For Fun

Fear
I feel it starting, somewhere deep in my gut Until all that I taste is my insecurities and stuff The voices in my head tell me that I'll never be enough
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
The Play of Masks
A dance of masks on life's grand stage, Where jesters shift with time and age. Traditions bend, yet stand so tall, Laughter echoes in every fall.
By Avinash Vikram singhabout a year ago in Poets
My Toast
Golden and warm, my toast on the rise, A leap from the toaster, oh, what a surprise! Butter's a-splashing, it lands with a thud,
By Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Her Red Pumpkin
My Red Pumpkin In my garden, bright and round, A red pumpkin can be found. With a smile and a shiny glow, It brightens up the ground below.
By Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Marie That’s Me
M is for marvellous, shining so bright, A is for always, my guiding light. R is for romantic, love’s sweet embrace,
By Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Finding The Rhyme
* Out here grasping for words in a vernacular drought My thoughts are all blurred still, I try to hammer it out * I dig deep for the key
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
Befuddled
Well, I am trying to lay off Vocal at the moment, due to the return of an RSI problem that once saw me unable to drive for two years. Currently typing hurts, scrolling hurts, even picking up my phone hurts. Rest it, I tell myself, use it only for work. And maybe the next challenge. And maybe this and maybe that and then, then, then.... and here I am again. I thought I had missed Penny's part B (link at the bottom), but having realised I had not, well, just a teeny tiny little but of typing, no?
By Hannah Mooreabout a year ago in Poets
Sunshine
Driving Radio on Another poem Another stupid line Because you are my sunshine The thing that keeps me from losing my mind
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Weight
Strapped in my vest The weight crushing my chest Why does life always feel like a test Trapped in the vestments of life
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
uncertainty
if eye could see the darkened room, it might look toward the day. to know a fate is torturous, so we look the other way. if nose could know the rancid air, it may not want to stay. the driftwood scent: the death. the wet. it carries fear through veins.
By kpabout a year ago in Poets
The witching hour
‘Tis that time of year again, the witching hours upon us. To sow the seeds of mystery, of horror and disgust. Trick-or-treaters walking hand in hand, dressed in clothes of the macabre,
By Mat Barnsleyabout a year ago in Poets
Gaia's Magnum Opus
Crickets remember the beauty of spring blossoms and croon for their birth ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Poets