performance poetry

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

Tiger in Her Den. Top Story - February 2025.
I look in the mirror and a monster looks back at me She grins, running her thick tongue over her sharpened teeth Sharpened specially for them
By Essie2 years ago in Poets
Always An Ace Up My Sleeve
Always An Ace Up My Sleeve I walk through the fire, I play every game, Smiling in shadows, no fear, no shame. They watch my hands, they read my face,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Poets
Admitting Victory
Look what you've done‐ If only, you had your own eyes to see the Hell you've curated... all that you've brought to ruin,
By JM2 years ago in Poets
The Imagination of the Son
Feeling old, even though I'm young. Wish I had the imagination of the Son. Hope to not grow weary of growing younger and wiser.
By Idara Oghogho 2 years ago in Poets
My Other Half
She’d a smile built for devastation. Her eyes reflected the worlds’ tragedies. Glue saturated her facade’s fractures. She fortified her heart with detritus.
By Lizzy Rose2 years ago in Poets
Life's Natural Erraticism
spin me a tale of blood and more me the crazy old hermit, as so often I am both metaphorical—literal As I sit and wonder what may have been
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
Poem a Day in February (PADIF) Seven Teachings
Purple is my favorite color Is it from being an older woman? It used to be red but I’m putting that to bed Photo by Home Galley
By Denise E Lindquist2 years ago in Poets
Does your Poetry paint a picture
Does your Poetry paint a picture Every poem paints a picture, Every picture made of believable words. Each line a stroke, each verse a tone,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Poets
Quirky
Camden is the only place I know with crying jumpers. A shrine for cult classics and endless memes. It smells like a car boot sale, scent of leather and vinyls.
By Chloe Gilholy2 years ago in Poets
Whispers of the Heart
Under the moon’s soft glow, our whispers blend with stars. Your laughter, a melody, my heartstrings gently strummed. Platonic hugs, a steady flame, or self-love’s quiet bloom— each beat a testament, a dance of souls. Valentine’s whispers: love, in every form, eternal.
By Nilesh Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Pile
The alarm rings my arms outstretch they are quickly filled dirty laundry dirty dishes spilled milk that tiny eyes are crying over
By Ellie Hoovs2 years ago in Poets
Subverted. Top Story - February 2025.
It's Not Real. . It's not real. . It's not real, it's not real, it's not real. . It. Isn't. Real. But fuck...do I wish that it was.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets