performance poetry

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

Danu
Awaken my soul I hear your call But I understand nothing Detached from The Otherworld A forgotten past Disconnected
By Atomic Historian2 months ago in Poets
Lanterns Along A Dark Path
Lanterns loosed through misted air. Light that parts what isn’t there. Spun in threads of frosted stare. Wandering paths too thin to bear.
By Solomon Walker2 months ago in Poets
Finding Baby Sofia. Content Warning.
Vicki created, edited, wrote this story. Vicki Lawana Trusselli The Cry They Tried to Erase This is not just a video. It is a living archive, a protest suite, a cadence of care. Baby Sofia lies on the cracked concrete floor, wrapped in pink, crying against silence. The images, the captions, the cries, and the soundtrack together form a witness that refuses erasure.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets
The Dry Riverbed
In the heart of Earth's despair. Lies a riverbed, bleak and bare. Once a flowing ribbon of life. Now echoes a tale of endless strife.
By Solomon Walker2 months ago in Poets
Endless Silhouettes
In twilight's embrace, a wondrous dance. Silhouettes emerge, in a cosmic trance. Unveiling secrets, they gracefully sway. A vibrant display of colors, in eternal play.
By Solomon Walker2 months ago in Poets
The Ghost in the Library
The Ghost in the Library Books whispered softly, their pages folding like wings, and I felt eyes from invisible corners trace me.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
“I think…”
I think, because thinking is the thread we each carry in our heads, some more tightly woven than others. * But in my poems,
By Marvelous Michael2 months ago in Poets
The Broken Pencil
The Broken Pencil The broken pencil lies where I left it, a thin, cold wound across my quiet space. Its snapped-off point
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
My Fingers Tasted of Memory
My fingers tasted of memory— salted with the past I never meant to keep, soft with the echoes of moments I thought I’d outgrown.
By Fazal Hadi2 months ago in Poets
The Bonfire
Circling the edge of the radiant heat Bones crack, spewing repugnant steam Faces, names, sensations; I offer all up now
By K.B. Silver 2 months ago in Poets
Buried
Feeling no self worth A shadow of myself What have I become A beacon of pain A stained canvas for your projections A dark reflection
By Atomic Historian2 months ago in Poets
Seen
I don’t want to be read—I want to be seen. Still I refresh the numbers, watch them feed. Yet every night I bow before the screen.
By Richard Patrick Gage2 months ago in Poets