Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
It was a winter stormy night. At the one hundred and tenth floor of the Chandon residential tower was Priscilla's apartment. Where I was heading.
By alain Junior4 years ago in Poets
Daphne let’s chase the Dopamine; Pinned down masculinely Moreover no more panicking- like mountains swathe with clouds
By Saroyan Coles4 years ago in Poets
~All~ All that which is in me, Is in thee: If thee want it to be, For it was from thee Who has giveth to me, What I have now taken
By Jennifer Cooley4 years ago in Poets
Releasing my worries into the universe Let go of the old and walk towards the new The emotional explosion leaves me speechless
By Schubert TALK LLC © KD4 years ago in Poets
When I have a nightmare You hold me close You sleep with your head on my pillow Your tender breath on my face You drowsily take my hand
By Lola Sense4 years ago in Poets
A stupendous beauty, isn't it? life equally corrupts and gives, breaks and heals, and as we live and learn, the searching for what we love most, never ends,
By Lilian Wicca 4 years ago in Poets
Fangs of fatal poison, protect me through scaled skin, the cold, glacial current in brumal veins, malevolent state of affairs root venomous outcomes,
Out of all of the women in that room, it was Abigail Truncheon who wore the stare of doom. Her eyes full of fire, desire, and regret, as she glared at me plotting what was sure to come next. I felt a slight twinge of fear as midnight drew near, wondering what was her plot to bring in the new year.
By J. Hough4 years ago in Poets
“I read the news today, oh boy,” Sorry, songs in my head annoy. This may be a yell, or it’ll just smell. Here’s another limerick. Enjoy.
By Will Hull4 years ago in Poets
I am not scared, I am not wearing underwear, I am standing in front of a crowd. I am thinking of something I can say because,
By Ash4 years ago in Poets
*** Yes, please, make me laugh, Harder than I've ever laughed before. Put it on my epitaph, At the very least, that's not a sight worthy of a bore.
By Rika Lekay4 years ago in Poets
nothing is perfect, and if it is, it’s not. so why did this begin anyway? perfection trying to be created from imperfection.
By Holly4 years ago in Poets
