performance poetry

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

A Kind Heart Without a Home.
I met Paul today, just the night before I cried myself to sleep. Pitty tears from sad eyes sort of like Pauls. But for different reasons of course
By Leila Walton5 years ago in Poets
Caught in the Act
"Quick: get out of bed!" she cried. "For to my husband I have lied. I told him I was with my sister, not some strange, unwholesome mister."
By Paul Wilson5 years ago in Poets
The Unwanted Epiphany
Change. The unwanted epiphany. The glossing over past choices of what could I and what I didn’t I? It is the breaking of the soul.
By Cadma5 years ago in Poets
Whitman meets Orwell(in Huxley's brave new world)
I no longer celebrate myself everyone celebrates themselves round the clock my sight of a spear of grass is impeded Monsanto roundup decimated the insect microcosm
By Barb Snodgrass5 years ago in Poets
I’m Not Being Dishonest
They asked for my honest opinion, So whose fault is it really? When I replied, “You can do better.” There was shuddering, and some gasps.
By A Rustic Mind (Manali Desai)5 years ago in Poets
What’s eating Lady Liberty?
The following is an adaptation of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” transformed to fit the continuous cries for change inspired by the events of George Floyd, and the overall institutional treatment of minorities in American society.
By flying_hai5 years ago in Poets
Opening
It’s luxury, memory’s Alfactory thrill, although vodka, the wretched, convulsions contort. It’s odour returns mind to most wondrous thoughts.
By Paul Beckett5 years ago in Poets
Get out Alive
Everything is new, painfully so. Nothing is known, all to be feared. I look around and see nothing; Nothing to help, nothing to hold,
By Cora K5 years ago in Poets
The Black Sheep (Poem)
I’ve become the version of me you see Swept under the rug like a dark secret Nothing that I can conceive I’ve become nothing in your mind but a rag doll
By Joanne Guillard5 years ago in Poets
Horndog Inc.
Bleached-blond mop with a cast, stiffly walking with a set of cans. Twirls with patterned flowers her dress, hugging her curves and making them sublime.
By Bazooka Teaches5 years ago in Poets
I'm home
I'm Home Orange light of afternoon soon dimmed into the cool evening. The brunet lifted up a sight, seeing a moon arisen in the night sky. It was red. As if that sphere on the sky had just absorbed the light from the autumn leaves surrounding him. He walked on, hands hidden in his coat pocket. Once, he had to let his hand out to the chilly air to prevent wind from blowing away his newspaper-boy cap.
By Muhammad iqbal5 years ago in Poets
Monologue About Raving
I’ll count the money I’ve saved up just for this night. Hear it rattle in my purse, I’ve got a backup fifty in the bank.
By Fiona Nneka5 years ago in Poets