In honor of Poetry Month, we are truly blessed to have the writings of so many talented poets from centuries ago whose words continue to inspire, comfort, and connect us across time.
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
Bye Bye Bye: I have many projects. I don't make much here. I have decided to leave. . . Learning to Write by Playing Games❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
By SAMURAI SAM: Wild Wayne7 months ago in Poets
There is something the earth understands that we have spent lifetimes trying to learn, 🪶 that beauty moves at its own pace,
The reflection flickers as the reel replays. Blink twice and it's gone. A pinch to remind myself I'm here. - I smile, but it doesn't fit right.
By Amanda Abela7 months ago in Poets
The Loneliest Motorcycle Stephen L. Harrison I was six when I crossed a desert no map could name and found you there. You leaned into the wind
By Stephen Harrison7 months ago in Poets
My stomach keeps turning As I hear, the pressure of air Rolling inside, It sounds, of thunder The nausea From the bottom of my throat
By Jennifer lindquist7 months ago in Poets
🖤⚫☠️⚫🖤I Am GoneYou Won't Even Miss MeI Am Not WantedDisrespectHateExclusionSuspicionRumoursIt's Only WordsI KnowI Am Loved🌜🦋🧡💜🧡🦋🌛
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 7 months ago in Poets
There’s a wall around me. Not built from ego, not made from pride, something quieter than that. Something placed, not forced.
By Nelo7 months ago in Poets
70s Were the Best The needle drops with a heavy click, Vinyl spins a velvet groove, Lava lamps glow orange and thick, While bell-bottoms start to move.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
The scars on my skin are my badges. Badges from burns, Medallions from fights. Trophies of my mental wars. Each badge has a memory,
By Jennisea Standing Rock7 months ago in Poets
The Zipped Face at the Edge of Winter She stands between two endings, one side quiet as untouched snow, the other heavy with hidden fracture,
The Road That Took Her Name The road ran thin between the marsh, A narrow vein through dying land, Where water gathered, black and still,
