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.

Morning Has Began
Morning Has Began Morning has began a new day opens wide light spills across the fields birds rise in song the air tastes fresh and sweet
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
POEM - Bloom In The Wound
In a world that trembles, cracked and worn, Where dreams lie shattered, hearts are torn, A whisper stirs through fields of gray,
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
The Ghost That Holds My Hand
I remember your hands. Not their shape, just the heat, like sunlight that knew my name. There was a yellow kitchen, I think,
By Kimberly Satrialeabout a year ago in Poets
Detest Protest of the Absurd
This song is a prayer wrapped in rhythm, a Native rock anthem forged in the fire of injustice and clarity. I created both the lyrics and instrumental music to honor ancestral resilience and speak truth to chaos. It’s a sonic protest and a sacred offering. May it stir something deep within you and awaken what’s been waiting.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
The Fear Before The Breakthrough Is Found
I See what I am Doing Now... But I Fear... I Fear that "This"... Is So Much Larger than Myself... So Incredibly Important...
By H.E. Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, COIE, DFM, DHMabout a year ago in Poets
Where A Legacy Is Created
Legacy. It is a word that I think about often. What is it? How does One Create One? Why is it that We Seem to be Obsessed with the Idea?
By H.E. Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, COIE, DFM, DHMabout a year ago in Poets
The Cat Shat in My Shoe
The Cat Shat in My Shoe The cat shat in my shoe not the corner not the litter tray not the garden like cats are meant to do
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Dog Pissed on My Bed
The Dog Pissed on My Bed The dog pissed on my bed not the floor not the rug not the spot by the door but the bed Right where I lay my head
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Best days
Not surrounded, but full — with touch and laughs that never fade. Control fades too, when all we want is each other, and everything else is within reach.
By Marcus Hillabout a year ago in Poets
Four Haiku
Little boy alone: I start as a child with books. No shared love with them. * School for achievement? Certificates and good grades.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Poets
Blue Bells in the Woods
Blue Bells in the Woods Blue bells in the woods don’t sing for the lost they don’t hold hands or promise peace They just ring
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
It kills me to write this
Start quietly. Be so silent that the crickets she hears… hear crickets. Leave so gently she won't be able to comprehend how her house could blow over from a such a mild breeze.
By Dabout a year ago in Poets