Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
inky eye in that expanse of sky I saw you looking as we danced I liked it blue blue dream in the hem of my coat
By Jen Parkhill “JP”3 years ago in Poets
people are always expecting me to fuck like a porn star I only play one on the teevee some times and this time i’d wanted to.
Comfort, to me, is the flowing of green: Of challenge winnings spilling over me. By way of a well-crafted shower head, Bills and coins spill onto my---
By Ad-Libbing With The Z-Man3 years ago in Poets
I give you take I need sleep but am still awake - I offer you receive and come right back I get no reprieve - I lend a hand
By rhe3 years ago in Poets
A Girl Should Have A Journal A girl should have a journal. It's a pretty useful tool, For lists, and notes, and other tidbits.
By LittleWrenWrites 3 years ago in Poets
Words are piling up inside my head, But with no clear order or composition, Yet, almost cyclical in repetition, Creating confusion and distraction from my reality.
Waterfall of grains, I cannot see Above my head, a massive hole pours sand Betwixt choices, I claim stake to be; Shake the hand of reprisal or bend my knees
By Jeffrey Sparks3 years ago in Poets
I don't know the wind Which direction is it blowing—— I was in a dream, In the light waves of dreams. I don't know the wind
By John Wilson3 years ago in Poets
To have faith in a woman is to have faith in god. Yet, here I still sit at the edge of my own doubts, waiting for you to spill words you've already danced in my living room.
By ShondaWho3 years ago in Poets
I sat on a ledge where the paint was chipped; like missing teeth. The previous one stood, the first one weeping, the last one reached.
This poem will define my morning. I'll either roll over on pens of solace or on the other side. Silent. I'll either open the drapes and let the sun perform or close them tightly like darkness for a nap.
I remember that day. The sunset sat on the edge of the world and a canvas of the sky was the view. Redefined sight, my pie-crusted eye's awoke to a mosaic window where a grown-man lies could do no harm.
