Halloween candy will taste bittersweet this year It was your favorite holiday You will not get to enjoy it now And you never will again
By Stephanie Hoogstad4 months ago in Poets
My Mother’s Hands By Hasnain Shah My mother’s hands were never still. They were the first map I ever read, lines folding into valleys of warmth,
By Hasnain Shah4 months ago in Poets
*I took this photo out at my dad's farm last week and I let it inspire this poem about harvest.** a house full of memories,
By Chloe Rose Violet 🌹4 months ago in Poets
The following stream of consciousness is unedited and is exactly what I was feeling in the moment as it was happening. These are unfiltered raw emotions. Errors and all are included! No polish added.
By Rick Henry Christopher 4 months ago in Poets
She walks in veils of quiet light, A soft-spun solace in the night. Her presence is a silent shore, Where worldly tempests rage no more.
By Amir Husen4 months ago in Poets
My Child Tiny hands that cling, yet hold the weight of fate, eyes that pierce the dawn, as if they know the world. I press you to my chest,
By Marie381Uk 4 months ago in Poets
‘Hey’ ‘Y’okay?’ … ‘Yea’ I say But the pause betrays My longing to find someway To be home by Sunday That’s the price I pay
By Mollie Narutovics4 months ago in Poets
I had a dream about chipped linoleum flooring last night, the foot-long gap of an ugly, yellowed tile pattern peeled all the way off by the oven in my childhood home.
By Kay Husnick4 months ago in Poets
I smile in the daylight, practice the laughter well, a painted mask to ease the watchers, to keep them from asking what shadows move inside.
By Dagmar Goeschick4 months ago in Poets
How long ago- this moment captured here In the sunny park when our fathers danced One turning the other like swing step pros
By Judah LoVato4 months ago in Poets
the night doesn't scare me anymore. but the darkness does. i don't know if it's ironic, or if it's a lazy contradiction.
By ⸘jason alan‽4 months ago in Poets
Verse 1 White house on the hill by the granite-gray sea, clapboards bright as a Sunday plea, silver spoons clink, steam curls from their tea,
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warrior4 months ago in Poets
