Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
INTENTIONAL Loving kindness is enate. It is the opposite of hate. Divine choice to use, Only if you are predisposed or abused.
By Wendy Jenkins5 years ago in Poets
The Sound of Her The gentle flow of the wind through my hair, The same color as the one in my eyes, Textured waves flow through and through,
By Kirsten Whittaker5 years ago in Poets
Nature’s First Green is Gold I reflect dark night, opposite is the light- Two faced in a still mirror and in a smooth pond.
By D Surls5 years ago in Poets
what’s the difference between blood and ink? i can say i see they’re similar when i think about stories. stories etched in ink drawn immortal, stories of heroes with shield they shield that which is vulnerable to attack with stone cold walls and tight locks. stories of heroines charging ahead her vulnerable spaces cut open and bloody her sword brandished in her gashed hands. you can see it now yes how blood is ink and ink is blood? blood that pumps life to live and through ink that life lives on.
By Nki Eme5 years ago in Poets
Black, white, green and red. My country's flag colours make me clutch my chest with dread. In my twenty-six years, these colours only affixed with death.
By Sapienh5 years ago in Poets
My ex-psychologist asked me once, ‘if you were a crayon, what colour would you be?’ She was less than impressed when I said blood red with glitter. But what’s life without a little sparkle, right?
By Kylie T5 years ago in Poets
I a Paradox For I am both every color and not one at all A shade of everything I might reflect Whether bright and cheery or dark and dreary
By Léon Dunois5 years ago in Poets
“To Launch a Dream with a Flame” Daddy said that “You cannot waste time.” Told me, “You can get there with drive.” Mama said, “Child, you’ll be fine
By Taria Person The Realest Person5 years ago in Poets
Melanin Gold goddess Daughter of the Sun The forgotten one. Whose light shone too bright for the pale one. Cast in your shadow exiled to the dark north.
By Linnea Tengroth5 years ago in Poets
Imagine a cuttlefish convinced the gift of color-shifting is a defect to be fixed. The hospital’s chief psychiatric resident told me I feel things more deeply than others. Then she wrote me a prescription.
By GetMaggied5 years ago in Poets
One sweltering afternoon, the sour yet extra sweet zing of the tangerine powdered drink quenches my thirst like the parched earth
By Angelie Suarez5 years ago in Poets
When I was 12, golden hoops in my ears My friend turned to me, mouth twisted in spite, or fear: “I think you look too Hispanic like that,”
By Emily Rojas5 years ago in Poets
