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.

 

Tooth and Claw

I will liberate you from yourself
salvage the wreckage of your soul.
I will claim what is left of your lifeless hulk
and place it upon the alter of safety

I will bear arms against the wolves at the door,
and cradle you in my loving arms.
keep you from the ghouls and demons
of your tortured past.

Fight tooth and claw, redeem your tattered
dreams and soothe you once more.
wrap you in my tender love,
repel those who would scale the walls, of our fortress.

Whose knife

I’ve got an ’84 Corolla
You might have a Porsche

I’ve got a puter hung together with wires
That keeps me online
You might have a dual core multi whosiwhatsit

I’ve got a mobile phone that takes calls
Sends messages
And even reminds me of things
No doubt you have a smartphone

My television is not flat or large

But I broke no-ones back getting any of this
And expect no knives in mine.

Our Beach

I looked at you and I felt guilty,
I dropped my eyes and felt the same,
And never expected your lips to find me,
Nor your hand to bring me up to you;

You said you didn’t care what I had done,
That the world mattered less than the sand in our hair,
Yours which shone so raven black on my fingers,
And your lips never dry to my kiss;

I felt the chill wind go by,
And it meant nothing;

I marked the water at my feet,
But all I saw was you;

The ballad of a windy Spring

Oh wind with your mighty fists,
who speaks of frozenness;
who sleeps inside her throat,
the singer's voice melts the iron
inside my bones,
melts it into a river of faces,
long ago.

Oh wind who whispers broken syllables
through young-green leaves,
weaving at unseen stars:
poets of the past, hanging bright
in their next season;
a slow waltz inside a galactic dream,
or perhaps a plot of demons.

vanishing point

i may never bend,
a willow branch
thirsty for space

i heed wild skies
and sunsets
that flame this
hunger to feel
roots

there is nothing to
surrender,
my God is lost in creation,

i was a goddess once,
one of seven sisters
one of nine daughters
of Eve.

i leave no trails for you
do not follow me
i've gone far beyond,

earth is a temple in my veins,
do not sound your trumpet,

synergy

and like the frenzy of madmen
you've been stabbing it
and stabbing it
and stabbing
yet nothing dies
directly related to your fury
the world does not
desecrate itself
anywhere near
how a whore does
when
no matter how she tries
she will never be
that small girl with
her hand in her mother's
the smile on her face
and the promises of
bigger things

Demons in the Rough

Should you wander out
amidst nights' "twilight time",
it can end up going one of two ways;

if you fail to notice,
which would be a major crime;
youll have to wait, and see how the evening...plays.

Should you venture into
this "twilight force",
I can't emphasize this, nearly enough;

your existence will completely change,
and that's just "par for the course";
those, are your demons in the rough!

Demons in the Rough-(Shark Pool submission).

Should you wander out
amidst nights' "twilight time",
it can end up going one of two ways;

if you fail to notice,
which would be a major crime;
youll have to wait, and see how the evening...plays.

Should you venture into
this "twilight force",
I can't emphasize this, nearly enough;

your existence will completely change,
and that's just "par for the course";
those, are your demons in the rough!

THE UNSEEN PAINS

Hurting pains sometimes manifest in anger
With distorted contour and crooked face
Voice tone in high rise explodes like bomb
Part of pains flow out in dissipated stress
The wound heals, the scar remains unseen

This painful effect conscious of the cause
The wound deepens, healing hard and slow
Rage degenerates into grudge and malice
Eats up the host till nothing is left inside
Cadaver disintegrates and awaits interment

Time Bound

Tick - tock,
Sounds the dying hands,
Like bells that toll rife,
In ripened, chilly air,
And hands that stoop to fell
The seasons weary run.

Dust and dirt and minds,
And broken things reply
The token sounds:

Tock-tick-tock...

Again, again, in ceaseless
Strains chorused
From every waking yawn,
Till the lull of sleep approaches
Once again...

Decreed forever to make us dance,
Like foolish puppets,
Helpless brothers;
Hapless beings of chance,
Cousins of a controlled race.

Pages

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