Top Stories

Stories in Poets that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

My Image
I'm allowed to cultivate my own image I'm allowed to cover my canvas in black paint when I want to drown my past I'm allowed to do fast, short strokes of red when I want more passion
By Jerica Floyd4 years ago in Poets
Autumn Evening
Bathed by rays scattered through the green, we’re submerged in silence - unnerving, it seems. Not a sounds amiss, yet each one of them is magnified
By Kat S. Tobias4 years ago in Poets
"Protect black women"
The mantra "protect black women" has been bastardized, Said Lovelyti who criticized, She shared her opinion of an intention fantasized,
By 'Vive Akugha4 years ago in Poets
My Name is Pam
Hello, my name is Pam and I'm a mother to an addict. Those words have been hard to say. I wouldn't even let them form in my mind. That sentence burned me like a firebrand. It represents so many thoughts and feelings.
By Pam Reeder4 years ago in Poets
the absurdity of us
Do you know how many times I’ve said This is it That it feels different That I’ve found it My person The one Him
By Joann Claude4 years ago in Poets
A tribute to our yet to be read (unread) stories
We begin as tiny seeds in your creative minds Wrapping ourselves into gentle cocoons of thoughts Writhing and squirming our way outwards
By Novel Allen4 years ago in Poets
A Night of Bitter Dreams.
Illusive, are the humpback whales that evade my mind. They arrive without warning, drifting through darkness like passing clouds on a moonlit night. Oblivious, to the hustle and bustle of an untamed world far below.
By Daniel Jordan Smith4 years ago in Poets
How to Write Poetry Based on Pictures
A gray house in a field. An image that expresses loneliness and age. | Source: Pxfuel Writing Poetry Based on Photographs I’ve been doing writing prompts, lessons, and poems about a city I can’t visit—Walla Walla, Washington. I find focusing on one city makes it easier for people who read my articles to follow along.
By Andrea Lawrence4 years ago in Poets
Drink a slice of lock fish
Isn’t it strange? It’s odd to think That you can’t eat an eat, But you can drink a drink. And often, I want to disagree
By stowball4 years ago in Poets
The Shadow Worker's Hymn
To all the nights I bit my lip so hard it bled, My chin stained red, just to quiet the tears In fear that they might think I’m in imposter
By Soul4 years ago in Poets
Merrily Life Is But A Dream
Am I sleepwalking through this dream we call life? What is real or imagined? I imagine most of what we experience is the dream,
By A.N.Tipton4 years ago in Poets
She Was Unknowingly Born A Warrior
She definitely has the strength to move forward But she has forgotten who she was born to be, She is living as if it is still the yesterday of her pain
By Colleen Millsteed 4 years ago in Poets