fact or fiction

Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about what makes a good poem and the poetry rules that were made to be broken.

Direct Entry Point
Isn’t it enough, to see us as we are? Why do we have to search for something we long for! It’s all right here, yet we’re chasing our tails!
By Samuel Fowler5 years ago in Poets
Twin
Twin, my self is doubled, Feeling like a partner, Always by my side! Isn’t it nice to feel as though you’re here, Never separated from your closest companion!
By Samuel Fowler5 years ago in Poets
The Lamp On The Path
My dream is alive, like a printing of sky, Never seperate from the clouds, that cover our eyes! Peel away the paint and let it all bleed,
By Samuel Fowler5 years ago in Poets
Mind's True Nature
Isn’t it nice to see the sun so bright, As though it’s been shining upon us all night! Yet we couldn’t see for our eyes were all shut,
By Samuel Fowler5 years ago in Poets
Colour is pride: True colour.
I'd call me RED, but the cute subtle pinks grew too fast and the fiery sheen of its purity turns dark and calm. I'd call me myself ORANGE, but I wasn't so motivated all the time.
By Lynn Deme5 years ago in Poets
6 layer epidermis bag
Six layer epidermis bag Washing whimsical. Splashes, Tidal torrents lashing at my broken waters. Foaming toxic exfoliation's.
By Paul Beckett5 years ago in Poets
My perspective on colour
The colours I see when I close my eyes, The colours that form within in my third eye, The colours making images of people of my past,
By shenelle fernando5 years ago in Poets
MY RIGHT FOOT
I am heavy on my right foot that shoe always wears first and I am the wrong shape for dancing. I am anchored to the earth by my leaden foot
By FRAN JONES5 years ago in Poets
True Colour
The colours I see when I close my eyes, The colours that form within in my third eye, The colours making images of people of my past,
By shenelle fernando5 years ago in Poets
Sword Of Knowledge
I am 1 in 50,000 who gets stabbed in the ears from a fork hitting a plate, Throbbing lingering migraines from the sound of the refrigerator, the girl whom for a decade fought her way through a pitch black, dark, they were everywhere coming from all sides all the time, the attacks, arrows specifically targeting her head and ears from an invisible enemy, she stubbles along in the inky blackness blindly trying to protect herself, running and running, but she could almost never out run the arrows from her invisible pursuers she was sinking and falling being sucked into a void of blackness so thick she could not even see the light of her soul
By Jemma Rosewater 5 years ago in Poets
Yellow Bellied
The colour yellow is the colour of overthinking. It is the colour of fear Anxiety Lies Greif Disgust And Gold and it is exactly the colour of the voice behind my eyes.
By Zelda Harper-Balsamo5 years ago in Poets
Royal
Like the boldness of a lady's tongue when she speaks Like the consistance of her prayer to God when she seeks Like the planting of the seed in the garden
By Andrea 5 years ago in Poets