performance poetry

Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.

I am Ashamed of Where I Come From
I am ashamed of 83rd Street. Where I fell to my knees on a road of broken glass. As my mother built a brick wall around our house and our father welded bars against the windows.
By Daniella Silva4 years ago in Poets
A Love of a Labour of Love
We walk along a winding path Exhaustively exhausting work The autodidact polymath Eclectic-kleptic c’ll’cting quirk x For synchronicity does lurk
By Insinq Datum4 years ago in Poets
Pigeon's Eyes
To be free; to see it all from a place hidden away, yet in plain sight; to fly far away from it all and be closer than ever at the same time; to truly live while being an inch away from death. To taste the voices of those below and feel their ideas take flight; to live every moment as the last. This is what it means to live life to its fullest. This is what it means to be me.
By Raven Diamond4 years ago in Poets
Squelching the Truth
“I’m the freedom of this wretched tomb,” Said the fierce gunslinger that slaughtered authorities “I’m the Beatniks, the Milton, the Shelley, the nutcracker little monkey”
By Bazooka Teaches4 years ago in Poets
Traveling: A Prose Poem
To fly through time, as sweet as lime, its beauty; a dove. This I shall covet. It’s breath; my air… times hands ensnare. My age is upon the page, where the book is my stage. My life: a doll. Death: a child who calls to play. Nowhere, can I stay, for time is where I hide from all who have lied to me. As I fly through time it is as bitter-sweet as a lime.
By Raven Diamond4 years ago in Poets
Paris, Texas.
Home, for now. A comforting nook suspended above intelligible kitchen chatter. She yells up the staircase, “Make sure you pack a bathing suit!”
By Sarah Temple4 years ago in Poets
Mooncake Day
Space travel? I don’t need that. Once a year we pluck the moon from the skies wrapped up like a pastry, a bite of sweet and savoury.
By Lucy Dan (she/her/她)4 years ago in Poets
Unsweetened
I pulled out three glasses, while my parents prepared something to eat. Carefully put a teabag in each and waited for the water to heat.
By Melissa Rezk4 years ago in Poets
When The Lights Go Down
when the lights go down. When the party is over I’m left with a void The audience has gone The queen has been washed off
By Kyle Anderson4 years ago in Poets
Contemplation of an Empty House
There are wombs around the world that are my home But here my heart first fluttered into life I creep inside as Sunday sinners do
By Denise Shelton4 years ago in Poets
Changing World
Act I- One of the Lost Boys Unwillingly falling, Yet again succumbing to thoughts, I hadn't thought for some time. Remembering the times,
By Cody Stipe4 years ago in Poets
The Blood of a Dead Poet
Author's Note: This is the final poem that was in Concrete & Glass (part 2) : Twilight, a dark poetry collection. But, I didn't feel like it quite fit there with the rest of the poems so decided to release it separately. If you enjoy dark stuff/horror, I think you may enjoy this! ~ C
By Caitlin McColl4 years ago in Poets