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The stream (all workshops)

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

 

no bacon, no eggs, home by no means was a fear of death

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Sat, 2012-03-24 07:22

"Pigs don't have karma." she said
while they were waiting for the light to turn from pink to red.
"They're just pigs."
He placed his hand on her thigh
in his usual way,
The universe was well-constructed
that particular day,
better than most she thought,
abstractedly.

After three consecutive lifetimes, the mother ship would land
near the Mojave.
It was time for the creators to return.

I Hate the Eyes Behind Clowns

Submitted by Barbara Writes on Sat, 2012-03-24 01:57

I hate| the eyes |behind |clowns
trust not the smile on their face
I can see deceit thereof
feel dishonesty hidden

some kids fear faces of clowns
cry out in fright at their sight
remember his appearance
white painted scary features

I liked clowns when I was young
but soon learned why kids fear
she took away my kids joy
in a library on summer

a day of fun summer break
balloons made like animals
excited them immensely
as they waited overlooked

NOT OF THIS WORLD

Submitted by scribbler on Fri, 2012-03-23 22:56

Should you see me standing still
eyes unfocused, far away
I'm visiting some wooded hill
where I walked one bygone day.

Or sitting looking at the sky
attention lost amongst the blue
perhaps emmiting a slight sigh.
I'm not really next to you.

The real me only visits here
stopping off from time to time
to check on those whom I hold dear
or dash off some short clumsy rhyme.

To whom it may concern

Submitted by readwritelive on Fri, 2012-03-23 19:03

It seems like everything I do goes unnoticed
Work my fingers to the bone and nobody knows it

I'm not asking for thank you cards and roses
but if my work ethic shifted from where it is to far below it
just think where you would be and then verbally show it

But there's no chance for that, you're too self absorbed to see my focus
I see that you'll probably frown when you know why I wrote this
Consider this my two week notice.

Happened at Night

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Fri, 2012-03-23 16:15

Happened at Night

Ribbon dark starlight
shone in glints
setting sun gone
its thoughts remained

short reflections
sharks
minnows through the sea
willow patterned islands
floating over time's edge

salt tears dripped
the eaves
a strangled tree
fists pruned bare
stared at night

the rats stirred straw
gnawed apples cores
feathers ruffled
a dead sea gull
the shriek
of a cloaked doorway

Alone

Submitted by Conect11 on Fri, 2012-03-23 14:43

Alone

It often feels
like the hardest days
are the ones
that sneak up, unannounced.

As if trumpeting their intentions
could make them any better.

It seems
that on the most difficult days
the world is so very tone deaf,
on those days when more than anything
I need a listening ear.

Why do we treat each other the way we do?
Women are called names,
unborn children are called things,
fathers are absent
and people have no respect for themselves
or each other.

Lulla , Lulla Bye

Submitted by loved on Fri, 2012-03-23 10:34

You lulla bye me for sure
your lovely poetry,
I do surely adore
to the core,
what's more of desire can one dream
but a lulled up poem
up the stream,
of imagination
quivering faith
as I go off to sleep
lulled by your fabulosity
ere it does keep me
in a fairyland
I do see

Till Again

Submitted by Rainy Day on Fri, 2012-03-23 03:25

We made love before you even touched me,
For the act of love itself means nothing,
Without the promise,
A vow, a sincerity,
That exists more in the proof of commitment,
Then the heat of the loins,

Yet, when the act was complete,
It was more delicious,
Than the sweetest words ever written,

Two lovers, between one another,
Bare to the bone,
With faces flushed as pink stone,
In blue light of dawn…

My mind knows I love you,
My body feels I love you,
My heart cries, I love you,
And I do,

R A I N S H Y

Submitted by Esker on Fri, 2012-03-23 00:09

the water clutchs
banks of clay all gleaming dampness
this mottled blackness
neath dust sparce heaven
lays bondage deco scene

tangled claw of the crime
surreptitious
and a cry of bone white
soft as a mantle
go light the single candle
tracing yard love tear tracks
rocking home to music
grown
the roots of fondness

torque develop
against the quarter
of nearness

Sweet Sadist, Marry Me (The Masochist's Plea)

Submitted by emogothgirl on Thu, 2012-03-22 22:55

A split in the seams means you love me
Ripping a stitch is a rose
You tear out a vein
Leave me with my pain
Use my blood as ink for your prose

‘cause kindness is so overrated
And cruelty is always unsung
My life is for you
Our pleasures are true
Anguish is your mother tongue

The worst is still stretched far before us
And we hurt in the best of ways
Cracks in all my bones
At least I’m not alone
I ache for you, my end of days

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