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.

 

pathetic

Submitted by weirdelf on Sat, 2012-05-26 09:56

I wish I was a Catholic
in order to confess my sins
and remove my shameful deeds

or perhaps a Buddhist monk
this world's illusions torn away
and nothingness achieved

maybe many transmigrations
could teach a lesson or two
and drop me off the wheel

CLEAVAGE

Submitted by scribbler on Sat, 2012-05-26 09:28

Man, look at that cleavage there!
large pale globes just bulging out
inviting everyone to stare,
whistle, perhaps even shout.

Do you think the cleavage folks
purposely expose their goods
leading to such crude lewd jokes
about their large and jiggly goods?

The tee shirt's not quite up to task
the cloth's too sheer and not too tough
which kinda leads most folks to ask
what fabric would be strong enough?

Treasured Moments (Constructive Feedback Workshop)(A Petrarchan Sonnet)

Submitted by Rula on Sat, 2012-05-26 04:49

How many priceless moments life does show,

adored enough for us to store with gold,

yet brief they stay and leave us lone, to hold

our hearts and make their ills and sorrows grow.

Alas, how often hearts seek lasting glow,

imperfect joy and earthy lusts that mold

and rot then set our suns and moons less bold

forgotten and entombed with all they owe.

Yet wait, there’s still a hope for me and you

when heavens bid immortal life for us

with more eternal joy and happy times.

Book Of Pain (Part One )

Submitted by Sergio Vagros on Sat, 2012-05-26 03:44

...And the Dragon sheds the last tear,
His happiness an illusion.
Driving promises of lies told to self,
Unbearable,
unbelievable,
unrelentless pain,
self-inflicted for my soul's humility.
It is a sad thing
when there is no-one to blame.
Packaged
and sold against self imprisonment
and denial,
pulsing veins of blackest sin.
My scales absorb the pain as my teeth
grind fault loudly,
making damn sure my ears
carry every word and feeling of betrayal
to my inner core of emotion.

Gift of the Land

Submitted by MDT on Sat, 2012-05-26 01:55

red earth
and golden shrubs
majestic roots
and kindred bark
in which was carved
the initials of the hand
that held the blade
and the mouth that starved
for the gift of the land
a jewel made
to quench the thirst
and hunger fade
into a delicate burst
of yellow orange delight
succulent love of the sunlight,
in the heat of a boiling breeze
shadowed by the leaves
breath comes in ease
steadfast and trusting
its branches ever lusting
to reach the sky

Complicating Poetry

Submitted by loved on Sat, 2012-05-26 01:07

Then twas okay
there wasn't much else to do or say .
.today there are scores of hobbies
and
games on the Internet to play
can't we all have our own say
in simpler nuances
if I may so say .....

My master taught me
abab ab abc abc then aaabb cc
and
then I took off from there
abcd.... dcba
then free for all combination
thus I created free verse poetry
for better or worse
still many stalwarts do read
my verse...
thanks to thee..

So Glad to Be with You

Submitted by Bryan on Fri, 2012-05-25 22:21

“Hello, how are you? I’m Emily.”
“Emily, it’s Bill. I’m so glad to be with you.”
That said we go for a walk.
Wind our way through the town, we
were born here, married, raised children.
Strolling past the cemetery holding our parents,
Emily comments on the lovely statue of St. Michael.

Loathing

Submitted by Tommi Cordial on Fri, 2012-05-25 15:41

Renting space in the back of my mind,
Twisting, turning, making me blind.
Moving me backward and forward in time,
with thoughts of hatred, blood and grime.

Ever so tedious, never just plain,
Eating my conscience again and again.
When will this lift, suspension begin
This constance of evil that's brewing within.

Sea Of Gold

Submitted by Neil on Fri, 2012-05-25 10:48

The larks in the morning,
praising the sun,
telling the world
the day has begun.

The heady smell of
the forest grove -
of trees, of moss,
sweet scents of old.

A bitter wind from the
north, so cold,
stirring up the
Sea of Gold.

Drifts of leaves,
piled deep underfoot,
the cry of the owl;
two-it, two-oo.

The huge lazy sun,
hangs low in the sky.
Coloured red and promising
the morrow to be dry.

To the Aged

Submitted by Esker on Fri, 2012-05-25 10:30

As a boy I ran
foolhardy and strong
working with the aged
all day long

a song on my lips
with chatter so spry
"One day You shall
see You'll be old like
me" said one old
sage so quiet and dry

the stories I've been
and the places of bold
how how warning said
then Unheeded was sold
by my too busy heart
How my body had paid
for the task of the part

Pages

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