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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.
I see that you all have a hate of me
My sorrows drag and won’t let me free
Here is safe within
I will swig another gin
Lest the terror of my hate is all you see
"Time for bed" said Zebadee, boyng, boyng..
Yours Sparrow, well it is late, night, night.
He still remembers the exact date
when his family was lost to fate
on a clear cool autumn day
terrorists had their own way
thus teaching him just how to hate
A thief once went by the name of Death,
had stolen the Man but not his wealth.
In the day or the night,
while it's dark or bright,
but never been accused of taking the breath.
Digital drugs are becoming the dread
that fears the world, youth are dead
with beats and sounds
that cost but pounds
the venom drone, on and on, fast spread.
To learn more:
http://www.wired.com/2010/07/digital-drugs/
I dare you to feel the hurt that is mine
You catch me crying some of the time
For my true love I grieve
Move away from me, "Leave."
Just remember for whom, I write this rhyme.
There was a lot of people in jail
Many said they would never do well
They broke out one day
Just to make hay
Now the farmer thinks they are swell
La La Sparrow
It starts with a low grade fever
diarrhea and vomiting like a river
aches and chills like the polar
brought on by Ebola
never seen nothing as this, ever.
its three am in the twilight
this iPad is my nightlight
my music is deep
and I can't fall asleep
after a long day and a wicked fight.
you should've stayed gone
broking our bonds
pretending I did nothing for you
now that God has left you
I've been forced to go it alone.
*A little girl next door
went to the store
to get some candy
she saw a fat black cat in her path,
ran screaming out the door and in the grass boys laughed and rolled.*
Guns keep booming with no end in sight
bombs keep dropping with all the might
war being fought, tooth and nail
bleeding bodies leaving a trail
no glimmer of light, this fateful night
Li -li -limericks are filled with wild words
that most good old folk never heards.
They make it their pride
to keep them inside
and not trail along 'hind the herds.
A Limerick is not but a fable,
produced by small men hardly able
to give a good rhyme,
a cent or the time
or I've fallen out of me cradle.