Cinquain

POEM - Sensory & Concrete
Not just the grit beneath the nail After the trowel scrapes the pail, Nor just the chill of morning dew On poured-slab surfaces, slate-blue
By Jacky Kapadia7 months ago in Poets
POEM - Whispers Of A Growing Soul
Not thunderclaps, nor trumpet's blare, But subtle shifts upon the air – A murmur felt, not truly heard, The nascent stirring of a word
By Jacky Kapadia7 months ago in Poets
The Boy Who Never Flew
This is for Vocal's This Is How I Remember It challenge and Poppy's #13 prompt. This is not history, but tragedy, remembered by Dedalus, who remained.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin7 months ago in Poets
Watch Me
Watch me from a distance I asked you for so little But you gave me so much resistance Watch me as I’ve outgrown you
By Atomic Historian7 months ago in Poets
Cannibal’s Call
The cannibals call from down the hall SACRIFICE!! To save our lives Or civilization will fall The end begins when the maws open wide
By Atomic Historian7 months ago in Poets
Ashes of the Silent
Not the boy who painted stars on the wall of his broken school. Not the girl who dreamed of singing loud enough to drown the bombs.
By Shafi Ullah Darwesh7 months ago in Poets
Fireworks
Introduction This is a Crown Cinquain for Ellie Hoovs' July Poetry Prompt Contest (Day 4) “Writing Beyond The Boundaries: Freedom”, which you can find more about here:
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 7 months ago in Poets
Scroll
Scrolling, scrolling, down, down, down Through the death spiral of society Trying to wake up Wanting to make up for time lost
By Atomic Historian7 months ago in Poets
Love in the Rain. AI-Generated.
Love in the Rain Once we met cloud kiss the sky, Raindrops falling, you and I. Without umbrella, only your hand, Going slowly to close, like fate had planned.
By Ali Asad Ullah7 months ago in Poets
“The Sweater You Knitted”. AI-Generated.
“The Sweater You Knitted” (A Poem Between Son and Mom) Son (to Mom): In the silence of winter, when the cold winds blew, I wrapped myself tight… in the sweater from you. Threads of your fingers, loops of your care, Every stitch whispered, “My love’s always there.”
By Ali Asad Ullah8 months ago in Poets
The Secret Room Where Our Love Still Breathes"
The Secret Room Where Our Love Still Breathes" There’s a room they say doesn’t exist— No window, no key, no name on the list. But I’ve walked its floor with trembling feet, Where shadows hum, and lost hearts meet.
By Ali Asad Ullah8 months ago in Poets
The Last Vote
Ethan Clarke’s hands trembled as he gripped the cold metal railing of his balcony. Below, the streets buzzed with the fading cheers from his election rally. At twenty-eight, he was the youngest provincial assembly member ever elected from his district — a victory that surprised even his closest supporters.
By Arshad khan8 months ago in Poets