Sonnet
O' Clock She Comes
...saying goodbye to you here with one of my early efforts for this platform. (I have one more original to leave you with after this.) You Can find me on Instagram and Facebook if you wish to keep in touch. Happy writing!
Ward NorcuttPublished 7 days ago in PoetsTake Heart
Oh what a pleasant day to be alive! I drank a drop of sunlight from the sky It lifts my spirits up and makes them thrive Which makes me light enough that I can fly!
Holly NacePublished 7 days ago in PoetsIllegible Minds
Had you gazed at your own, scaly image And recognized yourself in that dark pool You might have inaugurated an age
D. J. ReddallPublished 7 days ago in PoetsBig Ask
Rare and precious is the one born to lead Mediocre bosses, over their heads Are as common as memos we don’t read The sleep we lose softly feathers their beds
D. J. ReddallPublished 8 days ago in PoetsMy Flower Princess
Introduction You may know who this is for, she loves flowers, and this is a sonnet for her. The music is my favourite version of "Wild Mountain Thyme" by The Silencers
Mike Singleton - MikeydredPublished 8 days ago in PoetsHalf
A glass half empty is a glass half full, A day half gone - a prelude to an evening, How often point of view affects the meaning
Vadim KaganPublished 8 days ago in PoetsRunning in front.
The era of 21st century is going on. Big things about human technology and Wanting to find God. But he is still within himself,
5/20/24
The view astounds As the word bounds from the top to the ground I find what was said to not be found My soul resonates sound
Atomic HistorianPublished 9 days ago in Poets- Content Warning
Brontosaurus
Oh, gentle Thunder Lizard, noble beast, Immense, yet dwarfed by others of your kind Whose reign, as yours, mysteriously ceased,
Dana CrandellPublished 9 days ago in Poets If I were stung by a bee
If I were stung by a bee, Would the uncertainty of the writhing bane of living finally subside the menace of who we are deemed to be?
Hridya SharmaPublished 10 days ago in PoetsEchoes of the Mesozoic
In the dawn of time, when Earth was young, A colossal silhouette against the rising sun, The sauropod roamed, its footsteps thunderous, Leaving imprints in mud, a legacy wondrous.
QUBA ASHRAF BALOCHPublished 11 days ago in PoetsArt
Kings come and go But art speaks to the human soul Art is immortality This poem was inspired by a friend asking the question, “I'm good at art but does that even mean anything at the end of the day?”
Atomic HistorianPublished 11 days ago in Poets