Family

Everything feels like home
Everything feels like home Cozy, safe, and warm Half asleep A blurry glow It is here and now, and then Moments, big and small
By Marcelo Desio5 months ago in Poets
The Red Sand is Blue
The sand lacks its fire and burn, The red sand is blue, From the tears and rainstorms my eyes have borne. The Ashoka trees have lost their dance and seem to have nothing to gossip about.
By Kaima Diai5 months ago in Poets
She Named Me Ghost. Content Warning.
He lived seventeen hours -yet, still I became the ghost. Once she said, "You were born out of wedlock- That makes you a bastard."
By Nikki Torino Wagner5 months ago in Poets
It Will Be All Right
Too much makeup Painted not like a doll Caked on Too bright Like a lady of the night I told them so Angry At them
By Mary K Brackett5 months ago in Poets
My Earliest Memories, Part 4:
We were watching the Simpsons My parents and me All wedged into the couch in the house on Pert I didn’t get the jokes but I loved their laughter
By Sam Spinelli5 months ago in Poets
How I Want to Remember You. Top Story - August 2025.
I sit where you used to be, Where I used to hear your footsteps down the stairs, I would tiptoe up to your room to see if you were sleeping,
By Samantha Smith5 months ago in Poets
Born from Love
Born from Love Baby meek, baby mild born from love, our beautiful child Eyes that glimmer, soft and true every day I am in awe of you
By Marie381Uk 5 months ago in Poets
Legacy
Your memories curl at the corner of your mind, a piece of you, you try to hold. A flash of recognition as you find a face you know, before it's lost to the cold.
By kylie Arneson5 months ago in Poets
A Museum Display Of My Sister's Pottery
Today, I spoke with a person from the Weissman Gallery in Minneapolis, MN, on the University of Minnesota Campus, who is interested in having an exhibit of woodland pottery and she thought my sister Carrie may be the focus of the exhibit.
By Denise E Lindquist5 months ago in Poets
Unpacked Promises
Boxes stacked like forgotten promises in the hallway of that first house - wait, was it the second? The one with the creaky porch swing that sang
By Laura 5 months ago in Poets
Home Alone
A weekend escape, for her mother- but a break, from her mother. The house is empty. When her Buddy stilled, she ran to him,
By Tennessee Garbage5 months ago in Poets
To Daughter, Love Dad
I did not know that tears were running down my face as I looked into my father’s brown eyes. I yelled at him for the first time in my life.
By Tor Branch5 months ago in Poets