Why is he staring through, as if he knew what to do !? A little muppet I suppose, assuming this is something that makes sense !?
By 365poetry8 days ago in Poets
“Don’t change so people will like you. Be yourself and the right people will love the real you.” Being true to ourselves
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiff8 days ago in Poets
Christmas without you once again Dad At 29, I cried like a child. God took the dad that I loved The house was quiet, lights softly aglow,
By George’s Girl 2026 8 days ago in Poets
spotted nature’s art made by leaves and gentle rain a gift of mindfulness. Note: I observe mindfully, as I go on my walks. One day, me and the kids spotted this beautiful art by nature.
By Seema Patel8 days ago in Poets
I'm not afraid of spiders that scurry and skitter on spindly little matchstick legs Descending from above unseen on silken threads
By A. J. Schoenfeld8 days ago in Poets
Gifts don’t have to be materialistic, they can be emotional. When my daughter was five, in preschool, she made something for me.
How Can I Dream Upon A Star If The Sky Is Black How can I dream upon a star, if the sky is black, If night has swallowed every spark, and will not give them back,
A hope after a disaster, flew up, awakening her. To search, to fly, to find the destiny she left fore. She flew with other species, following them.
By Aahna Rajesh9 days ago in Poets
The Summer of 1976 No one told the sun to stop, so it stayed, hotter than sense and longer than rules. The roads shivered with melted tar,
By George’s Girl 2026 9 days ago in Poets
🙏 Help me Lord as I’am in grief, Let me pray for his relief. Give your wisdom to this prayer, Make Your wish always be there!
By CA'Di LUCE * Confessions & Memories in Conversations with friends!/ It’s not a revolution—it’s a quiet evolution.9 days ago in Poets
Every hour's a different level of awake and aware of surroundings and people, and care for you that we have and give is not always heard or understood
By Emma K. Weir9 days ago in Poets
I. The Threshold of Light Beneath the lintel where the shadows play, I step inside and shed the weary day. The door, a heavy lung of oak and grain,
By Imran Ali Shah9 days ago in Poets
