performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Astrotourism
Some Andromeda traveler came through last night feeding stardust to horses in plain view, tonight he steals glances through torn windows and time-space.
Zach GrattanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsParty
My inside seize up sometimes when I think about my sister. She is glitter and vodka and beauty inside and out and I can't contain my love for her
Amy ToledanoPublished 6 years ago in PoetsTake My Pain
Would you take my pain, if you could live forever, would you take my strife, to extend your life, would you become us all, just so you could never fall and feel the warmth and cold of the ground, would you listen to the sweet sound of death over and over again, would you fix all those that have been broken, or would you let the tears flow from your eyes, would you let go of your disguise, would you let go of your truth to accept what others see, or would you just turn your back to all those who want to be free, can you take the weight of a billion voices inside of your head, while you sleep they will just get louder and louder, so vociferous, so tumultuous, arduous work it will be living for an eternity, without people, just words, only you will never be heard, for you have to hear all the cries of all those down below, begging to be let go, to be let back in into this time and reality, to be given another change, promises rise, never to kill, never to purloin, never to sin, could your heart believe these words, what will happen deep down within your being, will it be lauding and praise, or detrimental and rage, it is up to you and only you to write a new parable, a brand new page, to become wise with the coming of age, to climb higher and higher and reach every stage, with the aid of others and oneself, one becomes better, one can be freed, unfettered, one can listen, in the silence, one can do no harm, no violence, certain moments and memories you will miss, but it's all worth it, it's all worth this, living between life and death, you will appreciate every breath, living through day and night, baneful and seraphic, monumental and tragic, unrelentingly automatic, indurated and fragile, you will run for miles, for years and years, you will shed endless tears, you will feel endless fears, from all the corners of your soul, from all the paths you choose to walk on, from all the places you thought you belonged to, from all the people you thought were real and true, from all the ways old and new, as all those demons drip out of you, you will know, when all the things become one you will know what it all meant, why you were put here, why you were sent, why you felt the bad and good, why you saw the evil and magnificent, why they all wanted the best from you, for they all knew you were genuine and true, the person you are in the mirror is truly you.
Charles FreemanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWeakness of Man
Why doesn't anyone listen, why doesn't anyone care, we all know we're equal, we all know what's fair, we understand that to persist, we need community, we need to love and share, jump out of the square, think outside the box, walk farther than you ever have, not just a few blocks, don't watch the time, ignore the clocks, feel the ground, appreciate the rocks, take in the tremors and shocks of the earth and our baneful behaviour, why do we look up like there hides our savior, our main man, who hates us all but understands, that money is the future, money is the plan, purloin anything you can, but get caught and he'll remove your hand, commit a sin and prepare to be banned, buried deep within the sand, deep within the fallacies, so far gone, you'll be in a different galaxy, perennial reality, where has all the sanity gone, what is going wrong, why must we cast out the young, poor and old, why can't we just all belong, together we stay strong, separated, we won't last too long, we won't survive the night, we won't wake up to see the light, since we will all be dead and gone, from the deleterious fight for peace, the idea that fell apart so quickly, piece by piece, a long awaited release from the cold grip of the darkness of man, this was never ours, this land, yet we spend everything yet nothing to live, how perplexing, I can't believe this is a thing, what more can an exorbitant amount of wealth bring, more kings and queens, cons and fiends, madness is their means, we are the squalid and dirty, they are the spotless and clean, feeding us the drugs from their poppy fields, what a weapon the evil wield, is this all real, this wound in humanity is deep, for all I weep, mankind never actually took the step, or made the leap, we just made ourselves sheep, then we fell asleep, how weak.
Charles FreemanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsHero 2006
He is a regular person. Just like you, and just like me. Except his job is to protect our country. He listens to Rock N' Roll and rap,
Erica ArbogastPublished 6 years ago in PoetsImpermeable Peace
To know this feeling is the ability to not be shaken by much of anything. It's a sort of strength that doesn't come from the amount of shit you could take before, but because of your relationship with love, grace, faith, and joy.
Dear Old Me..
Dear old me, You're only seventeen. The only happiness you seek, is when you take a puff of gang green. If you only knew better,
Christina CharlottePublished 6 years ago in PoetsWords
Sometimes words seem not to be enough. There is a fire inside of me which can't be described through them. I might spend hours trying to find the perfect word, and when I finally pick one, it turns out to be not the right one.
Kayla SkinPublished 6 years ago in PoetsDream
There is another type of world Where our thoughts become our space Eyes closed and not awake Subconscious, sits up, no break
Holly SantonatoPublished 6 years ago in PoetsLast Ink Drop
What a journey it has been, A journey where a pen became my beacon of comfort My voice when the voice couldn’t voice a voice
Harydo NeonPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWeird Shit
Searching for a map, Can you help me please? I found my car, but lost my keys. There seems to be a delay, you see, and my flight takes off at three.
KANESHA BANKSPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Drapes of Wrath
The rose-upholstered chair and the matching loveseat The dry and musty air, dust motes baking in the heat And the heavy eggplant curtains that came down in the aftermath
Violet P. DaviesPublished 6 years ago in Poets