Pretty little things Soft like heather on wings Shifting ever so slightly Hips sashay in the wind Begging you to come in
By Atomic Historian6 months ago in Poets
How absurd What a novel idea To think that your idea can’t be both What poetic injustice To think we can’t do both What kind of host
She is a nymph on the silk screen, you can’t ignore, A stylish performer for her viral fans, Wagging their tongues and beg for more,
By Daphsam6 months ago in Poets
There was a line in the final episode of "The Swarm" which is the first line of this sonnet, and made me immediately think of my wonderful Muse.
By Mike Singleton 🌜 Mikeydred 🌛6 months ago in Poets
It's not always me that speaks, I'm often just a borrowed word. My conversation carries streaks; echoes of the overheard.
By Tim Grace6 months ago in Poets
Water conforms to the vessel Contracted It expands to fill every crevice It opens itself to the vessel Over time They wear into each other
Sometimes you have to leave right away So the house gets left in disarray You do you’re best to repair it on the fly As you try to keep the wings level
This table is my point of view; provides a horizontal plane. It's the visual avenue to the peculiar and mundane. . It's from where I watch the lives we live
All but another day that's come again, a duplicate, a musical reprise. An awakening that would task this pen with a think-well task - one of great surprise.
You have been commodified, digitised, of sorts; cleverly identified as a string of ones and naughts. . You have been commercialised,
We’d rather enjoy our prison of pain Than risk the freedom of love Because we know what the cell feels like Rather than the warmth of their arms
Nature finds its habitat, where best it finds a fit, accommodates to this and that, so together things are knit: . to the ever changing circumstance;