slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

Until we blow
Everybody thinks it’s ok being a foster kid What everybody thinks is not really how it is First of all we don’t choose where we stay
By Lydia Mcbee5 years ago in Poets
Blonde
remember when I dyed my hair a lighter shade, just enough to forget its own colour I wanted it to look honey coated and kissed by the sun
By Anonymous5 years ago in Poets
Today I dreamt of a world in colour
Today I dreamt of a world in colour Where the ocean was blue And deep enough to discover That life could still breathe
By leila bae5 years ago in Poets
The Melanin Painted Cross
They call it “the land of the free.” I call it my battlefield. They call it “the home of the brave.” I call it “the home of the chained.”
By Milesia Hogue5 years ago in Poets
Yellow
I knew my depression was getting bad again when I began to feel more blue than yellow, When the pink began to fade from my cheeks,
By Molly Dunn5 years ago in Poets
The Melanin Painted Cross
They call it “the land of the free.” I call it my battlefield. They call it “the home of the brave.” I call it “the home of the chained.”
By Milesia Hogue5 years ago in Poets
Saturated
Crimson is felt in compacted sand and hands on fire, and Tangerine likes to buzz in the aimless empty spaces. Mustard seed tends to be found in my exhaustion,
By Michaela5 years ago in Poets
Bruised colours
I had always been blue The colour of a light sky Or a copious amount of water I shimmered like polished lapis Bruised with bright prussian blotches;
By Nikolai Apalis5 years ago in Poets
Green to the Spleen
Green to the Spleen Haemorrhage haemoglobin emerald duck green, the thickness, dependent upon the scenery. Too cool and I’m viscous, acidic bile hues. In-tropics, as water, more liquid in ruler, a macro lobe. Aqua marine plumage pour-out. I’m peacock (you said), the thought previously, never exits my head, (ta)...
By Paul Beckett5 years ago in Poets
Bodies Like Oceans: a Paint Lyric
Spare me your thin tidings bring round your technicolour fats Your baby fat, your aging fat fat of the azure tide Fat of the earl grey worm
By Omotara James5 years ago in Poets
That Kid
That Kid Who’s that kid? Tall, brown, dark hair? Who’s That Kid, HE doesn’t belong here. Swagged out earphones in, hmm he seems suspicious. That Kid. The way he walks, the way he talks somethings off about him, That Kid. Who’s That Kid?
By Kelvin Wyche5 years ago in Poets
Foreground, middle and background
Cerulean was the indecisive longing While waiting whitewashed the sorrows Of me Of us Mapped on the gps of lefts and rights
By Sara Johnson 5 years ago in Poets