fact or fiction

Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about what makes a good poem and the poetry rules that were made to be broken.

Through the Blood That Flows
Through the Blood That Flows Something moves within my veins, A quiet rhythm soft and deep, It hums beneath the skin I wear,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Lantern of the Lost
They said the dead forget the light, but I’ve seen them follow its hum. Not the kind that burns, but the kind that remembers.
By Marcus Hillabout a year ago in Poets
Wrists
He didn't check my wrists because he was worried about me. He checked my wrists because he was afraid of what they'd think of him
By Belleabout a year ago in Poets
A Future-Proof Technological Device Merely Brings Back Memories
We used to write books and poems to remember memories. Nowadays, we use technology to turn memories into holograms. People undoubtedly desire to reminisce about their past as they age.
By TheNaethabout a year ago in Poets
The Emotional Disaster
The Emotional Disaster The sky cracks open inside me. Tears spill like rivers in the night. I try to hold them back, but they fall with weight, hitting the floor.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Clutter Inside My Head
Clutter Inside My Head Sometimes I sit and wonder why my thoughts keep fighting for the light, a jumble of words that twist and turn,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
To Kill a Mouse
To Kill a Mouse Three cats crouched in a line of shadow, eyes like gold coins in a gambler’s hand, the floor hummed with the sound of patience,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
ever there, but never taken
timeless and reaching a look in the mirror with vision for the future led to the heart of it radioactive with passion advantage of local's insight
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
The Seeker’s Pendulum Dowsing
The Seeker’s Pendulum Dowsing The pendulum sways above the map, A small bright stone upon a chain, It turns and moves with quiet will,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
My Pot-Bellied Husband
My Pot-Bellied Husband He stands like a proud little barrel, Hands on hips, grin wide as the moon, His shirt strains to keep the peace,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Are You Holding on to Love or Holding Yourself Back?
It's not because you are a bad person; it's because you want to hold on to that love so badly. That's why you value his affection and constantly tolerate his criticism. You tell yourself that he's doing this for your own good, and that comforting narrative feels like the truth.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
The Pen That Writes Itself by Automatic Writing
The Pen That Writes Itself by Automatic Writing The candle burns low, my hands are still, The room is quiet, the clock unmoved,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets