Free Verse

Whisky Mixed With Tears
Whisky Mixed With Tears The glass sits low, beside my shaking hand, amber truth that burns before it soothes, I watch it catch the dim of evening light,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
Violet Phases, Silent Spell
Violet Phases, Silent Spell A thin curved whisper, in a violet sky, It leans like a secret, it refuses to die. Night breathes low, in a hush so deep,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
Blocked Brainwaves
Blocked Brainwaves There is a noise inside me that will not come out, It circles, it crashes, it builds and breaks again,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
Infection
There are horrors, Unannounced but omnipresent, That scare even shadows, Back into their hovels, Whimpering as they watch;
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Poets
Before the Light Came for the Holler's
They came to Appalachia with surveys before they came with steel, walking the ridge lines, stopping, writing, looking, as if the mountains would answer to their numbers.
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
The Asylum
The Asylum The gates did not open, they swallowed me whole, Iron teeth closed softly, as if kindness could be forged in rust,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
envy, she waits
fingers slip between my ribs and settle on my heart a squeeze, gentle at first but the longer I look the tighter her fingers dig in
By Alys Revna7 months ago in Poets
but...
Forgiving yourself, sometimes is letting go, Letting go, sometimes means not caring anymore, Not caring anymore, sometimes feels like pain,
By Gambit7 months ago in Poets
Offline For A Few Days
I am a busy bee flying here and there, that's me Flowers everywhere but here That's okay, we will soon have our share ~
By Denise E Lindquist7 months ago in Poets
Turning 18
18 is a strange age it's still in the teens but old enough to pay Taxes They say i can't Drink or Smoke but boys my age
By calleeannwrites7 months ago in Poets
My First Book Is Finally Live For Free
Before saying anything else, I want to admit something honestly. I was not sure if this was the right time to share this or not, but I decided to take this step without thinking too much about timing or perfection. I actually have other pieces ready to post before this one. One of them is something we call in Urdu a shikayat—a complaint, a quiet expression of something held inside—and there are other thoughts I wanted to share too. So I do not fully know why I am choosing to share this now instead of those. Maybe it is just instinct, or maybe it is the feeling that some beginnings do not wait for the perfect moment. Either way, I hope this step turns out to be okay, and hopefully something good comes from it.
By Aarsh Malik7 months ago in Poets
Barred Owl Over a Holler
A striped ghost sits atop a pine, claws anchored on rigged bark. Obsidian eyes scan a thicket, tracking movement through damp brush.
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets