Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
At last I reached the evening masque A lofty fête in which to bask In the highest circles fit to task Lords and ladies, all abounds
By Ian Read4 months ago in Poets
Spirit in the Dark Night falls heavy, folding the world in its trembling hands. I walk in the woods yet no moon watches,
By Marie381Uk 4 months ago in Poets
The Hangman By Maurice Ogden 1. Into our town the Hangman came Smelling of gold and blood and flame— And he paced our bricks with a diffident air
By Lou Holz4 months ago in Poets
The Non-rhetorical Question: Do you align as stimulus or response? … Castration in figurative terms remains preferable to impotence
By The Dani Writer4 months ago in Poets
Once, the night used to scare me the coldness of the shadows; haunting dreams that would keep me awake the echoes of lost souls to bare their teeth onto me
By Angel Adagio4 months ago in Poets
The Lantern’s Glow The night arrives with gentle hands, It hums beneath the pumpkin light, The streets are stitched with laughter’s thread,
The Jigsaw Files In folders marked with fading dates, I store the ghosts of us. Laughter in compressed escapes, grief zipped in quiet trust.
The Road and the Child The road bends softly through the dusk, A golden line through purple dreams, The child walks slow, her shadow thin,
Haunted by You You linger in rooms I’ve tried to cleanse, in mirrors I’ve covered, in dreams that wake me shaking. Your voice is the echo that won’t fade,
The Heart that Bleeds Itself A heart once whole now drips with red, The colour of all it could not keep, It beats against the canvas sky,
His Cross, My Quiet He climbed the hill beneath the bruised sky, each step an echo of love. The crowd watched, torn between hate and awe,
Caught red-handed, And I said, I know myself, a lie I know my son, a lie, I know my husband, a lie, I know my parents, a lie,
By Parvathi J4 months ago in Poets
