An ode to Mother Nature; poems that take their inspiration from the great outdoors.
A guide to disappear, When the weight of world feel's like a thousand ships, That are tied to your waste on the side of a cliff,
By Dylan about a year ago in Poets
The Fairy Garden That Everyone Loves Do you believe in fairies the ones no bigger than your hand who dance where no one’s looking
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
played from within a single note i always have to explain the joke because i am still the funniest guy i know layered like the scramble
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
We were seventeen when it happened. The last day. The last time. I didn’t know it then, but sometimes, memory waits until years later to reveal its teeth. And when it does, it doesn’t ask permission.
By AFTAB KHANabout a year ago in Poets
The Bee, the Fly and the Moth The bee wore boots and a pilot’s hat, He fancied himself a diplomat, Buzzed in a bar all full of cheer,
We gather not with placards or parades, but with pens, syllables, and spirit— in the ink-soaked silence of notebooks, where protest bleeds not in fire,
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
***if you are in immediate danger, call 911. for confidential support and resources, you may contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1.800.799.7233(SAFE)***
Barefoot Sand hot, searing white, like my skin, which had been kissed by a fierce fiery sun that mistook me for his lover.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
By Nadeem Shah I. Wilt You loved me the way a fire loves paper— brief, wild, and ending in smoke. I built a home out of your warmth
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Poets
I’m reliving moments of my past. And finally, at last, It doesn’t seem entwined with who I am. * I am ripping the parts that trapped me in,
By Marvelous Michaelabout a year ago in Poets
Lightning flashed then hit his grave too soon after he emerged to carry on his haunting nights with boots still wet from shifting earth
He Bit Into the Apple He bit into the apple, the maggots tasted vile, the skin still shining, red with guile. He spat it out, but not in shame,
