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.

Red to Blue and Back Again
She thought it was just a hint of depression, the way sadness crept upon her like a spider waiting to weave a web to entangle and entrap—
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Poets
Under a Lavender Sky
You thought I was so optimistic back then, when my smiles came like I pulled them from a jar, but you were the source of all that glee and wit.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Poets
No star is one
Blue is the star of my mother's people, Six is the number they wear, Six points of tension, Six children mentioned, When referencing the six points of David
By Mimi Cee5 years ago in Poets
Dream the Kaleidoscope
I imagine myself to be like a kaleidoscope, colors morphing into shapes and beings all made through refraction and motion.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Poets
Coincidence, maybe not
Lightning on a sunny day A hole in my new socks The car is dead, I hafta walk and my shoes are filled with rocks * There’s a spider in my coffee cup
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden5 years ago in Poets
Another Dash, Cash and Splash
Johnny and I are cruising on a yacht We look like we belong but we do not We’ve been chasing treasure since we first met The thrill keeps us going and we haven’t lost yet
By Kelly A Curran5 years ago in Poets
The hellish maze in my mind
As the night surrounds me in its cold and quiet hug, instead of a peaceful feeling, it is anxiety that starts filling me up.
By Linda Pérez5 years ago in Poets
Chandelier
He said he’s too scared to drink alone And that there’s no line between fiction And fact. The light here’s too dim. A new record spins. The lines defining my body were never Inside of a poem, anyway. The lines Of the poem were never so bright.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Poets
Mr. Morning Star / The Angel with 12 wings
In both of your feet lie death and destruction Your name must be mayhem And your disciples anarchist Everywhere that you go is left in ruin
By Geizael, The Great Wicked Destroyer5 years ago in Poets
Lockdown Lyricism: "Lit"
Money for ice cream And cigarettes. Money for sweets And your cigarettes. "They're not for me" I frequently said. You couldn't get them yourself,
By Jack Anderson Keane5 years ago in Poets
A Spell to Transform Some Ancestral Baggage
Take all the ferocity the pettiness the moribund qualities of your dearly departed of your father, of your mother,
By Morgana le Fay5 years ago in Poets
To My Dad
Growing up, My dad taught me a valuable life lesson. He told me that duct tape fixes everything. When our dog chewed a hole in the tub,
By Emery Pine5 years ago in Poets