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The stream (all workshops)

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



When I was a kid I remember feeling different then my folks,
You could say my egg had a different kind of yolk.

I was angry, rude, hyper and high-strung,
I spoke how I felt never held my tongue.

I was constantly getting into fights,
My mom would ground me she tried to set me right.

I always felt like there was something wrong with me,
I was loud, causing trouble never low key.

As I grew older the problem got bigger,
Cocked and loaded finger on the trigger.

When lights go out come again

When lights go out come again
think of me

a lonely bird flying sky high
am I the eagle you are in search

come to me when the lights go off
comfort me more than yourself

many told me today
they read me I'm good

but they leave no comments
lest I burst

they know not the time of travel
to the invisible universe

Seasons of the past... ( Mind storm )

Opening like a flower
only to catch the rain
that falls like tears
from blood soaked eyes
releasing swells of pain

Sorrow fills the callouses
the cracking and crumbling grasp
as outstretched hands surrender innocence
from fingertips to the wrist

Reflecting an unbearable image
back through the window pane
in a valiant attempt to resist himself
he curses his own name

New hope briefly birthed
like a sprout and a bloom
only to give way to thirst
overwhelmed by impending doom


Standing there, with the light all around you
I wonder.
seeing you with a smile on, looking back
makes me wonder more.

There are no rain clouds in the sky
the joy of that amazes me
moving towards your light
wondering why I would ever leave it.

City Lights

3 a.m. pacing in a lie,
Those night lights glisten
But I seem to be fading
In a city of holy dying stars
I go out to be new,
Yet the roads always leave off
In the same lane of tragedy.
These city lights sparkle-
That will never change.
It must just be me dying out.

Not the same...

I was once filled with darkness
like the "tail side" of the moon...

I lived behind all the lights.

Like sharpened fingernails raked down my face, grasping for someones concern...

only to be bloodied by the desires
and addictions of my youth.

Then like a flare set up from the ocean
hope burned in the night sky...

as I watched my imperfections turn to dreams, dancing upon the sea.

Revealing that perfect ghost, calling me out upon the waves...

and I've never been the same, since that first step of faith.

Four Chord Wonder

Plucking the strings her careful fingers
Mask the energy smoldering
Underneath her skin
She is wired and off somewhere in her head
She can’t speak
But she does sing
As the strings bend and twang
Like the wild trees swaying in tandem
To the side of the old grey house
Where inside a light green room
A sunburnt orange lamp flickers,
And the reel-to-reel tapes whir
Late into the night as her
Maple guitar makes the sounds
That give the colors in her head
The language they need

This is Irony

I try to be a person,
A man in a world of man,
And when that fails,
I try to be myself,
How Ironical,
That people misunderstand,
They interpret my true being,
For something totally else,

When people see me for who I’m not,
It makes me feel like I’m Not.



there is no worldly sin
unless you leave your imagination
for others to ink
you were brought here by your parents actions
now they've enjoyed and gone
others say they had sinned

ask them how their parents brought them in
other that the darkness
no veil no sin
why for others now they say
it's the first step to life begin


The brown unmoving steppes
hypnotize in noonday light;
the prickly brushwood
arid rock
thirsty silent earth.
I have known
solitude impregnated
with mysterious consonances
on gray spaces of the steppes.
I have sensed
forms of timid creatures
mimicking grasslands,
hidden from mortal eyes.
Lean horses kneel by water holes
fed by streamlets dried up long ago.
The beauty of the steppes endures,
under gray-green fabrics
God weaves over the land.


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