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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.
Your beard, rough, against my face
lover's sweat beading upon our bed,
lingering impressions, wheels in motion
calloused hands wrapped around my poem.
That is the way, at least, that's what they say.
You know, those folks, with wisdom words so wrong,
while fucking up the words to every song,
because they just can't leave well enough alone.
trochaic attempt;
That’s the way, at least, that is what is said.
Knowing folks, with wisdom words so wrong,
fucking up the lines in every single song,
all because they can’t leave any thing untouched.
My breakfast coffee tastes like drying mud.
I sip and choke and cough, my eyes all tears.
Last night was fun, I wish I could recall
Just what the hell I drank; sure wasn't beers!
by TS Eliot.
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;