performance poetry

Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.

Oh Plato, Enough!
Oh Plato, enough! Keep your philosophy with you, Take your nest of thought and leave the throne of your fame. Your castles built on clouds of theory,
By Zakir Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
A Glimpse of Miles
New York feels a little emptier without him around. Looking at this photo–Miles, his squint like worn leather, his fingers holding grace like something fragile and rare– it reminds you of something you just don’t see anymore. And the rest of us– we're left wondering: Who was driving that truck? And all we can do is sigh: Death sure knows how to steal the best stuff when your'e not looking.
By The Learning Ledgerabout a year ago in Poets
Cave Dwellers
I know The difficulty in breaking free Of the false walls Built up around us I've turned back in doubt Collapsed in fear
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
Adventure
I set out on a journey No map in hand, no final shore, Just a rhythm in retreat, A pulse flickering in the eye of silence.
By Usamaabout a year ago in Poets
White
She follows the white rabbit, His buttons undone by the breeze. The clock is broken, But the rabbit runs as if he were late.
By Susan Fourtané about a year ago in Poets
Whimsical Wishes
Whimsical wishes are wanting to win Override sad ones always sneaking in Chocolate and cookies, must be good foods With everything else that improves your mood
By Calvin Londonabout a year ago in Poets
Inhuman Cell
"Inhuman Cell" Anxiety all around, A frenetic trade in food. Humanity is ruined, Hayena’s are rampant. The barking of the hawks is a strange call,
By Jr. Majahabout a year ago in Poets
"What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, and Where, and Why"
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. 🔍 Short Analysis: This is a sonnet of memory and loss. The speaker reflects on past lovers — not in detail, but in a haze of absence. She no longer recalls their names or touches, but feels their absence like ghosts in the rain. The rain tapping on the window becomes a symbol of haunting memory. The tree in winter is a metaphor for aging and loneliness, stripped of the warmth and music of “summer” — a metaphor for youth and love. The tone is wistful, sorrowful, resigned. 🧠 Why It's Powerful: Millay reverses the typical romantic sonnet. Instead of celebrating love, she mourns the fading of passion and memory. It captures the quiet grief of time passing, especially for a woman who lived passionately and fearlessly in her youth.
By Mr Aliabout a year ago in Poets
Fortune cookie Prediction came true
Fortune cookie Prediction came true It was just a cookie, cheap with its crackle, folded like any other, tossed on the tray
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
My knight in shining Polka Dots
I used to dream as a child, of living in a polka dot world People, places and life a swirl of wonderous spots Oh, how simple life seemed back then, in dreams of glorious dots
By Antoni De'Leonabout a year ago in Poets
A Bustle in the Hedgerow
when art is driven by more than a simple need to pay bills when art is transcendental and becomes more in others’ minds when art is the motivator,
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
When I was younger, I was richer
When I was younger, I was richer. Not with money— but with time I didn’t count, questions I wasn’t afraid to ask, and the quiet magic of believing
By Dua Noumanabout a year ago in Poets