Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
She burned the midnight oil, studied quantum physics. Her village folks have no idea what that is, but they had heard
By Seema Patel6 months ago in Poets
I died last night in the darkened gloom. I died in arms bereft of bloom. Tears I’ve shed for lost branches’ warmth, Yearning more than the memories formed.
By Cathy holmes7 months ago in Poets
In shadows depth I breathe the silence Like mist above dark waters repentance weaves illusions of salvation of hope
By JBaz7 months ago in Poets
Through gardens that never grew, I walked — shoes filled with the dust of prayers never answered how I hoped, but always how I needed.
By Carolina Borges6 months ago in Poets
Delete the narrative that tells you you must shrink yourself for other people, making yourself a fraction so they can feel whole
By Joelle E N6 months ago in Poets
The Cold-Eyed Stare & Sweetie’s Song Executive Producer: Sweetie Bird (Tray-top Oracle & Blink Director) Spoken-Word & Direction: Vicki (Storyteller, Satirist, Soul Sculptor)
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 6 months ago in Poets
First steps, jubilance, second steps laughter, third steps a bit further Further from me. In the first days first steps were celebrations, smiles,
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)6 months ago in Poets
The strobe light, brighter than the day, There, high above the desert floor, Beckoned to us, as if to say, “Come, only a few minutes more!”
By Dana Crandell7 months ago in Poets
Pray tell us who in distant past was crowned ‘Queen of Poetry, Song… all things musical’. Calliope, eldest Muse
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶7 months ago in Poets
A flickering light, a humble candle against the night sky, travels in a pattern all its own, burning bright, carried weightlessly on a soft breeze whispering by.
By Madison "Maddy" Newton6 months ago in Poets
“Don’t let the sadness of your past and the fear of your future ruin the happiness of your present” Live in the moment!
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiff7 months ago in Poets
There is a still that comes before the hour knows its name, no silence, but something listening. The air, soft as breath against skin,
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
