Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Poets.

Black Woman
I am a Black Woman, With a capital B, My blood contains magic, From the Kings and Queens, Of Africa. I wear my mane, As my crown,
By Jhé Ferguson8 years ago in Poets
Looking Back Into Youth
I wrote these poems back in high school when my tough times first started. It was the first sign of many that I should get help, which I did soon after. Today I am better than I was but I still struggle and I know many other people do too. I thought looking back and posting these for the world to see might help me see how far I've come. It's therapeutic in a way and I hope you all enjoy these poems by young Patrick Lain, back when I wrote under my real name.
By Patrick Lain8 years ago in Poets
Just a Dream
Why That was the question she asked, What was so amazing about life, What was the point of living Especially if you're just existing,
By Destiny McCloud8 years ago in Poets
Scarlet Silver
Love is a killer with dangerous smile, Murdering its victims with delight, Dark is here, out with the daylight, Like a serpent it spits venom in spite with effortless guile,
By Wulfwaru the Lonely Writer8 years ago in Poets
Cruella De Void
“Cruella De Vil, Cruella De Vil, if she doesn’t scare you,no evil thing will!To see her is to take a sudden chillCruella, Cruella…”Window curtains drape acrossmy Persian Sarouk rug in the bedroom.The bear head above my bed frame is my protector of the night.My bedtime routine includes my henchmen washing my face to clear out my pores,a personal percussionist to help chime my way to sleep,and a maid to smooth out my comforter that took 20 rabbits to sew.I am the worst,but I am also the best.My walk is as fierce as if I split open the Red Sea with satin leather heels.Every time I trot on London streets,you tell your children to not end up like me.I am a jailbreaker ahead of my time.I strut in the path of suburban sidewalksthat are tired of the housewife’s cackles in the morning.A pair of plyers spread your last logical reasoning for looking.I know you cook by the stove,your only subconscious wish is to be me.You cook the meatloaf for the 3rd time this week.You think, if only if you were as free.You are the neighborhood’s trophy of hushed whispersduring your summer porch get-togethers;I am every one of your guests’ secret daydreams on lonely Sunday afternoons.God only gives us wingswhen we are ambitious enough to use them.Each day is a flight worth taking.The wind between the feathers I wearbrushes off any ounce of care.I lie in bed by myself, emitting independence toward the sky.Each night I feel a calming breeze,knowing the only love I needis the comfort of rabbit fur beside me.How content I am in the basket of luxury.But certain nights are different.I smoke long Parliaments in bed, hoping the hours pass by quickly.The memories are movie screens that flash on the ceiling at 3:00 a.m.The letters, Winston Churchill, the Suez Canal.His sacrifice for them meant blood draining down the sand;the war never blamed the Italians enough.
By Ti Ana8 years ago in Poets
Little Hearts
Eyes full of curiosity, hearts composed of searching. With youthful philosophy dripping from their pink lips, they travel through this unjust world. They tire their small muscles discovering, collecting, experience after experience. Their hearts are full and they fill my heart; with their silly and soft words, with the ever present challenge of time and it’s fleeting. I try, yes I try not hard enough, to be a home for those little minds, a warm comfort in this rough world of confusion.
By Trudy Blough8 years ago in Poets
Living with Fear
Do your fears come crushing down on you? Do they creep up behind you? Or do they outsmart you? Flatter you? Maybe they call you. You might answer to see who it is, but sense nothing, which scares you. What if your fears hide in you so that you don't see them? What if your fears are scared of you? You never know!
By Jayson Hernandez8 years ago in Poets
Haikus: Volume II
Tell them your story. They will hear your words and cries. Bless them with presence. // It all means nothing, and yet you do it any-
By Rachel Navarro8 years ago in Poets
Cyclical Destruction
A child Unaware she is the eye of the storm Beauty and grace Absorbing the world around her A child Being led into the lions den
By J B8 years ago in Poets
Gloria
What weeping my eyes have bled I formed you from my tears The music that created you Those years ago And I still see you
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
Lonely Lover
Cry in the night. No tears on my face. There’s a hole in my heart. Can you find your place? Will you fill the void? Take me away from reality?
By Caryn Silberman8 years ago in Poets
Haikus: Volume I
We're both a whisper Away from screaming the truth. Let me talk to you. // You were out of your mind. Now you're out of mine. See,
By Rachel Navarro8 years ago in Poets