Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Why Under The Sun Don’t You Write The sun lifts its golden face above the roofs, steady and unapologetic in its rising. It spills light across my quiet table,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 9 months ago in Poets
Under This Quiet Moon Beneath a silver crescent moon, Where mountains guard the night, Your hand found mine in silence, And everything felt right.
Don’t Poke The Elephant in Its Bum Madam Don’t poke the elephant in its bum, madam, The keeper said with a cautious sigh.
Question Disambiguation. Answer & response ambiguity. . Electromagnetic Spark of broadening, Connecting, non optional freedom variety,
By Diana9 months ago in Poets
Society is manmade construct, its rules keep changing, expectations are high, demands can be cruel, you may feel like a failure,
By Seema Patel9 months ago in Poets
When I was in school my mother hired a house help. Emaciated, poor, frizzy hair, yet she smiled. I leaned, she is widow
The little boy was one and a half, pulling his puppy toy, in the backyard garden. He saw Mommy working in the garden, staking the nasturtium vines,
Yeah, girl, I can see you... hiding behind your perfectly, practiced smile The one you paint on every morning as the coffee simmers slowly, in the quiet
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden9 months ago in Poets
Not Tapping Out Life's a wonderous thing sometimes filled with pain We all have those moments that make us feel insane Locked in a closet with nowhere to scream
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue9 months ago in Poets
A kitchen was needed for more than gastronomy It was required to have autonomy. This space was needed to calm the heart, soul and mind,
By Katherine D. Graham9 months ago in Poets
At eleven, you find this little spark in your backyard. It’s warm and bright, so you wrap it in a soft cloth and tuck it inside your school bag. "I'll revisit this when I'm fifteen and the spark's bigger," you tell yourself.
By Jide Okonjo9 months ago in Poets
I walk as if the ground were sure, a practiced art of looking pure. My body keeps its debts concealed, no outward crack, no broken shield.
By Millie Hardy-Ashton9 months ago in Poets
