Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
You are my life, You're all I need. To make our time apart Pass with lightning speed. We are all alone now, This family of three.
By Evelyn Shinn5 years ago in Poets
How... They say, I got to dress a certain way. But a suit and tie is not me. I'm a hoodie type of guy. Locs, twist outs, jeans type of guy.
By Michael J. Harris5 years ago in Poets
Procrastination is my friend My constant companion Always with me Here with me now Loitering in the background Smirking
By Jane Guy5 years ago in Poets
Sifting through the rubble I attempted to find all the broken pieces of me that are mine. From the pain and the heart ache, bruises and despair, scattered all around my pieces are all there.
By Ruth Durham5 years ago in Poets
You run like a horse And fly like a bird. Let not the voice of others Nor their chains be heard. Let not the heavy bolt
By Louise Lovett5 years ago in Poets
The balance is clear from the ground and sky, where the goal is to lie among the stars. Here is the grass and breeze,
By Morrigan Ezra5 years ago in Poets
Excuse me there! There is a short story I would like to share. Just give me a few minutes and I will deploy. A beautiful tale that you are sure to enjoy.
By Gary Francis5 years ago in Poets
What is the power of my poetry? I have been writing poetry since I was very young. I began using it to express how the popular girls made me feel. Inferior. Ugly. Never enough.
By Alejandra Mora Hendler5 years ago in Poets
My missus mixes "then" and "than" She says that the ear of the Englishman May hear different sounds but the Slavonic mind
By Nick James5 years ago in Poets
If a human could become supernova when we implode - we would extend beyond Pluto, the strings of my DNA bridging ten billion miles.
By Change with Carrie 5 years ago in Poets
Its a wreck of a boat, beached,rotting, long past saving. Still it has a certain draw, a certain beauty in it’s decaying carcass.
By Katie 5 years ago in Poets
Hearing him laugh, was odd. His posture was upright – slovenly, and yet – somehow, well dressed. He had two different socks with quickly, groomed hair. There was a stain - tucked under - his jacket sleeve.
By Athletiks MB5 years ago in Poets
