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Earn A Poem Workshop 1 workshop

This shows the poems in just one 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.

Morticia...

"My Morticia, you're an ice-cold bitch,"
he thinks, unto himself.
"You don't believe my need for you,
you try to put me on the shelf."

From inside Morticia's head:

"We've so few that pass this way,
perhaps no one comes for years,
please dear one, we'll be good,"
in little sister's voice of tears"

"Very well", she murmurs
slight put out at this.
She braces for his ardent hug,
his smoldering lips, up in a kiss

Lover's Curse

Had a date with an angel
Sweet as can be,
Hot as hellfire
Made a fool out of me.
I'm so tired of love
Don't know why I care
Each beauty brings pain
That no man should bear.

Had a date with an angel,
Wicked as sin
Knows how to tease
How to draw a man in
How to use her soft body
Use all of her wiles;
Can chain a mans heart
With cunning and guile.

Overdraft the Monster...

As the wind howls, I am reminded...
Reminded of the rippling sheet of rain,
a silver curtain billowing across the roof.
There will be water in the attic.

There is an overdraft there, going over.
The spirit of the storm, travels so fast,
it carries water over the edge, to the window below;
dropped, it clings to the wall, and sneaks in.

The Elderly Gentlewoman

Old hands. Old hands,
pick up her tea cup
that rests on the piano.
Time was, her future stretched further ahead,
now it sits smiling at the foot of her bed.

Old hands. Old hands,
spread apricot jam
over biscuits and toast.
Time was, the sunny days frolicked and played,
now they loll kindly in a swing in the shade.

How the years pass as her life is unfurled,
her fingerprints gracing the soul of the world.

Old hands. Old hands.

Black Dog.

I sense him come bounding like a stone
That skips the water when it is thrown,
Up to my side a companion of old,
I welcome him though my blood runs cold.

Thankful am I that he will not stay
Though I do not know how long the days
Just that my pet will stay close to my side,
Hiding the sun, let no warmth abide.

My black dog sits always close to me
No comfort he gives, No light to see,
Just cold grey clouds that block the sun,
Cast me down to the pit where despair does run.

Horsing Around...

Vague memories of a noble steed
and the paladin I was
My horse was of a humble birth
I rode for justice' cause

He reared way up, hooves a flying
against the country dawning sky
There in the distance, the quarry
The proverbial, wanted bad guy

We raced along the grasslands
We dodged bullets and I hung low
Caught the bad guy and I jumped him
He drew his gun, but way too slow

I socked him in his jaw
and we tussled all around
he tried to hit me with a rock
that he found upon the ground

Helen

Oh! Let me touch that marble flesh
Luminescent in soft summer's light,
My fingers reach, caress the face
That once did launch a thousand ships.

I cannot breathe,
I gasp for air
As cat like eyes on mine affix;
In eons past men died for this
In times not come they will again.

Royalty Gone Bad...

I was locked in the basement without any light
Chained to the furnace since Saturday night
A small bowl of dogfood, a bit of warm water
I was paying my penance, just like I oughta

I made the mistake, of not paying attention
The Queen took my silence, for a transgression
Which would it be, sharp whips or cold chains?
I smelled in the dark... the floor's bloody stains

Granny Overthere.

When so, so young I had a bear,
Her name was Granny Overthere;
A stranger name could not be found
You've not heard that one I'll be bound.

It came from younger brother Tim
Who, whenever mother asked of him
What did he want with which to play
Would point at Granny and loudly say:

"I want Granny, Granny over there",
She always sat in Father's chair.
Thus it was that she was named
And forever Tim would take the blame.

Wood Bee

You rascally being,
hollowing out the wood beam above my head!
Annoying sawdust alighting onto my lap
like flaky kindling, the discarded leftovers
of your new home, scattered and tossed aside
in the May breeze

We share an arena, a residence -
yours above the porch furniture
within the old ceiling.
Mine, my daily sit-ins with the rocker,
caressing the creaking floor beneath us.

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