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The stream (all workshops)

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IN THE GREAT HALL

I wandered to the portals of a great hall
On the entrance arc, was carved an inscription
Depicting courage, fame, noble actions, all
Boldly written, a two line axiom of perfection
‘Peak of physical expression is in beauty’
A revolving reflective door appeared
‘The intellect expresses self in poetic bounty’
And the shadows of misguided self disappeared
The self I saw, of beauty and poetry, I had neither
I think in one language and write in another
Mother tongue doesn’t help my English either

A Single Red Rose

A single red rose on my pillow
Sweet-smelling cologne
Invaded my
Nous, while its
Glitzy petals
Lie quiescent in the moonshine
AWOL the sunshine

Rosette’s spiny stalk
Encased with golden silver trimming
Draped my singular reddish rose

Roseate dawn
Overtook the dusk
Silencing nocturnal prattle, that
Entered my chamber

At the dawning ascension
A single red rose on my pillow betrothed my forgiveness

Satchmo sings the blue...

Satchmo sings the blue….

Satchmo sang about a wonderful
world
I wonder where he was looking
with his bug eyes
thick lip so well earned.

To roll a dice and get six
while others
get only one,
is wonderful,
that’s a life of chance

To eat until your obese
while others watch on dying
from hunger, is not a life
of chance,

This is orchestrated
hunger and no it’s far from
wonderful, far from here,
that game of life
they play today

Missing you.

Thinking of you
keeps the skies blue.
Theres nothing I love more, than those two.
Skies, and you, a wonderful two.
Bringing me cheer on a thunderous day,
Keeping the bed bugs and monsters away.
With every worry and every fear,
happy thoughts, kept close, are dear.
For I know even when you're not here,
I can look to my heart and know you're there.

The Bundle of Clichés Workshop late entrant

The Bundle of Clichés

But you are a forest of clichés,
Where can I,
Surf some,
For this small bard to participate
And
Yet be no cause for ransom,
Stay handsome
Send to me clichés some
Or else direct me to that well,
Where I can dig deep
And
Ere the cows come home,
All over here at Neopoet sweep
And ere the sunsets,
As it does,
A new bard full of clichés,
At the far horizon
Does ultimately submerge….

Tongue-tied in Tallahassie

Allowed the oportunity
to speak with you direct,
I wonder if the words I'd choose
could assist, in trying to inflect;

can't wait for the chance to get to say
all that I feel inside my heart
my troubles are all because I don't know
how to focus, or where to start.

Can't imagine allowing my perfect chance
to fly away in the evening breeze,
I'd be coerced to spend eternity
pleading for chance two, on my knees!

the precision of music on Sunday morning

how precise
this life
pulled from Kali's arse,

Sunday bells are ringing
no cause for alarm,
the Spanish choir's
songs of devotionc
like mountains of notes
falling into my city's ears

crows crowing and songbirds
join the attention,
cars miss the stop signs on the
corner of W, 26 street,
nothing happens without
complicity

Guarding my love for you
it’s as hard as heck, when
trying to safely hide my feelings
from hardened jeers.

Keeping my emotions bottled up
Make’s me jittery, when
scorners insist on taunting me
about my lowly status.

This disappointing drama
is far too much to handle
left me gasping for breath
from the endless, stinging, outbursts.

The deriders’ sword of rejection
that my lover’s family aimed at me
touched my heart spewing blood
leaving me pessimistic.

UNGUIDED?

Blindly through our days we stumble
too often lacking guidance
or even basic information
upon which to lend ourselves direction.
Is it any wonder at all
how oft we fall?

But our natures being what they are,
each time we fall we arise
to again proceed toward....what?
Far too many times we lack even a goal.
How can it then come as a surprise
that we often seek what we despise?

Become Yesterday

It feels like yesterday already,
eternal winter ambience surrounds existence
with barren trees and heavy limbs.

Memories like bonfire embers dance
tauntingly about my ghost...
beautiful sparks: offspring of hypnotic flame
threatening to set me ablaze
even as I reach out to hold on to their warmth.

But that's the past personified;
tantalizing, promises of heat and comfort
where only burning ash remain
flickering, lilting in the air
before disappearing into cold and sordid night.

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