Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
Can you define a Woman? Not a lot of people can. I'm not talking about the dictionary definition either. A woman is the leader of the household and makes sure the household goes round- plans everything down to a T
By Jen Phillipsabout a month ago in Poets
I learned early that silence is polite, that pain should whisper, that survival should never make noise. So I folded my screams into my pockets, carried them like loose change, spent them only when no one was watching.
By luna hartabout a month ago in Poets
I believe there is goodness But when women would prefer a bear And children would be safer alone And standing up for something different
By Brittney Mooreabout a month ago in Poets
I walked outside to warm weather and felt a wind chill. What met my eyes spun my brain like windmill. Hot feet were everywhere and it’s like no one could sit still.
By Joe Pattersonabout a month ago in Poets
In the quiet room, your shadow lingers— a whisper I can’t touch. Hands empty, heart full of echoes, time slips through us like water.
By LUNA EDITHabout a month ago in Poets
Gunned down in the street Killed in cold blood, poet and mother of three A nonexistent threat that you perceived With your untrained brain in your party of thieves
By Soul Calamity about a month ago in Poets
For thirty-eight years he lay by the pool, Surrounded by water that never quite moved. Healing rippled, but never for him—
By Hannah Lambertabout a month ago in Poets
I am too much of my own blood to remain silent. The color is Red. I am so much more than your left hand. Lie to me, and hold my hand?
By Sara Wynnabout a month ago in Poets
If I were to say hello Would you reply Shy words darken my lips, and the shade was all too bright I had to decide if I was going to be silent or speak loudly or boldly about injustice
By Shareese Aouadabout a month ago in Poets
Rising rage, break the cage. This next stage holds the age-old secret. - For all those who'd rather be dead: open thyne arms,
By Paul Finglabout a month ago in Poets
Is it work to live or live to work? In Kindergarten we were told we could be whatever we wanted when we grew up. What they meant was we could either become sheep which helps the rich become richer or a wolf and be outcasted from society.
Stanza 1 False hope knocks with a gentle sound, Wearing promises softly crowned. It paints tomorrow bright and wide, While hiding the truth it keeps inside.
By shaoor afridiabout a month ago in Poets
