Blackout

Where I’m From
Where I’m From I’m from cracked sidewalks and cicada hums, from screen doors that slap shut in protest and backyard swings that creak like tired bones.
By Get Rich8 months ago in Poets
Dance in the Shadows
There’s a dance in the shadows with red candles People in white dresses seeing the dance There were those who resisted to dance
By TheNaeth8 months ago in Poets
"Whispers in the Blooming Field"
In fields where roses gently sway, My heart finds peace in your sweet way. Like morning sun through misty air, Your love is warmth beyond compare.
By Mukhtiar Ahmad8 months ago in Poets
Plumbers Never Go Out of Business
Too much money, not enough... Too little money, not enough... Joining the pack of rodents on the commute to the cheese... If the cheese is already provided on the platter, we would lack the hunger and motivation to move.
By Armand Slayer8 months ago in Poets
Romantic Side Effects
Waiting... Waiting... waiting... The anticipation is overwhelming, after all, she is off to be married in the not-so-distant future...
By Armand Slayer8 months ago in Poets
Where Mountains Meet Roses and Bees
"Whispers of the Fountain" Between the peaks where eagles soar, And forests deep with ancient lore, A garden blooms with blushing grace,
By Mukhtiar Ahmad8 months ago in Poets
Foundations of A Lie
A falsehood follows the truth, and the truth follows a lie What’s the point of blending dark and light colors Lie is lie, truth is truth
By TheNaeth8 months ago in Poets
They Did Not Come in Peace
They Did Not Come in Peace You ask us what we dare try to describe ? I’ll tell you, it’s the evil alien tribe. Not in fiction, not a film, not a dream
By Marie381Uk 8 months ago in Poets
The Art Of Letting Go
Letting go is not forgetting, But a sacred act of grace Not a silence born of absence, But a softer, wiser place. It is not the loss of memory,
By Muhammad Mehebub Alam8 months ago in Poets
Whispers Beneath Pines and Petals
Whispers of the Mountain Beneath tall trees where mountains rise, A lake reflects the painted skies. A boy kneels low in flowers fair,
By Mukhtiar Ahmad8 months ago in Poets
The Locksmith’s Widow.
The Locksmith’s Widow. She sleeps beside the ticking frame of something forged without a name. A workshop swallowed by the dust,
By Marie381Uk 8 months ago in Poets
Beneath the Willow Tree
The first time Noah saw the girl beneath the willow tree, she was sketching the sky like it might disappear any second. It was the middle of July, and the park was hot and green, full of kids screaming and sprinklers spinning in suburban rhythm. But under the oldest willow, a girl sat alone with a pencil, a notebook, and a thousand-yard stare that looked right through time.
By Shakil Sorkar8 months ago in Poets