Stream of Consciousness

Making Someone’s Day
When is the day? When is the day? The day when a mother or father celebrates! When is the day? When is the day? The day when the present rips open... ice cream and cake! When is the day? When is the day? The day when everyone chants "Hooray! Hooray!" When is the day? When is the day? When making someone's day! Thank you for reading! Which part of the poem resonates with you? Share your thoughts. Please leave a comment. Copyright 2025 K.A. Smith
By K.A. Smithabout a year ago in Poets
The Place Where I Don't Say It
There is a version of me you will never meet— the one who stares at ceilings and tells the dark the truth. * I smile instead.
By Denise Larkinabout a year ago in Poets
Stranger
I’m a stranger in a strange land The fan chugga chugga chugs As it blows away paper thugs The world shrugs As we slink like slugs
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
i hold the matches
memories behind plywood, broken glass, and chain-link a cage, to define what is inside relative to the world providing certainty and detailed meaning
By ⸘jason alan‽about a year ago in Poets
The News I Can't Talk About
We're being led like sheep to our slaughter And I already grieve for my sons and my daughter They're fated as casualties in this one-sided war
By Sam Spinelliabout a year ago in Poets
Buried
I buried my poems about you in the backyard You whose heart I broke You whose heart I want You who I wish would break my heart
By Ariana GonBonabout a year ago in Poets
Rendering
The rendering of her tears were not her end, but they were just the beginning of the way in which her story would soon mend.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
Pause and Reflect
Little girl with the golden hair What a blessing you are You are Sweet Exceptional Loving Abundant Heaven sent 🧡💛 🧡
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
T o u c h
It seems I bruise everything I touch. Even the air around me feels colder once I speak. Still, there’s a softness in me
By Natasha Collazoabout a year ago in Poets
Molting Season
I crawl into my skin, letting my soul sink behind a barricade of my bones, folding my sleeve-worn heart into origami cranes
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
The Tattooed Stranger at the Fairground
The Tattooed Stranger at the Fairground He stood by the ghost train, sleeves rolled high, ink curling up his arms like it wanted to speak
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Disappearing Ocean
Raindrops fell silently from the vast, grim clouds. The drops of blood, turned to steam by the inner blaze, now descending. To measure the vastness where these drops merged Would be to shroud celestial radiance in darkness.
By Karan w. about a year ago in Poets