Ode

Stranger
I’m a stranger in a strange land The fan chugga chugga chugs As it blows away paper thugs The world shrugs As we slink like slugs
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
About How It Feels Turning Eighteen
On top of your second mile of a stone— Finally! Just about how it feels. At eighteen, you start to see the future— pathfinding a way home. The past, replaced. Fades as destinations eat the crumbs. Once dropped— You can’t go back now at forty-five. The past and the future starts to hint. Audiences!
By K.A. Smithabout a year ago in Poets
Supplication for Inspiration. Top Story - July 2025.
I know there is no ownership Of inspiration One cannot keep the wind in their hair Or trap a goddess On the head of a fountain pen
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
Burdens of the Absent
I have missed out on knowing who is my real father , He was a drunkard, a drug addict and a womanizer These are labels thrown at me when I ask about him
By Isaac Ramaphalaabout a year ago in Poets
Semantic Satiation & Other Fatal Ejaculations. Top Story - July 2025.
this. Why do the linguistic seeds I plant Isn't. flower into blooms of deep thought an. when sometimes, just sometimes acrostic. I want to laugh at the insanity and ridiculous
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
The Happy Clown
The Happy Clown He wakes before the big top hums, with baggy pants and polished thumbs a whistle bright between his teeth
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Quis Curat
Quis Curat They say Chase another carrot Ferreting out their sins Where does it end? A society built on lies Incapable of being wrong
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
bug bite at a funeral
in air quotes "funeral" because Annie coined it a picnic: troughs of tin foil and the weight of disbelief under a pavilion on loan, a small welt bloomed
By Erin Latham Sheaabout a year ago in Poets
How to Disappear Without Anyone Noticing
How to Disappear Without Anyone Noticing Genre: Poets / Psyche / Social Com Style: Poetic diary/narrative fragments Day 1
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Poets
The Old Guard
He stood on the bank since sapling days, watching the river wind, making homes for feathered guests, who came, and went,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
What would I do without me?
I wouldn’t defend myself I wouldn’t have left I wouldn’t have loved more I also wouldn’t have loved for so long I wouldn’t pick at my lips
By Ariana GonBonabout a year ago in Poets
Wildfires
My soul is a fire. My mouth, the vehicle with which I breathe it out and deprive it of oxygen. In this way, I resurrect the words
By Logan Stanislawabout a year ago in Poets