20 01:52

Fogged over glass
broken shards tinted grey,

reminiscent friends, and family
with an eye upon my way.

My perpetual, inner longing
for those days will never end,

through all these hidden agendas
I can't see one true friend.

Am I blind? Or getting slower?
By each legacy that's made,

or am I clearly seeing visions
of values, that seem to fade?

Far be it from me to accept the role
of the corrector in such a land,

A Forest to Treasure

Submitted by Rhiannon1010 on Sat, 2011-08-20 00:17

There are many things in this world to treasure
Like:

The way the sun streams down
To grace the treetops with
Dappled glory.

The feeling of the rough bark
Of a great poplar beneath my
Finger tips.

The heady scent of damp earth
Gently tilled and furrowed by
Silent feet.

The lively gurgle of a brook
As it winds it merry way between
The foliage.

The brisk morning air tingles
Sharp and clear as a mid-winter
Sunbeam.

The leader

Submitted by readwritelive on Fri, 2011-08-19 16:00

Strong words from a broken man.
believe my words and follow these callused hands.
Stand behind me and I will shield you from evil.
This is our ending to create, like a blank canvas on an easel.

SMELLING SASSAFRAS (another attempt at poetic prose)

Submitted by scribbler on Fri, 2011-08-19 14:09

Straight from work the other evening,
I went to decompress
in a patch of summer woods
along a dim game trail I knew.

Upon exiting my old truck,
rapidly down the path I struck
so fast the world passed in a blur
as feet moved at an urban pace.
Way too fast
to see
anything.

But going up hill I soon slowed
as old legs quickly faded.
This slowed down the passing land.
Revealing how the late sun played
upon the duff through swaying limbs
which whispered "juusssst beee....."

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