The wind, it speaks in hushed tones, Whispers secrets to the trees, Leaves rustle, a soft symphony, Nature's gentle, quiet pleas.
By Yannick Simo2 years ago in Poets
There is a part of me that wants to die; The one that has to do what is expected. I realise the trappings of this life, And mostly, feel by me they are accepted.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Poets
Holding an urn empty of water Waist covered with a flowing skirt Bare-chested, showing her naked breasts off Lichen-covered fountain out of service temporarily
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Poets
I am riding the steam of your words, The subtle heat trying to warm the crisp, cold, crystalline world Strangling the searing desires bubbling in our throats.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets
This poem was written in response to the Rattle® Poetry Ekphrastic Challenge for January 2023 and was ultimately not selected. You can find more information here.
By Rae Fairchild (MRB)2 years ago in Poets
Picture him in all his glory perfect. Just... perfect. your type. Oh, but so much more than that. The one you swoon over.
By Ruby Red2 years ago in Poets
call after call complaint after complaint deliveries delayed packages destroyed audio civil unrest nothing prepares you for
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
Emerging from the waves to find my family gone brings panic and a faulty memory leads me back inside to bang on the wrong hotel door
By Aaron Morrison2 years ago in Poets
In the silence of the night, I hear your name, Echoes of a lost love, lighting the flame. The stars whisper secrets, in an eternal language,
By Hendrik SancheZ2 years ago in Poets
I’ve never been too good at writing in my own voice, In fact, if I had a choice, I don’t even know what I’d sound like. I spent a long time chasing this identity,
By Dan-O Vizzini2 years ago in Poets
So picture this: The city throws its hats in puddles; They do not sink but float. February thunderstorms, whirlwinds and blizzards;
By Andrei Z.2 years ago in Poets
i burn for the touch - the heat of summer’s sun, blazing down is barely enough, as blood is still cold, when the surface is warming up;
By Bri Campbell2 years ago in Poets
