Ode
The Justice Mirror
In the halls of justice, where shadows dwell, Lies a system flawed, with tales to tell. Where scales once balanced now tilt askew,
Dr. Jason BenskinPublished about 2 hours ago in PoetsEternal Embrace of Italy
As the Tuscan sun warmly embraces the earth, Amid verdant vineyards and graceful landscapes. In the paths taken by long-gone urban centers,
Dr. Jason BenskinPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsIf I were stung by a bee
If I were stung by a bee, Would the uncertainty of the writhing bane of living finally subside the menace of who we are deemed to be?
Hridya SharmaPublished about 8 hours ago in PoetsForest
Monsters abound in the, Dead of the afternoon, Which one will you run, Into at large, Or small?, The winding curve of,
Tambourine ManPublished about 22 hours ago in PoetsChurning of the Ocean
In ages past, when gods and demons clashed, Mount Mandara rose, a colossal mast. The ocean churned, its waves a tempest’s dance, Seeking amrita—the elixir of life’s chance.
Allwyn Roman WaghelaPublished a day ago in PoetsThe Questions Remain Unanswered
I stare at the massive collection of your bones, meticulously organized to paint your image, and I’m struck with further curiosity:
BrettNotGregPublished a day ago in PoetsAn Ode to the Insurmountable
fossils, rumble in your encased earthly graves i wish for your owners to hear me when i say the Dinosaur is insurmountable!
angela hepworthPublished a day ago in PoetsArt
Kings come and go But art speaks to the human soul Art is immortality This poem was inspired by a friend asking the question, “I'm good at art but does that even mean anything at the end of the day?”
Atomic HistorianPublished 2 days ago in PoetsDon't
Hey, darlin’ — times are good, I’m feelin’ tir’d, But that’s not new. Been tired since I lost you. I hope you’re waitin, waitin on me,
ThatOne_GirlPublished 3 days ago in PoetsFlavors & Tales - A Baking Story
Gathering & Measuring, Mixing & Whisking, In a bowl, ingredients gather round, Each one unique - their flavors abound.
StaringalePublished 3 days ago in PoetsStegosaurus Serenade
In the twilight of the Mesozoic age, Where ferns whispered secrets and rivers flowed, Lived a gentle giant, armored and sage,
Allwyn Roman WaghelaPublished 4 days ago in PoetsThe Clock's Hand
Free he ought to be But his routine is written Down to a ‘t’. Nothing changes, No breaks or quirks— From waking to a new same day