Stream of Consciousness

Drums in the dusk
Drums in the dusk in Peja   Clashing beats from different drummers  In the square Mix into their own new beat  And even the beggars smile
By Roderick Makim2 years ago in Poets
Busking in a small country town in Australia
Music spreads like shade under the hot morning sun. A small crowd in a Small town but The music spreads out. _ A large woman, a larger voice.
By Roderick Makim2 years ago in Poets
True lines poetry.
It's not like that that it doesn't matter to us we often become silent thinking this That there is no such thing as love in debate.
By Suraj poetry plus 2 years ago in Poets
The Struggle Is Real
She struggles with her fears in the early hours of the morning, Her mind tormenting her in the darkest hours of the night,
By Colleen Millsteed 2 years ago in Poets
Harboring Happiness - Day 5
Today in harboring happiness, I wear layers: one for the heat of a spring too eager to be summer, another for comfort.
By Sam Eliza Green2 years ago in Poets
The dog metaphor is tired
A dog I've seen before runs behind a tree I can't decide if I have to follow or to turn around and find the street White rabbit or yellow brick road
By Joni Écrit2 years ago in Poets
Keys
My keys don’t jingle jangle They’re a tale of tales A web of confusion Sewn to protect what I hold dear A tool A mechanism
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
prey. Content Warning.
you must think i am beautiful or good enough to eat your eyes are on me like two fires but i cant feel the heat i hear a crack in the brush
By Belle2 years ago in Poets
Sing Sirens Sing
a strange book lies closed ecstasy of completion? or wonders yet found? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Matthew J. Fromm2 years ago in Poets
Harboring Happiness - Day 4
Today in harboring happiness, I wake to the hound who holds half my heart curled next to me in bed. No other friends to meet today, we snuggle for half an hour. His brother is sprawled on the floor dreaming of chasing birds.
By Sam Eliza Green2 years ago in Poets
Subtext
Four seats at the table, one empty. Old friend across me, the other, new and exciting. “Did you smell the smoke
By Sam Eliza Green2 years ago in Poets
The Last Line
I’ve been the last line to many Just another pretty penny A daring glance A lark A shot in the dark A tree that harkens you to rub against its bark
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets