Poetry transcends labels and definitions. It’s not confined to the realm of ‘artists.’ It’s an open invitation to express the unexpressed, to give voice to emotions that words alone cannot contain. Beyond storytelling, poetry is an intimate dance between heartbeats and syllables, a canvas where feelings are painted with verse. It’s an active release—a symphony of words orchestrating emotions, pouring out thoughts like ink spilled on a page. Let poetry be your companion on this journey of self-discovery, a mirror reflecting the beauty and complexity of your existence. Embrace the freedom in expressing your truth, for in poetry, your voice finds its purest resonance.
Latest Poetry
A Joke Foretold by Nostradamas by Ricardo Quinones
The Duke bombarded Venice—the Doge cried, “God have mercy!”but cries no more—death is witless—and skiffs halt—abreast, our sea. The Emperor in Paris—in repose, sits he, unstirred.He dreams of fair Helen’s kissand consults the augur’s birds. “Three weeks more! Four’s too many.What am I taken for? A foolin full jest? It’s uncannythe war now suffered. I…
Background Noise by Michael Boss
I didn’t notice the fridgeuntil the power went out.And then I missed its steady faith—a presence that said: still here.The air conditioner’s wheeze,the neighbor’s dog at 3 a.m.,traffic bleeding through windows,a distant ocean—all of it,the unnoticed orchestrathat scores our sleep.We call it noise.It’s prayer.The drone of machinesthat keep us alive,the rustle of leaves,footsteps upstairs—enough to…
Cotter Pin by Martin Indars
Tibet’s oppressed. Arctic ice is getting thin. But all I need is a cotter pin.If not that a bolt or rivet may dofor my troubles now are small -their fixes are too. I know, I know Australia’s coral is bleaching while my countrymen celebrate science’s death. But first I’ll go fix the dirt patch out…
Altered by Christina Rousseau
There’s a peculiar amount of freedomthat comes with losing everything. The colors of my life dance around meas they are stripped away. Rosy reds of my blood that once washed my cheeksreminding me that I could feel. Soft purples of being held. They gather on my skin and detach from it,breaking away like the flaky…
Politics of the Dog & Pangea in Wartime by William Dell Price
Politics of the Dog I love dogs more than people.Dogs are quiet, people are loudAnd when dogs are loud, there is a muzzle for themYou put a muzzle on a person, you’re called “mad” Dogs don’t need clothesWe accept them nudeYou force someone to walk naked, it’s called “abuse” You can collar a dog, keep…
Melting Clocks by Jeremy Stelzner
Salvador Dali dines alone.Gaunt and afflicted with the weight of a thousand brushstrokes.He speaks in the third person,politely ordering a tapa of roasted veal with an asparagus coulis. When it arrives, Dali studies the plump meat.Alone on the plate,it glistens with all the artistry the chef de cuisine can muster.The sommelier salutes the great Dali…
Centering by Jim Bates
SpringtimePlanting radish seedsDiligently wateringCarefully caringEmergingPeeking through the rich soilFlourishingEnticing honeybeesGently buzzingHypnoticIn the morning sunDrifting and dancingNectar drinkingSlurping with a diligent passionSummertime daily delightPeaceful mediationsFor the gratefulSpirit. Jim Bates lives in a small town in Minnesota. He loves to write! He has authored 33 books, including poetry, flash fiction, short story collections, novellas, and novels, all…
Winter in My Garden by George Freek
Summer’s flowers are gone.All that’s leftare decaying remains.The trees are bare;Yet I can recallwhen leaves were there.In my garden a hammock,where my wife used to lie,creaks in a bitter wind,descending from the sky.As winter approaches,I talk to my cat,to the moon and the stars.They have nothing to say.That is their way.The shadow of my elm…
Salty by Charley Lenton-Lyons
Do slugs look at snailswith resentment?Similar in form,gifted the home they weren’tafforded. A cosy place toput your foot up atthe end of a tough day. Furiously munching weeds,wishing the birds wouldrainsaltdownon their affluent neighbours. Shells vacated -ready for new tenants. Charley Lenton-Lyons is a UK-based poet with a background in zoology and social research. Their…
In Her Absence by Kushagra Shringi
I see her in hazy sunlight,in busy mornings, in quiet nights,In shadows that fall on empty wallsin every dream I still recall. I hear her in the silence of night,in whispered prayers, in echoes light,Her laughter softens all my pain,like light breaking through the rain. I smell her in the passing air,in empty rooms, she’s…
Wisdom by Jim Bates
Growing upHe read about itDream of having itBut never really didA mediocre studentHe did his bestHe graduated in the middle of his classHe went on to collegeHe did okayHeld a long term job for many yearsMarriage and familyLove and lossAll the way to the endNow he walks wooded trailsHe watches birds and listens to their…
we may be landscape by Corbett Buchley
we may be landscapea pastiche of neighborhood and terrain but do you see the graves they are hidden and not hidden in the folds of hills in the patchwork lineswe have latticed over earth a lot goes into livingwe toil like worms, like salmonbehind plows, in boats sleek nervous carnivores staying in motion we visit…
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Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.
Ernest Hemingway