Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Ugh… that murderous grit, fine but rough, slipping in my underwear—itching! I focus on the rolling murmur of the waves, the laughter of kids nearby—relax.
By Lily Séjorabout a year ago in Poets
My skeleton turns ice cold and shatters while my cheeks absorb its heat, A bone-splinter windchime fraternizes with the reverberating laughter.
By Joe O’Connorabout a year ago in Poets
sing to my soul tides of old cradle my spirit in your lull breathing in the spray of time i drink the wisdom of ancient brine
By Kristen Balyeatabout a year ago in Poets
In my mind, you still sit beneath a plum-dusk sky gilded in shimmery spray of silver leaf I swallow- tastes of charred marshmallow and green wood sap reawaken on my tongue
By Penny Fullerabout a year ago in Poets
The blade’s silver glint caught my eye With each slice, a soft, muffled sigh My fingers trace the crimson streams Salted grief, down my cheeks, they gleam
By Dharrsheena Raja Segarranabout a year ago in Poets
And so what if I'm the sea? Churning, relentless, mutable, angry, // always so angry, burning with unquenchable Greek fire in the depths,
By Chloë J.about a year ago in Poets
it's a warm aroma of comfort and home, lost days of childhood, that allured me. nothing remarkable to look at, brown lumps upon the cooling rack that are
By alan pierceabout a year ago in Poets
The seasons change And Fall arrives. The wild animals begin The “Fall Shuffle.” They are on the move, Driven, Searching for
By Laura DePaceabout a year ago in Poets
You live a life surrounded by walls built up, up, up around you as high as you could go. You bring me in when it gets lonely
By Kay Husnickabout a year ago in Poets
Garlic is the only author among vegetables--listen to its fresh pages turning Your nose is studying the history of guileless, peasant genius
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
I can't remember the brand you smoked, but I prefer to imagine you now, wherever you are, clutching a pipe, sweet smoke curling slowly around and wafting toward me as you reload your sharp wit.
By Call Me Lesabout a year ago in Poets
I taste the rising water, salty as the sweat on my brow. It doesn’t quench my thirst but leaves me parched for answers. I wonder how it can be so, how we have made it to be so.
By Cathy holmesabout a year ago in Poets
