Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Love burns like dawn, yet fades when night draws near, A fragile flame that trembles in the storm; Its glow a promise whispered soft and clear,
By shakir hamidabout a year ago in Poets
The Lantern of Hollow Flame A lantern swings, in empty hands. Its flame is thin, yet never dies. It casts no warmth, it gives no light.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Between your shadows you showed it; I completed my reasons in my mind about you; Go figure; Whoopity Doo; You didn't have a chance;
By Erica Williamsabout a year ago in Poets
The halo of my golden years Brings honeyed tea and hope, cookies glimmering with heart. "Shine your life with love — be yourself," she says,
By C C Farleyabout a year ago in Poets
The Stair to Heaven The stair is white, it climbs the air. It bends through clouds, it hums with fire. Each step is carved, with names of stone.
The River of Black Glass It runs beneath, the broken hills. A river wide, of shattered glass. Its surface shines, with frozen fire.
The air is so thick I can hear it Vague crackle spatters Somehow louder than the chirping of birds I cannot see * White white white
By Gene Lassabout a year ago in Poets
The Dead Awake The grave is cracked, the stones are torn. The lids of wood, are split and raised. The earth exhales, the soil shakes.
The Tower of Silence It stands alone, above the waste. The tower black, against the sky. Its walls are smooth, no door is seen.
I sit, eyes caught in autumn's firelight web, His shadow beckons, face of tidal ebbs And flows only my deepest mem'ry knows,
By Katharine Poole about a year ago in Poets
The Gate of Ash The gate is wide, yet no one dares enter. Its towers burn, without a flame. The ground is black, the stones are torn.
Death is just a bit too much, isn't it? — Cliché? Overstated? Not the point, is it? — Death weighs heavy on my mind today
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
