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.

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

T
tyro Apr 29, 2018

Multiverse

Multiverse

The water poured from the tap
to splatter on a stainless steel plate.

Its energy spread from this impact
forming a seemingly empty circle
defined by froth forming at its rim.

And in each bubble I saw a universe;
tiny to me, but as vast as all eternity
to any consciousness living within.

And the energy, when the water hit,
echoed with the force of a bang.

Profile picture for mand
mand Apr 29, 2018

Sweeten If Desired

How to make
peppermint tea?
it's easy!
Pick, wash, rinse and tear
two or three
fresh mint leaves.
Place 'em in
a teacup
add boiling water,
steep for five minutes.
Serve it up
hot or cold
with a wake me up slice
of lemon and ice.

Profile picture for aabbaadd
aabbaadd Apr 28, 2018

BLINDING BINDING NATION SHAMBLE

Australia population cauldron,
like widespread bushfire smolderin',
initially Irish, Welsh, Scottish, English,
Islander, Kiwis,
joined Polish, Greek, Italian, Vietnamese,
lately Afghan, Iraqi, Africans, Chinese,
all culture different Aborigines.

R
raj Apr 28, 2018

Mug in a Coffee Mug

I woke with a start in a coffee mug
with a spoon tinkling me awake
it was time to add a bit of sugar
before milk in my mug got stale

when jets of steam tore through me
they rumbled through my guts
made me go down on my knees
so they won't hiss on my nuts

I rose to the brim on bubbly top
jumping out of the brim in time
landing myself in a coffee shop
for no good reason or rhyme

LB
Lord Barham Apr 28, 2018

Trilliums

Trilliums
How bright those first sunny days of Spring
When the showers of March cease pouring down
In the last few weeks of April, as birds sing
And flit from tree to tree – the soft sweet sound
Of returning light to warm a world chilled
By the dank cold of receding Winter.
Like a young girl bedecked with every frill,
Concealed in every dark recess hinter
During that time when Night is long and Day
Passes by with scarce a flickering sigh,
Nature brings forth her brightest garb as May

Profile picture for weirdelf
weirdelf Apr 27, 2018

The Measured Steps Of The Entropy Tango

Revel in the chaos
Dance to the divine complexity of the universe
Those who don’t live at the edge
take up too much space

Who can take Nijinskiesque leaps into the cosmos
whilst hunkered at the corner of the bar?
Avoiding the other hunkerers
except to exchange abuse.
I can.

You think you need to take some mystical journey?
Find the place where humans run wild and free?
We are always on the edge
Just one little teeter in the right
or wrong
direction and all possibilities are open.

T
trekker Apr 27, 2018

Glory Hills Church

It stood amongst Glory Hills,
a hundred years old and standing still,
a place to congregate,
a place to contemplate,
people with a common belief,
looking for relief.

Age manifested by graveyard crosses,
told life stories with their losses.
A testament of sectarian immigrants,
trying to make a life that makes sense.
Tradition and ceremony passed on,
in worship and in song.

T
tyro Apr 27, 2018

She Dreams

Winter dresses Prague’s domestic park with
whiteness, but she wanted more than laying
snow -now hand in hand with man suspired for-
not this white when life has dreams of color.

Many times she heard how love had spoken
false, deceitful words or changed with changing,
could not bear a heavy load, like brittle
stone; but she's now next to him, now trusting.

O
OriginalRhyku Apr 27, 2018

Preying power:

Overbearing talk show tycoon
previously abused female
raising political balloon
avenging and rancorous trail

Holdings amply aiding passion
watching targets by surveillance
intimidating those who shun
narcissistic role renaissance

Forecasting own future secure
resulting public scrutiny
ending vaunted beginning sure
yielding related destiny

Profile picture for IRiz
IRiz Apr 27, 2018

Freedom

A blue leather bracelet on my wrist.
No watch, no compass anymore.

It is only beginning of spring.
But I already have ventilated
every corner of self,
every bookshelf with old poems,
every chest with old-fashioned lace
and feathers of dreams,
and unfinished novels.