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This shows the poems in just this one workshop. To see all the poems on Neopoet, go to the stream. Or go to the workshop page itself, where you can find out more about the syllabus.
Soundtrack for My Late Twenties
A throbbing bass line, guitars that sound like chainsaws
cutting through steel, and vocals that soar, blast, and blind
like Beasts from the Book of Revelation. A frenzied mob. A pit
full of flailing arms, hands, hair and everywhere flying sweat and
cheap beer. Clearly a reaction to years and years and years
of repression. Tigers pressing against the glass.
Finally
the glass breaks.
From my seat in my late fifties I remember the mania,
Threshold, Mid August
There is a gate to a Zen garden in Boston.
Sweating, sore from walking, shirt sticking to my skin, I see it.
Large-framed, fine-grained, and wise. Walking through, into a blazing
white rock seascape, granite bridges,
wild rabbits. This is another green world.
A thin glass wall oasis in the fens.
Another chance to erase the news.
To set fire to my anger and frustration. To see
what’s good right now. Trees breathing their dreams into clouds.
The distant car horns turning into singing geese, honking in tongues.
The King of Heaven
The King of Heaven visited the Earth.
He saw our flaws but said no bad a word.
The Lord of lords endured everything
Our debts're covered by the glorious King!
Oh, Jesus, how sweet a name!
In our muddle the King came
To clean up our mess,
Poor mankind to bless.
The King of kings unbared our mars.
We all think of His body bruised, in scars.
But the bare truth is Christ exposed
What sin on us had badly long ago imposed.
The Joy of Living
You should live life,even if your seventy or your five,do fun and feel the joy,life is yours so enjoy. . In life you have sacrifices,but you should feel the sun's rises,feel the moon's light,one day everything will be alright. .
At Solstice
The sun pauses
like it’s looking straight at me,
like even light knows
when to hesitate
before pretending everything is fine.
A deer at the edge of the trees
doesn’t posture.
Doesn’t explain.
Doesn’t soften itself
to be more acceptable.
It just stands there
fully itself,
which somehow feels
like an accusation.
Thanks To My Old Shoes
My old shoes, my best friend.
They guard my feet from thorns and stumps
when I seek their laces.
My feet are warm as I visit their womb
To lodge for some moments.
They hold my ankles tight with care like a dearest friend.
My body is lifted up like fur in the air
To walk as a soldier in a battlefield.
On the streets, my old shoes are glad to sweep the beautiful roads,
With the greetings of coins falling into my calabash.
I am called a beggar
And nod to their requests.
My hope is in my old shoes
Goodbye
A weight I must lift
A goodbye that must be said
As I cling tighter to her wrist
Because who am I without her
Yet I know as well as she does
That as I continue to carry her through life I may never know
The great woman the trees and winds Keep whooshing about
A goodbye that must be said
It cannot be undone
When I let go of this hand her presence I might never feel again
But I have to be brave to be bare at last
Only then will I know the woman she had been protecting me to become
PERFECT LIVES
Like a sunflower in the morn light,
Perfumes it owes onti virgin a night,
Are the smiles sprouting in perfect lives.
A tribute to my MOTHER
You weren't here long enough.
I didn't get to see you grow old.
You never met your great-grandson, he's courageous and bold.
When I think of you, it is with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.
I miss you Mom.
You gave me hope.
You made me smile through all the pain
and I wish I could have returned the favor one day.
I will never again take for granted those moments we are given and I will try to not squander them away.