performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
🌹🌹 Power Prayer: SunShine Dancing at the Golden Fountain of Youth! 🌹🌹
🌹🌹✅ 🌹🌹✅ 🌹🌹✅ 🌹🌹✅ 🌹🌹✅ 🌹🌹✅ 🌹🌹 🌹🌹✅ Bliss to your Blessings 🌹🌹✅ fighting a samurai master, like he . . possessing 9 arms, 9 different weapons, like . . .
By SAMURAI SAM: Wild Wayneabout 2 hours ago in Poets
The Dessert
A graham cracker crust crumbles, golden and warm like a sunset, each bite a whisper of nostalgia— childhood summers at Grandma's, barefoot on blistering pavement, sticky fingers clutching paper plates. Key limes sit in their bowl, tiny suns bursting with green dreams, their zest tangy as first love, their juice like memories pressed hard; each drop an echo of citrus kisses. Egg yolks swirl in golden ballet— a dance of yolk and sugar’s embrace— and the cream rises soft as clouds; together they form a promise: to cool the heat that clings to skin. Whisking fervently through time’s tapestry, I pour this bright alchemy into the shell— a smooth sea of pale green waves; it settles like quiet laughter after storms. The fridge hums its patient lullaby; hours slip by like tides retreating from shore— but when it emerges—a crown of whipped cream fluff— it beckons me back to sunlit afternoons, to secrets shared under swaying palms. I slice into its heart—a breath held tight— and taste that fleeting paradise: tartness bursts against sweetness' sighs; my senses ignite in playful chaos. Each forkful is a hymn to joy and longing— for all the moments wrapped in time’s gentle embrace; in this key lime pie lies not just dessert but life: the bittersweet cadence of memories baked warm.
By Forest Greenabout 22 hours ago in Poets
The Dessert
Flour dust dances in the air, and sugar crystals glisten like lost stars. A yellow globe waits on the cutting board, its skin dimpled with secrets— I slice through its tender flesh, releasing a burst of tang that fills the room with warmth. Egg whites trembling in a glass bowl— whipped to frothy peaks like clouds before a storm, each swirl a promise of sweetness to come, as I fold them gently into the citrus kiss. The crust cradles it all—golden and crisp— a delicate cradle for this dream; baked to perfection, it holds its breath, waiting for the crown of meringue to rise. Underneath the torch’s flicker and flame, it blooms into peaks like snow-capped mountains; toasted edges whisper tales of summer nights, when laughter spilled from open windows. Each slice is a sunset on my plate— bright against white porcelain; the fork sinks in with grace as taste buds awaken— a symphony of tart and sweet embraces my tongue. In this fleeting moment—soft and light— I savor memories folded between layers: picnics by riversides under skies painted gold, the comforting hum of family gathered near. This pie—a simple alchemy of love and labor— reminds me that joy can be crafted in kitchens, that happiness often lies within the whisk's embrace— a lemon-scented reminder of life’s tender balances.
By Forest Greenabout 22 hours ago in Poets
