Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
I long for peace, but silence deafens me, wars wage behind my eyes. I let it consume me, the wild rage, yet a smile on my face.
By Kara Walbekabout a month ago in Poets
PART I- Genesis I am my mother's child Highways of scars littered across my body Hers a needle Mine, something sharp Sharp tongue, Quick witted Servitude slipping Into every bad habit
By Soulabout a month ago in Poets
I realize my monkey mind does not serve me; change is key I realize my monkey mind does not serve me; change is key Swing from tree to tree no more, I tame my restless energy
By Marilyn Gloverabout a month ago in Poets
I say I’m glad your joys are bright and true Though something stirs beneath the shine and art I wait to know when life will open too.
By Cathy (Christine Acheini) Ben-Ameh.about a month ago in Poets
You see a tree? I get the idea, my grandparents are the trunk, my parents branches, me a stick My kids the leaves I get the concept
By Sam Spinelliabout a month ago in Poets
Snow swirling, in so many silvery, flakes, filling the air, through the mist - breath frozen momentarily upon the air.
By Rasma Raistersabout a month ago in Poets
Quiet falls over the still lake Flames lick the edge of the shore My eyes catch the melding of light and dark My grip firms on a half-empty bottle
By Adam Wallaceabout a month ago in Poets
Now, I’m seeing, that you tend the soil of my being. When all I see is dirt and dust, you see beauty, not rust. You are walking with me in the garden of purpose and good tidings,
By Rowan Finley 2 months ago in Poets
His laughter was the autumn wind that tossed me around like colorful leaves Especially if we were laughing together Standing next to him was standing in an autumn forest that screams in yellow, red, and orange
By Bixi Hernandezabout a month ago in Poets
There are roots and rhizomes of me, still— lain, forsaken in the arid graves and rust of Northern México— mi Bisabuela, with her wild, running spirit,
By Gina C.2 months ago in Poets
You, you, you Incredible old thing Of marvel and beauty That an entire city wants To take for granted But cannot.
By AggieSoon2 months ago in Poets
Intersect me. Split me open In the center Of the old forest Where witches Went off to die And wizards Howled through
By Silver Daux2 months ago in Poets
