Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
A poem is a bomb Masquerading as pretty flowers Silent in the approach Until you feel it explode It blooms, it booms Smack dab in your face
By Alexander Bentley5 years ago in Poets
Finally I reached that place again, where the sweet smell of dead dreams & failed attempts at happiness go to die. Somehow though, I feel at home.
By Spence 5 years ago in Poets
For so many years, I had felt so lost. Living in Black and white, not knowing the cost. The Cost of my actions, fueled by negative thought.
By The Light Mentor5 years ago in Poets
‘Spring in the Air’ I woke at 5 a.m. this morning To the birds singing in the trees I laid back in my sack with my ears pinned back
By Mickey Brown5 years ago in Poets
Vibration… Sensation… Abomination… Ascension… Descension… Madness is a destination. Sweet, beckoning Demonstration of faith
By Sai Marie Johnson5 years ago in Poets
My first published poem Was written at a coloring table During my stay in a psychiatric hospital I've been alchemist since fifteen
By SublimeLuv 5 years ago in Poets
Neurodiversity is an umbrella of colors Color creates reactions It changes thinking patterns When I was diagnosed with depression, I was sky blue
By K L5 years ago in Poets
Everyone loves to judge Generation Z. The older generations, the millennials, the generation X, and even baby boomers love to criticize the our generation. They seem to forget who raised us.
By Adaline Archer5 years ago in Poets
Let this be the start of something new. A new, focused, purposeful way of being. Of seeing. Of thinking. Of moving through this existence.
By Chris Elliott 5 years ago in Poets
Color is complementary in me It is seeing lucid dreaming on trees Color is running fast but electric to the touch With exuberant contrast, I still don't feel like much
This poem is dedicated to the little boy in summer camp that said the ugliest color was black. Little Black boy Why so blue?
By Brandon Brockington5 years ago in Poets
Perhaps and As if I had never known my own image My reflection a black mystery I wish that I could see me colored vividly
By Ruthy Harris5 years ago in Poets
