Life as a Poet Knows It
Industry tips for new poets. Welcome to the Poets family.
Poetry
Poetry is my beloved Who At times I forget to feed Not because of spite But the fear That my words won't bring anything nutritious
Nicholas GoodmanPublished 7 years ago in PoetsMy Black Pen
My black pen It's got me through rough times. Like when I tried to write this song Couldn't think of any rhymes On my skin flowed the dark ink
Motivate My Writing
Write! Words perceived as grains of sand, the pages they fall on the world. They create beaches, deserts, great storms of sand carried on the wind. There is an ocean of words defining perception, creating history, evolving language.
Joseph MarraPublished 7 years ago in PoetsInside a Writer's Office
This office is like another world A large computer dominates the desk Papers stack up beside it A disorganised mess Books are strewn about in wild disarray
A. R. AmbrosiPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThis Is a Poem
I suppose this is a poem or something But my thoughts won't stay in one place I try to organise and rationalise And marginalise
A. R. AmbrosiPublished 7 years ago in PoetsI'd Like To Write a Poem
I'd like to write a poem. Something moving, something wise. I'd like my words to linger, long after my demise I'd like to write of daffodils and lonely, wandering clouds
Kacie KasperPublished 7 years ago in PoetsTalk the Talk
This has been a long time since. A long time coming like the end of this sentence. A long-sword thrust and there is my vengeance.
Jacob ParnellPublished 7 years ago in PoetsCracked
I don't want to be fixed, broken inside and out. Stand beside me and you'll see that it's okay not to be whole sometimes, it's
Amber CrockerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsNo Mum, No Problems?
A circle of isolated feelings, Like a mother disowning with no meanings. See I can't win, But I can lose. To know what its like,
🥀 øtcůs ..Published 7 years ago in PoetsSchrödinger's Lie
to Writeto Sufferthe questions of Old embody the Authorwhat purpose? why? How? WHY? The Author ity of lifeIncomplete without Truththe Truth Above that which is Anything at all
Althea LucePublished 7 years ago in PoetsA Testament to a Life Well-Lived
When I am old, My life will count for something. My wrinkles will tell stories So my vocal cords don’t have to. With every creak and crack
Rachel DowPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSchrodinger's Butterfly
if I had Butterfly wings at my Disposal, I would Sew them on my Shoulders, Fly away and be Free the Winds, however, would
Althea LucePublished 7 years ago in Poets