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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

Confess

Submitted by washing tears on Sun, 2012-05-13 15:05

Confess, my love
I swear I was always right
I held in my arms, the one and only source of light
You will, you will; be what’s always wrong with me
And I will, I will; change what I can see

Confess, my heart
Was torn all apart
In your hands you held, my one and only love
You will, you will; be the end of me
And I will, I will; break internally

And when your sky comes crashing on you
Will you reach for me, or one of your loves?
And I said, “I can love no one, but you”
Believe me, I am true…

A Swans Gannet..

Submitted by Roscoe Lane on Sun, 2012-05-13 04:55

A Swan’s Gannet…

Back then in a year called seventy four,
we just about knocked on heavens door.
Because heaven isn’t that bloody far away,
and it sure isn’t what the christians say.
No heaven is right here on this earth,
it’s a state of being it’s what you're worth.

I meant LOL

Submitted by loved on Sat, 2012-05-12 23:53

There was a silenced lull,
on the Neopoets site,
For a while,
my heart skipped many a beat
and how about yours
twas the teary eyes
of passers bys
who consoled me alright
that soon the site will again
be in sight
twas.

BLIND VISION

Submitted by scribbler on Sat, 2012-05-12 19:20

Gazing through a window without glass
envisioning reality
distorted.

Do I behold what's come to pass
or what has not yet come to be
perhaps aborted?

Some go through the looking glass.
Sometimes I step through what's not there
with eyes tightly closed.

The unglazed window of my mind
reveals what looking glass leapers
overlook.
Too preoccupied
..Too hurried
.....(Too worried?)
Too blind.

A ZOLA NOVEL : updated

Submitted by Geremia on Sat, 2012-05-12 17:00

INDIFFERENCE

my voice is still.
my words echo empty
and meaningless.
my heart has learned
indifference
my soul no longer cares
and I am lost
in my own wondering
of who I am.

Useless twists and turns
of the tongue
speaking my identity.
I am a Zola novel
my destiny like a clock
set genetically
I am what I was meant to be:
I am my mother's child.
I am my father's son.

From Green Mansions

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Sat, 2012-05-12 16:48

From many green mansions
this old house,
the windows open

crossing a beam of light,
poet dust.

The Vase

Submitted by Rainy Day on Thu, 2012-05-10 01:56

The vase looked so inviting,
To the two buttercups,
Lying thirsty on the wooden table,
Their green stems cut,

“I can’t take it anymore,”
Said one to the other,
“I’ve got to climb up there,
And have a drink of water,”

“You can’t”, replied his friend,
“The lady might see,
Besides our roots are gone,
We have no feet,”

“I knew”, the other said,
“That this would happen one day,
That she’d get clipper happy,
And want to put us on display,”

M I L L ..L A N E

Submitted by Esker on Thu, 2012-05-10 01:39

pale slender
put your legs
across me
and own me

for the moment
i'm yours with
my wild eyes
calm

delve me and shelve
me my thoughts are
your balm

while candy blossoms
bloom like velvet soft
lips
frosted and sated with
sun
chilled with rain

you dont care about
my age
its my rage you tap
tranquil entitiy
flaring like a star
you make your wish
upon

and dream of
someplace far

My Insanity

Submitted by Apostolos "Paul... on Wed, 2012-05-09 18:39

I gave my thoughts names, does that make me wierd
If it does well my pen should be sedated
And my mind should be under psychiatric care

Aren’t we all children of insanity? Well I know that I am
No sane man puts his weaknesses out so carelessly
A real mad man hides in an artificial cosmos
Led by monotony and the stench of death

We love and we hurt as if emotions were dice
Don’t get me started on politicans
All their good at is shaking hands and getting nominated
And you sit back silently, now that is insanity

His Paint Mixes with Your Tears

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Wed, 2012-05-09 06:18

It comes like this
like the rain.
You are a cloud
bursting through
your mind,
the earth welcomes
you sometimes
and breaks its own monotony
of dust and dirt,
life abides.

A yellow bus rolls by, filled
with daffodils and sunflowers.
There's another
story you must tell. Another poem
begs to be written and your
mouth is watering for words and you notice
rain falling on the street.
Deeply immersed in the
chaos of your heart, you live.

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