Ode

I'm Angry.
I'm angry. Not at the one I love and lost. Never them. I'm angry at the world for not giving me a sign that they're okay.
By April Kirby.8 months ago in Poets
Magick
I’m a superposition magician Filled with superstition A mitochondric pandemic of faith fueled chaos Cross faded into fatal futility
By Atomic Historian8 months ago in Poets
The Cycle
From the earth I came And to there I shall return To a life reborn
By Atomic Historian8 months ago in Poets
My Meant To Be
I could die with every inhale of essence I breathe in from you Exuding with your every move and pervasive presence, the destruction of me
By Glory Anna8 months ago in Poets
Spectators
A half truth, empty promises, broken plans You only showed when the storm seemed to pass You only call when you need a hand
By Adri Soto8 months ago in Poets
Prayer For A Butterfly
May the weather of life never damage your wings For you know better than to fly amidst a tempest's rain Rest, my sweet darling, even amongst your pain
By Glory Anna8 months ago in Poets
She is a Tree
She is a tree - not planted, but rooted, in truths buried deep beneath the surface. In the ache of old wounds, the echo of every storm she has stood through.
By Annie Edwards 8 months ago in Poets
Hide and seek
Seek and you shall find they say But I have not found you Ask and you shall receive And yet still, you have not come You, my darling, are an intricate procedure
By Mingling with the Moon 8 months ago in Poets
Living Death
They pump me full of meds My brain is dead But the thesis of theocracy says the fetus persists Now I am a Petri dish for this life to exist
By Atomic Historian8 months ago in Poets
Voicing (A Poem Bought Online)
Vis-à-vis. clever via null and void vernacular, veering from one end of a particular spectrum to another, my voice has the register of a violently vibrating out-of-control velociraptor sex toy(bought from Temu) dancing with General Pinochet, while Sia she dangles from her dang chandelier (bought from Wish). She's unstoppable—unless she's napping. If today is not the day she is unstoppable today. Is it a suggestion—mere interjection—a ramblification? This is not Keats. This is assault with a deftly unsheathed Thesaurus (bought from Aliexpress). Just say how hard when I say hump. Wait, I mean jump. Just say jump when I say how high.
By Paul Stewart8 months ago in Poets
A New York City Mourning
The trains and buses are bleak New Yorkers jokingly complain of tourists in the way of a New York minute But I never thought the city would be this empty consistently
By Cadma8 months ago in Poets
My Prized Possession
When I was young, less than ten years old, I joined the local Boy Scouts. They gave me a hat that I had to wear, At least that’s what we were told.
By Calvin London9 months ago in Poets