Prose

Verses of the Soul
Poetry is an ancient art form, yet it remains a vibrant and evolving medium in contemporary society. Modern poets continue to push boundaries, experiment with language, and express the complexities of the human experience. This article delves into the world of modern poets, exploring their unique voices, themes, and the impact they have on readers and the literary landscape.
By Sazeeb Chowduryabout a year ago in Poets
Howling Wolves Incoming. Content Warning.
Somewhere in a distant dream, a heart still beats, stuck in a frozen body, stiff and weakened from sleep. Falling into the depths that nullify any movement.
By Rachael Anraabout a year ago in Poets
Violin Soul
The sound of the violin gently spreads, like a whisper caressing the heart. A string that tells an old story, of love, loss, and the light that endures even in darkness.
By A.Petrovskiabout a year ago in Poets
I don’t deserve you
I don’t deserve you showing me your ways, the way you enter me and guide me to green pastures. The way you want good for me and not evil.
By Caitlin Charltonabout a year ago in Poets
Art Beyond Permission—Understanding
For many years. Years that proceeded my forays into different mediums of art. oh, to lie I had suitably, I thought, left to the upper echelons and those who had "deep understandings of the crafts they chose to pursue" to enjoy and consume, let alone create it myself.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
The Journey of Self-Realization
In the mirror's gaze, what do you see? A reflection of what is or what could be? Within every breath, every pulse of your heart,
By LASZLO SLEZAKabout a year ago in Poets
The Nonsensical Nature of 5
Sound, asleep, breathes low, breathes deep - a rumbling breaks through his chest; gentle sighs morph into gargled snores, a melody of his tumultuous rest.
By emabout a year ago in Poets
On healing in gallant echoes
I ponder over the hues of the zealous beauty of the sky, In the yonder of nothingness, time in its mirth passes by. The heavens and the earth, the kindness and the ugliness both coincide with their fate,
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets
"TELL ME IT'S SO". Content Warning.
"TELL ME IT'S SO" "ALONG THE WAY" I find myself feeling guilty at 75, because I am not working full time in a regular gig as society has crammed work ‘til you die down our throats. The economy is designed for working stiffs and the powers that have created we work ‘til we die then just throw us away. So tired of Elons, Jeffs, etc. etc. I am fed up. Yes, it is my concern because if I do not say anything with my background and education, then my blood pressure goes 'way high. Unfortunately, the ultra-ultra rich do not care and if democracy does not win, we are going away on the trains, and it will not be the subway. Truth. No conspiracy theories. My body is not a political pawn. We must speak up. My friend refuses to talk about anything about our bodies and regular mundane everyday living because the orange buffoon makes tying one’s shoelaces a big crime. So, knock these Nazis out. Yes, they are Nazis. I do not bury my head in sand.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
Grumpy Days
That funny feeling we all get That foggy brain that won’t remember A thing you felt or a thing you said You feel so far away
By Thomas Terryabout a year ago in Poets
casuarina trees and freshly baked bread
In my mind, I see a brick house on the side of a hill, green encompassing it like a watercolour painting of perfection. I can hear the creaking of the trampoline springs, the Battlefront soundtrack floating out of the PlayStation, through the rumpus room window downstairs.
By Poppy about a year ago in Poets
Ninth Acrostic
Pyramids built not of limestone bricks, not on the spines of sweaty, sandpaper-skinned slaves, but their masters' bodies emaciated by leprosy.
By Wen Xiaoshengabout a year ago in Poets