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How to use imagery in poetry.. 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.

Rewrite - "Shapes"...


Punching away shadows, dark, floppy shapes.
Back where they came from, the dirty street.
Lights smothering the black, inky abyss, the pockets.

Above the silken, ebon blanket,
a silver, sinister grin from the ghostly moon,
changing shape, from horns to mirrored glow.


The night is solid black,
there is but one star out,
the moon a thin sliver.

And a sudden fear strikes me,
Which can happen if lost
in the middle of a black forest,

where you could not see the trees,
with barely enough light to see
beyond your outstretched arm.

So, we huddle closely together,
our souls burning like a light tower
against this, scary, too silent night.

We hold our vigil, share our heat,
the way fires can combine as one,
We await the saving light of day.

Queen Tanka

what a time it was
front door deliveries please
and then I saw you
firstly, a crown for a queen
lastly, our very own world

A New Day. ( Scribbler's re-write) Imagery workshop

I open the door, the light's pale
the morning air arrives
It rushes in causing me to inhale
as the sun clears the woods.

I take a few steps in onto the deck
and squirrels start to bark at me
I shrug my shoulders and my neck
in the shadow of the oak tree.

A young deer appears from somewhere
then stops and stares gingerly at me
then drops its head without a care.
then turns and walks almost carelessly.

Ginger Sleeps...

Bright white light, floods yet again
Locked in waist length braids
She proudly walks
Stepping safe and sure
Her calm allure, so pure

Sleep into silent dream
Unknown worlds and schemes
Clouded, foggy visions
Green gardens of faith
Beyond the guarded gate

Clear stream of unconsciousness
Pulls her heart from scorching fire
He tosses it aside
Stay here forever...
His fantasy stops

Johnny Come Home Again...

He stands just a little straighter,
throws his once strong shoulders back.
He hears, "My Country Tis of Thee"
his handsome face, no longer slack.

Wounded in his defiant mind,
he was left blind upon the field.
All of him did not come home,
and his brave heart won't ever yield.

He spends silent days still fighting,
for his faceless God and country
His tired, worn wife still tends him,
she's praying, "Please come back to me."

The coming of Spring

The buds are thickening,
And I feel as emptied
As an unfulfilled year.

Perhaps, also, I
Do pivot my life
As the spring's new growth.

And if my growth does cycle
With tender timed spring...
Then I shall not flower.

This time of new life,
Still in winter's grip,
Finds me unhappy,

And in remembrance
Of a year that housed
Arrested growth.


Punching away shadows, shapes
Back were they came from, from the street
Lights smothering the Inky abyss and pockets
Above the silk black blanket
A sinister grin from a ghostly moon
that changed its shape
from a horn to a circular glow

A way Out!

At night
it's hard to tell
what goes on there
or behind
It's dark and
so quiet that
only silence would bark.

So let's wait till morning's eye
Is kind enough to serve
a clearer sight

Only then we can both
find a way


Tree Hugger...

Tree Hugger...

When I awoke, I felt so bad,
I went to hug my favorite tree.
I thought about the fears I had,
No one would fear, but me.

"Too bad", I thought I heard it say
The bark, it scratched my face
I hugged it all the tighter
As my mind began to race

I'm losing it, I really am
"Too bad", I heard it say
Are my ears deceiving me?
Have I gone all the way?


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