Haiku

His Words Are Like Medicines
"His words are like medicines not bitter, not smelly— but the way they healed." Note: I was falling in love with this man. And I would tell my mother the above things, after a comforting phone call with him.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Koi Fish
I saw koi fish and thought— will they be sacred, ornamental, if they tasted umami-delicious! Note: We humans are hypocrites. If something is delicious, we often don’t care what or which way it was made from.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
5/12/25
Lazy days In a daisy haze Whenever I see them I think of you I think of the happy times When life was rough but bearable
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Got The Message
Message seen and read I thought of a long response But did not reply
By L.I.Eabout a year ago in Poets
Feelings Haiku
Feelings Haiku Sad fed up depressed Questioning one’s own bad thoughts Not one answer here
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Insights
Insights are a given in what we see, hear, and read the best way we know.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Poets
Found a way....
I found a way to show appreciation of what I read here. (No comment)
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Poets
BEHOLD THE TURTLE
progress involves risks only moves when neck sticks out behold the turtle!
By Emos Sibu Poriei (Kaya)about a year ago in Poets
Society Scares Me
Society is extremely messy, I cry big, fat tears looking at rampant hypocrisy. Note: The society structure is flawed. People in power make the rules, to suit themselves. I see so much manipulation, gaslighting, bias, shame, guilt, and other psychological tactics.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
The Strength Behind the Silence
If I told you I was hurting, Would you turn your face away? Or would you sit beside my silence And let your presence stay?
By Nihal Khanabout a year ago in Poets
❤️ Mother ❤️
A vessel of life from cradle to adulthood only One loves more.
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
Ink Beneath the Skin
I found the book by accident, a thrift store corner, dust and quiet, wedged between a haunted novel and casseroles from 1983.
By Nihal Khanabout a year ago in Poets