Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Steps We Take
Take one step then another and another, but never are they taken together ebbing and flowing one and then the other first and then following
It's Not What I Lack
Why am I not her? Is it because her skin is lighter And more appealing? Her eyes brighter, and filled With something mine don’t have?
My writing is my home
My writing is my home. Sometimes it's warm and cozy like a lover's bed. Another time, a dizzy rabbit hole. I write about feelings,
In the Darkness of Night
My father fought in World War II. He was seriously injured during a major battle in the South Pacific. A grenade landed in his foxhole killing his best friend and filling him with shrapnel. He very rarely spoke of his wartime experience, but in the evenings, when we would be sitting quietly you could feel the burden was still with him. During the night he would often have the same nightmare, you could hear him fighting that battle, always waking up with the grenade landing in the foxhole. Growing up I heard that nightmare hundreds of times.
Simba The Sun
Once upon a time there lived a fascinating girl. She is present, kind, and adventurous. She grew up in a very small town,
Down the Rabbit Hole
When you feel like you're falling Down the rabbit hole The thoughts may be pacing The past woes had taken a toll 🐰 You dream as the wind rushes past
Stories: A Sestina
The weight of it in my hands The feel of it beneath my fingertips The quiet smell of it drifts through the air The words begin melting away
filing for a divorce
officially filing for a divorce no more feeling remorse because i am finally parting ways with any negative thoughts my best friend depression it is finally time to say goodbye
Lady of the Water
Colleen Millsteed shared a poem called “No More Me” which was subtitled “It’s Game , Set and Match To You” which reminded me of the title of a Nic Jones album. Nic Jones’ masterpiece is “Penguin Eggs” which contains the seafaring lady tale “Canadee-I-O” which has one of the most beautiful guitar intros ever, which got me to thinking about writing a maritime based tribute to my beautiful Muse.
Ribbons of light weave through the canopy above, Warming my cheeks, painting them soft petal pink. It would be lovely to sit outside with Mary
I can only catch glimpses of my childhood fluttering by, moths to the electric resonance of light. The few I trapped
Home to me is family. Not that perfect picturesque imitation found on TV, nor one that pretends to be. It is a place of freedom, acceptance, and self-expression,