Writing is another world. It is the place we go to where all of our best ideas flow through. When we chin up and pick the pen up, there’s no limit to universes in which we may end up.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Poets
I had thought that your world-weary air Might mean an aloofness to love Imagined you armed With careless exchanges Instead that very malaise
By Violet P. Davies2 years ago in Poets
Aaliyah, is it really you? Yes, Joe it’s really true. You watched me from above? Of course. You and so many others feed my legacy with love.
The stake of existence in its tale binds the beauty of the true, The theft of commodification of invaded privacy hid the Bane of silence under its sinew
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
It is true that you shall know a tree by its fruit. However, you can also know it by its roots. Fruits can easily fall
By Emos Sibu Poriei (Kaya)2 years ago in Poets
In Parisian streets where cobblestones gleam, Echoes of history whisper and stream. Cafés alive with laughter and rhyme,
By Abbas2 years ago in Poets
I kept changing myself all my life! Whatever I believed, that too turned out to be a lie all my life! The lie that I came out of to know the truth, that too turned out to be a lie all my life! The lies kept changing like this all my life...
By Suraj poetry plus 2 years ago in Poets
A penny drops from the sky, Just another day Office politics can be quite the intricate dance, Where alliances shift and whispers advance.
By Allwyn Roman Waghela2 years ago in Poets
Summer has always been so bright and beautiful. She has this way of warming up everyone during the most darkest times. Her laugher is carried through the breeze in the trees,
By Angel Adagio2 years ago in Poets
People in a small town talked about a Tooth Fairy in a dark and true way. She didn't come to play or give gifts; she came to steal the night away.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin2 years ago in Poets
i find myself reaching for the words the words themselves evasive at best hover above and around baffling mosquitoesque motes
By Bren2 years ago in Poets
Stand still please, look and see, the magic, and wonder of my broken knee. ... Did I say knee, I meant to say tree.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
