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.

FLY AWAY, LITTLE BIRD
FLY AWAY, LITTLE BIRD I found you in the winter, Your feathers wet with rain, Your tiny wings were trembling, Your eyes were filled with pain.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Long Way Home
My mamaw always used to tell me Death don’t escort the dead for free For evry time a soul is taken They come again to claim a fee
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
Labor Day, 2026
Labor Day isn’t just about jobs. It's about the unseen work of staying human while society throws darts. This poem sits in that truth.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets
JESUS WATCHES AND CRIES FOR US
JESUS WATCHES AND CRIES FOR US Jesus watches from Heaven, He sees this world below, He sees the pain we carry That no one else can know.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
THE CAMPER VAN
THE CAMPER VAN I bought a little camper van, I drove it everywhere, I used it like a passion van, I really did not care.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
On The Edge
On the edge of September When the moon rises full Shadows playfully cross over As the leaves start to fall Like a door falling opened
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
Signals Crossed. Top Story - September 2026.
Re-entering my life, bringing chaos to the calm You upset everything before you became a balm A bittersweet reminder of young love abruptly destroyed
By Mother Combs2 months ago in Poets
I Loved A Welsh Man
I Loved A Welsh Man I loved a Welsh man, his heart was so free, his voice held the valleys, his eyes held the sea. He spoke of the mountains, the rain and the snow, and farms in the valleys where Welsh farmers grow.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
Pumpkin Space
Note: Satire? KD How I long to be a part of it; That shift in the season; Leaves leaving me wistful and ready For the good days of rain cooling out From the summer’s heavy hand. I can sense in a barista’s smile The need to shift from my old orders. There are always the options: Milk, syrup, potions and sensations Of spice and incurious men. My cup brimmeth under my glare; So much cream and orange magic. I feel like I deserve to try it again Just for this season; just for the mood As I enter a world of that crucial gourd.
By Kendall Defoe 2 months ago in Poets
Grasping Phantoms
There was a time Where I Now it's all This or that Growing stagnant On the couch And they're there Somewhere Dried out or coagulated In a shoebox in a closet
By Aaron Morrison2 months ago in Poets
I Walk In Wales, It’s Not My Land
I Walk In Wales, It’s Not My Land I walk in Wales, it’s not my land, yet something here will hold my hand. The mountains watch, the valleys sigh, while ancient clouds go drifting by.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
I was Human
I was human. I had a pulse that kept time with the ordinary things, morning, hunger, someone saying my name. I looked like you.
By Nelo2 months ago in Poets