celebrities
No matter their age, some celebrities have old souls; poems written by celebrity poets and your favorite celebrities' favorite poems.
Beneath the Willow Tree
The first time Noah saw the girl beneath the willow tree, she was sketching the sky like it might disappear any second. It was the middle of July, and the park was hot and green, full of kids screaming and sprinklers spinning in suburban rhythm. But under the oldest willow, a girl sat alone with a pencil, a notebook, and a thousand-yard stare that looked right through time.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
The Clockmaker’s Gift
In the heart of a fog-drenched town nestled between the mountains and the sea, stood a little clock shop that defied the passing of time. It was not a place most people noticed, even if they walked by it every day. The wood-paneled sign simply read: Avery's Timepieces, and in the dust-speckled window sat a curious array of ticking machines—some no larger than a coin, others towering like soldiers frozen in brass.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
A Room That Forgot How to Echo
The clock in the hallway hadn’t ticked in three years. But Mia still wound it every Sunday morning, like muscle memory that refused to forget. The same way she left the porch light on at night. The same way she kept his shoes by the door.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
"The Last Cup of Coffee"
The bell above the door chimed as Elena stepped into the tiny café on 7th Avenue, brushing snow from her coat and pulling the scarf tighter around her neck. The place was warm, humming with quiet conversations and the soft hiss of the espresso machine. She ordered her usual — one black coffee, one oat milk latte — and took a seat by the window.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
"Lullaby of the Stars"
The stars lean down with silver grace, To kiss the earth's soft dreaming face, And in the hush of twilight's sigh, The moon begins her lullaby. A breeze that knows the scent of rain, Dances through the silent plain, It hums a song the flowers know— Of seasons past and rivers' flow. The night wears velvet spun from dreams, Stitched with light in silver seams, And every shadow, soft and kind, Holds a memory left behind. So close your eyes and drift away, Let all the noise of thought decay. For in the quiet, stars still gleam— The world is held within a dream.
By Nasir Khanabout a year ago in Poets
