inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
I AM JANE DOE
I AM JANE DOE Content Warning: This poem contains references to child sexual abuse, sexual assault, grooming, pregnancy resulting from abuse, reproductive coercion, suicidal thoughts and attempts, psychiatric hospitalization, family abandonment, victim-blaming, and the failure of adults and authorities to protect a child. Some descriptions may be difficult or triggering for survivors.
By Lilithea Adasia27 days ago in Poets
Áine at Lough Gur
Introduction This is my twenty-seventh piece inspired by Justine G. Cappelli's beautiful and inspirational artwork. I love that Justine always gives the full story behind the painting, which gives me more than just the painting to work from.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 27 days ago in Poets
How would you live?
How would you live if you had a secret portal buried deep in the center of your being that could take you to a place where every answer to every question ever asked sat waiting for you ready to jump out the moment you decide to beckon it? How would you live in this world full of people in a society if you knew that at the root of each individual identity it was you just playing a game with yourself ego hide n seek with a singular, eternal cosmic puppeteer? How would you live in the day to day mundane mediocrity if you were able to see that the chaos and order and radical energy it took to get you here washing the dishes walking the dog waiting in far too long lines is something all together magickal, that there’s nothing boring about the billions of cells in the tip of your finger going through mitosis to make sure your fingertip still exists, that simply sitting in the dirt and being warmed by the sun is not an act of laziness but of devotion honoring the blessing of life. Would you live as you do now? Because, my dear friend, I hate to break it to you but it's all true. Everything we need comes from within, we need only be silent enough to hear it and brave enough to search for it earnestly. And there's the lonely little fact out there that we are all a Me in our own heads. I am I and though I see you as you, you see you as I and I as you just as I see you and in that way we are one. Sacredness does not need robes or diamonds or even the respect of those who encounter it, sacredness is, whether a fool can recognize it or not yet it is simultaneously something only ever found in the eye of the beholder. A temple with no god is a pile of rocks and an ocean no matter how polluted is still mighty still commands respect and may still kill. The more I understand the more I see that knowledge means nothing if it is never put into practice. So I ask myself how do I want to live?
By Lolly Vieira28 days ago in Poets
My Pain. Content Warning.
I felt your rain upon my face as it trinkled down my throat. I danced in rain all about your place; squished it between my toes, accepting the cleansing restoration, return of all lost hope, peeling back the layered sands as the lands still flood below. lifting worship, I praise your name, cause your strength is how I cope. A gift to all of God's creation, let Jesus steer your boat. He calms the seas. He brings you rain. He will keep you afloat. He has the keys to break all the chains; to Him I shall devote. He loved us then, as He loves us now; restores all whom are broke. He is our peace. Oh! Hear how He cries. . please. Don't get trapped within the smoke. Everly patient, graciously waiting, Jesus Christ come quickly you alone are our only hope!
By Dina Evans 28 days ago in Poets
My Amber Place. Top Story - October 2026.
I’m going to October, my amber place, where life unfolds in richly hued shades. The sun is dim in the morning fog mountain peaks invisible The air is fresh and damp, infused with a salty sea fragrance mixed with a woody, damp, and musty scent of October leaves Afternoon sun burns off the chill and mist Sparrows sing and tussle among the shrubs below The large Flicker who calls as he bobs his head and tail He shouts that October is here, telling the world he is ready. Tree frogs croak in the afternoon sun, their final hurrah before They must hibernate for colder months Join me in my amber room, let’s look at the russet, umber, and burgundy fingers, now fatigued and dropping down to their ankles and toes. Walk with me to see the sun’s beams glinting on sunshine-colored trees, peeking through branches and ricocheting to porch pumpkins and butter chrysanthemums that are growing next to the Ghouls that stand in yards, waiting for night to light them up, so that they can roar at walkers, and charm drivers “Charm?” you say – “A matter of opinion.” “Yes.” Taller and scarier, pumpkin head or scarecrow, Skeletons and aliens, all competing to do it better. “We could bob for apples on the front lawn. Over there is a big vat of water, with yellow and red floaters. And the prize, a caramel-coated apple rolled in nuts.” “NOOOO,” shouts the twelve-foot ghoul and reaches out a hand “The apples are mine, from a friend.” We turn to look where his bony finger points, and see a bare tree that gave fruit to the kids on the street while letting the bandit raccoons of the night pick a few. I hope you enjoyed the tour of my amber place, the russet-gold October of falling leaves and slumbering trees.
By Andrea Corwin 28 days ago in Poets
