Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
The Crystal ball Seer He spoke in verses, sharp and clear, his words would bend, then disappear. A poet man with eyes like glass,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Poets
The Crystal Ball Poet She writes in smoke, in shattered gleams, her verses bend like broken dreams. A crystal ball upon her desk,
With These Hands With these hands, I lived my life, crafting poetry— no recognition till you’re dead. With these hands, I wiped away my tears,
Lord, a thousand quips could be penned by my hand, but nothing compares to the words that come from Your lips. I want to be where Your imagination sits.
By Idara Oghogho 2 years ago in Poets
The Pit Brow Lasses Down in the dark where the black dust swirls, Toiling like men, the pit brow girls. Faces streaked with sweat and grime,
in the time it took so many things could have did happen and did not occur when he was here X marks the approximate teaching is frivolous
By ⸘jason alan‽2 years ago in Poets
The Tarot In shadows where whispers dwell, A tale unfolds, a warning bell, The tarot speaks with ancient eyes, Of two-faced liars, masked in guise.
-*- If you think that I'm standing too close and you say that I may need to pull back, I'll be smiling from the spot that you choose
By Alex Torres2 years ago in Poets
The Frame Narrative The story begins with a prologue in which Chaucer introduces the setting: a group of 29 pilgrims gather at the Tabard Inn in Southwark, near London, preparing for their pilgrimage to Canterbury. The host of the inn, Harry Bailey, suggests that to pass the time, each pilgrim should tell two tales on the way to Canterbury and two on the way back. The best storyteller will receive a free meal upon their return, paid for by the other pilgrims.
By Mr Ali2 years ago in Poets
Manifesting Better times In the dawn's embrace, where hopes ignite, We draw in our dreams, taking flight, With hearts aflame and spirits high,
The Fishy Catch Out at sea with pipe in hand, The captain grinned—his luck was grand. His boat, so small, yet packed so tight,
near blinded momentarily by strategic imitation be it meat or man that flattering thief between me and my one and only
