Introduction I think Emerson Chambers is one of the most impressive buildings in Newcastle, and it is occupied by Waterstones.
By Mike Singleton đź’ś Mikeydred 3 months ago in Poets
Outside, in the dark of night, I wait for you. The warm air blows, flowing through my pink sweater, messing up my hair. I realize I jumped the gun when you texted for the code, laughing to myself.
By Amethyst Champagne3 months ago in Poets
> “It was a cold night — the kind where silence feels alive. I looked up and saw a single star shining through the dark sky. It wasn’t the brightest, but for some reason, it caught my heart. It felt like it was trying to tell me something… maybe that even one small light can still matter.”
By Gohar Ali3 months ago in Poets
I want to feel normal again Not to go back where we began But the ephemeral euphoric place between The then and now The only question is
By Atomic Historian3 months ago in Poets
I never meant to write poems, I’m just tracing my own experience and somehow it reads like a poem I don’t try to be a poet
By Quinn Holm3 months ago in Poets
*** yellow eyes gazing unfazed by your smile imagines you brazing on the stove for awhile creating a feast mixed with sweet broth and tuna
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden3 months ago in Poets
isn’t love frivolous in our exchanging of plans a business deal of emotions with intertwining demands isn't love waggish
Now, Elon had a contract with Ms. Pennyworth's Secret Hat Emporium, delivering hats (via Space X) to aliens in galaxies far, far away.
By Novel Allen3 months ago in Poets
O, Toilet Bowl, why do you make me suffer? I sat to pee and felt a chill, much colder than sin I holler for grief, my larynx needs a muffler
By Sam Spinelli3 months ago in Poets
When the rain has dissolved me, and I am one with the loam, the worms that turn this earth will write your name in their slow, blind tome.
By The 9x Fawdi3 months ago in Poets
Nonthing seems real Internal thoughts floods Grin in the distant Hoping it's just a TV shadow Try to hide under the covers
By L.I.E3 months ago in Poets
Always shaken, but not stirred. I try playing cool, like double-oh-seven would do. I wait at the bar, looking for my Bond girl.
By Dean Traylor3 months ago in Poets
