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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Sonnet on The Man

Submitted by wesley snow on Tue, 2011-05-31 22:47

(little opening poem):
"A story joyful striking none as cold
needst never find its heroes fierce and bold.
'Tis fortunate such myths seldom unfold
and thence, as luck will grant, my tale's still told."

O, that the child was ne’er conceived at all
nor yet excessive tell his birthing cries
cast not of God, but else God’s nearest ties.
Without he live, none founder ‘neath the pall.

DINOSAUR

Submitted by scribbler on Tue, 2011-05-31 20:20

My weakly attempt at free verse

Four wheeled nodes of color
rush frantically to and fro
down dark grey dividers
seperating vertical geometries
of
..pastel brick
...marble white
....concrete gray
...........bones.

A peppering of pigeons
spices the hazy air,
itself a smorgasbord
of ripe aromas

Last Night (Shark Pool Submission)

Submitted by themoonman on Tue, 2011-05-31 12:25

The chili has been simmering
for two hours now,
the rice cold and no phone call, again.
I’ve fed the cat, dog and
helped our budding baby girl with her homework,
made sure she washed behind her ears,
she’s in the bed, but still no call, just the silence of winter’s
end and its cold running though in jarring shivers,
she’s really pushing this trust thing … but she
does deserve any me-time she can get, just wish
she’d call and confirm it, not leave me here waiting
for … knock knock knock,

Workshop: 
Shark Pool (initial workshop)

Horizon

Submitted by Candlewitch on Tue, 2011-05-31 11:33

Horizon

I look to the
vanishing point of my
eclectic life,
self-reflection
stirs memories
of both virtuous quality
and abysmal events.

If I were a coward
I would purge the
horrific occurrences,
one by one, for they
often lead to reopening
past, unrelenting stings.
If I were a weakling
I would flee from these things.

The Final Horizon

Submitted by loved on Tue, 2011-05-31 09:14

The Final Horizon

Moving towards the horizon,

I can hear the soft sounds,

Of tolling of a bell,

Ah is it for me,

They are ringing?

That no one knows,

Nor can anyone tell.

I move closer,

In my sojourn to the sea,

Towards that calm ocean of eternity,

I hear it’s now calling for me,

As I reach nearer the shore,

I leave behind all my memories,

Treasures and belongings for sure

My earthly and worldly possessions,

My future biological consumptions,

the secret world of hearts

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Tue, 2011-05-31 07:30

come with me to my secret world
inside the world of creation
where pansies laugh with the apples
of your cheeks and forget-me-nots
dwell

slowly, softly enter my dream
let the sun of sorrow hide where shadow worlds
meet your horizon and the window of your
reflection thaws the ice that was;
bring to me an overflowing bouquet:
your sighs
and the moments your breath was stolen--
the human child awakening, saturated with
night, the light of gold flowering in your hair,
pale blue as the
summer sky,

Splash Pool Experience - ( A Splash Pool workshop Co-Write)

Submitted by lou on Tue, 2011-05-31 05:17

The perfect place for me to start
To splash, to kick, to learn
Oh I'm so glad, much fun we had
The journey has just begun

Dipping in the pool was stimulating
Although unsure of getting wet
However, an exhilarating experience
One, I won’t easily forget.

Those helpful hints, without reserve,
Our stanzas improved flow,
Though Eddie wants no special praise
Stand up and take a bow !!

Worked as a group
Each helping the other,
one cohesive mind.
Equality ruled.

In Despair

Submitted by Race_9togo on Tue, 2011-05-31 04:26

Down there
deep formed darkness
breathes intricate
with pain of
suffering existance

long distilled by fractal nightmares
under piss-stained bridges rising
over yawns of chasm buildings
once alive

now chained by grime
to decades poverty
and unmeasured nights hungered
by avarice misery unleashed
as hollow commerce

an age so long ago
the ice-caps linger
shuddered from their time
in empty realities
bright with anguish

Real

Submitted by Eduardo Cruz on Tue, 2011-05-31 03:26

Real

The ecstasy
is what I think
will last inside
of me
but it is a moment
moving like
quick silver on hands
of short lived
time

Wasting it
is my Guilt
each moments pleasure
belongs to it only
to try and hold it
is like surviving
on a glass of air
and a wind pie

That hunger
is awaiting the next
moment
I live for each one
drawing on every pleasure
it provides
asking for nothing
just being
a part of its unmeasured
evolution

Fedoras

Submitted by brittle light on Mon, 2011-05-30 20:42

funny, how fedoras look
out of place today
incongruous
anachronistic
on the wrong face

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