Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
I want to live inside a poem a simple place to call my home when the city is too bright and all I want to do is sleep
By rhe4 years ago in Poets
She’s still in my contact list, I almost texted her today Though I had no idea what I would send or say I thought I was in love, but she had different dreams
By Andrew C McDonald4 years ago in Poets
::::::::::::::::SOLDIER’S CHILD::::::::::::::::: Fingers tiny, body small, petite baby girl eyes so large Soldier’s fate encapsulated like a car on a barge
Woke up late, threw the alarm clock Grabbed my pants, slipped on a sock Coffee spilled on my brand new shirt Christ that’s hot, nipples got burnt
This is a semi free form poem Inspired by Rudyard Kipling's “If”, David Gates’ “If” and just Writing For Vocal. You can listen to me reading it in the video if you would like.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 4 years ago in Poets
Under the water’s glossy surface, I am at peace I am serene and whole One with a force that is both me and not me One with a life that feels so much purer than the world raging around me
By Eva A. Schellinger4 years ago in Poets
I pass her by. Wrinkled woman, deep eyes. That will be me. I feel it already. In my stiffening back. In the energy I lack.
By Nicole Caldwell4 years ago in Poets
Attention! Attention! I’ve got a few things to mention I’ve always got something to say Constantly, always at times on repeat
By Je'Neille Swartz4 years ago in Poets
Tears are falling heart is aching, slowly but surely my heart is breaking, How do you let go of someone you hold so dear,
By Trisha Brandhorst 4 years ago in Poets
Hungry, Still My parents are living in their dream house now with trees as far as the eyes can see A quiet, peaceful neighborhood with nowhere to go
By Hazel S4 years ago in Poets
i stare at myself, and i stare and i stare, and i exceedingly care; when i stare and i stare, it’s a strange nightmare; i stare and i stare and i can identify some flaw on my body or my face in everything that i wear;
By zoe frenchman4 years ago in Poets
I rarely do but that day, when I had a second to breathe I looked up at the sky A squirrel scurried across the wire Against the blue, on top of the black, a tiny blob of moving gray
By My Name Is Not Cypress4 years ago in Poets
