Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Introduction This is my seventy-eighth piece inspired by Angie Livingstone's magnificent artwork. Our book, "The Art Of The Glittering Fox", is now available on Amazon throughout the world.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Poets
I. The Mirror Isn’t Me (Philosophical — AABB) . I look into the mirror’s face, A quiet, silver, borrowed space. It copies me without a sound,
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout a year ago in Poets
I keep you in a bowl I made one late November night. With thumbs that didn’t trust themselves and wrists that held on tight.
By Milan Milicabout a year ago in Poets
fear not, friends, the reckoning of old age nor regret the vanishing of thy youth; let wisdom speak with the voice of a sage.
By John Coxabout a year ago in Poets
The day thins out to parchment by the lane, A milky sun hangs low, without much gain. The air has teeth that test my naked throat.
The Green Man He watched the woods Leaves in his beard Eyes deep with age Calm in his breath Branches curled round him
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Dark Light Dark light calling Shadows leaning in Your breath near mine Heat rising slow You teased the dark Pulled me closer
I am not a lover of numb fingertips . I was a summer child and I cling to late sunsets like a raft bobbing at sea . but this morning—
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFAabout a year ago in Poets
It was not my dream to fly. And the sky was not a promise to me. I did not choose my wings, nor was I allowed to choose my shadow.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHabout a year ago in Poets
Verse 1 I bite my tongue like it’s gospel truth Hold back storms that could split the room You see calm, but you don’t see the war
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Poets
Grounded by the weight of expectation and illusion Rooted in the sense that clarity resolves confusion Branching out beyond my reach of limited understanding
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
Remembrance Day Guns tore the air, yet they crawled on, souls bruised by thunder, faces set like stone. Mud clutched their boots,
