Industry tips for new poets. Welcome to the Poets family.
Poetry is my beloved Who At times I forget to feed Not because of spite But the fear That my words won't bring anything nutritious
By Nicholas Goodman8 years ago in Poets
My black pen It's got me through rough times. Like when I tried to write this song Couldn't think of any rhymes On my skin flowed the dark ink
By Loaf8 years ago in Poets
Write! Words perceived as grains of sand, the pages they fall on the world. They create beaches, deserts, great storms of sand carried on the wind. There is an ocean of words defining perception, creating history, evolving language.
By Joseph Marra8 years ago in Poets
This office is like another world A large computer dominates the desk Papers stack up beside it A disorganised mess Books are strewn about in wild disarray
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
I suppose this is a poem or something But my thoughts won't stay in one place I try to organise and rationalise And marginalise
I'd like to write a poem. Something moving, something wise. I'd like my words to linger, long after my demise I'd like to write of daffodils and lonely, wandering clouds
By Kacie Kasper8 years ago in Poets
This has been a long time since. A long time coming like the end of this sentence. A long-sword thrust and there is my vengeance.
By Jacob Parnell8 years ago in Poets
I don't want to be fixed, broken inside and out. Stand beside me and you'll see that it's okay not to be whole sometimes, it's
By Amber Crocker8 years ago in Poets
A circle of isolated feelings, Like a mother disowning with no meanings. See I can't win, But I can lose. To know what its like,
By 🥀 øtcůs ..8 years ago in Poets
to Writeto Sufferthe questions of Old embody the Authorwhat purpose? why? How? WHY? The Author ity of lifeIncomplete without Truththe Truth Above that which is Anything at all
By Althea Luce8 years ago in Poets
When I am old, My life will count for something. My wrinkles will tell stories So my vocal cords don’t have to. With every creak and crack
By Rachel Dow8 years ago in Poets
if I had Butterfly wings at my Disposal, I would Sew them on my Shoulders, Fly away and be Free the Winds, however, would
