Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
But Nobody Spoke Up
They thought something was wrong, But no nobody spoke up. They saw the red flags, But nobody spoke up. They witnessed his mindset through social media,
New York lady head hung low and lazy boxes of light cast across her chalky colored cell a city tomb at the peak of brooklyn
Elegy for My Grandmother
And love is bread baskets left in the sun. The bread turned hard. As stone. And men who walk past windows. The same men whom I see at night. Back when wall reliefs sprouted on flat chests. All the girls would stare out windows sit on porches with short skirts and legs spread. Wide. Licking fuzzy navel shaved ice off fingers. That later motioned at men to come near. On the porch you were safe from gazes filled high like towers. There was nowhere to prepare for men. But then again, there are no back porches in Georgia. What of men? She says. Of men who march of men who live in sheets. What of rooms where babies are made, are they holy? Do they shine like rain in silver pails rain that makes your hair grow? Standing next to the genip tree I see a dress that picks at the wind. It is yellow and muddled with dishwasher spots.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
Fields of Heather
We walk through the trees, across the winding bend, Our laughter bites the wind, the coldness it does fend. Casting pebbles to a lake, as light drifts beyond the shore,
He walks down the hallway, Hears "she" and "her," And it burns a hole into his soul, Already wounded by pain and hate for who he is,
I possess a weapon. That's right. You read that correctly. I have a weapon. It's perfectly legal, Yet it's more powerful
Decorated distractions Doused with decadence and despair Dreams of the disconnected Dissipating into thin air Directing the diverse
They say that night falls. They are mistaken. It rises from the land slowly like litmus in water. Unfurling inky tendrils of blue, reaching out and up to color the world in shades of mystery.
Thinking About You
I thought about you today, but that was nothing new. I thought about you yesterday, and the day before that too. I thought about the way we kissed,
Bitter Beans and Water
Two scoops, an early rise, Roasted beans and water. Twelve cups, two mugs Bitter beans and water. Tinkling bells, jostling coats
Gone, whispers the peeling wallpaper. The walls have rotted away by the pursuit Of rainwater and the undeniable dispute Between termites and water vapor.