Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Come see me When life knocks me down Come here and give me your hand This is when I need you the most and not in a year advanced.
By Schubert TALK LLC © KD5 years ago in Poets
Strange Butterfly I saw a strange butterfly As I sat beside the creek her wings were torn and shabby and seemed rather weak
By Robin Edwards5 years ago in Poets
One afternoon I said to myself, "Why isn't the bookwork more middle?" A bookwork is mellow. a bookwork is eminent, a bookwork is climactic, however.
By Sawn Baen5 years ago in Poets
The centre is not irreligious! the centre is exceptionally pious. Now spiritual is just the thing, To get me wondering if the centre is pious.
By Thomos James5 years ago in Poets
My mirror isn’t a mirror. It’s a lake. Ideally, it’s still and pristine, But that’s rare. Instead, There are days when it’s muddy.
By Erica Machen5 years ago in Poets
I live in a nation of destruction of African Americans Where we are forced to be around people that dont like us and wants to hurt us and our future
By Queen Kadafie 5 years ago in Poets
Lovely, I see Yeah, that’s right That’s lovely you That’s lovely me Lovely black Lovely white Lovely red, yellow, and brown
By Jewel Caceres 5 years ago in Poets
“Be present”, she told me, as much said to herself. Did she know she was prescient, true to her name? I head out on a Saturday morning destined to cross Pennsylvania,
By Alexander J. Cameron5 years ago in Poets
I searched for you While in my darkness To find you laughing at me Believing I'm filled with nonsense You stomped on my heart
By S. D. Clyde5 years ago in Poets
Fear can be crippling and debilitating Possibly stopping you moving forward, The reason why you’re not really living And can make you break your word.
By Colleen Millsteed 5 years ago in Poets
I never tried to make myself beautiful I never modify myself just to make other people call me gorgeous and beautiful I confess I am not beautiful. I am ugly.
By Gurleen kaur5 years ago in Poets
Peoples’ layers are complex, Facades, they come and go And even those who you deem close You may not really know. *
By Julie Lacksonen5 years ago in Poets
