Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Kid Cuisine(Adult Comfort)
A smorgasbord! My favorite type of food- different foods together! Sweet and Savory and Salty and Bitter- I want all of them!
Brea HendersonPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsSnickers
May I have your attention? I’d really love to kick a bar. Some slam poetry, an ode to the snickers bar. You can’t keep me from them, so unhand me.
Joe PattersonPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsNever Stop.
Don't stop, never stop. as far as the goal is concerned till there Never bow down. Life will not come again and again, every time as long as there is life from living life till then Never stop. victory-loss, happiness-sorrow Everything lasts for a moment. Just you in this moment or two Never bow down. And in the end everything is yours but it will always be yours even thinking about it Never stop..
Looking through fairy dust
The song of grandma and her oven hums a harmony, percussed by spinning whisk that dances ‘round the bowl in which it drums
H.H. CallaghanPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsPeppermint Pickles
PEPPERMINT PICKLES Hot, summer days on Clara Place. An uphill walk to the corner store.- We'd eat up all the candy.
Adrianne KirkseyPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsJudgment
Judgment Ultimately, we never make accurate judgments about each other, but rather are our judgments about how the other relates to the self.
C. Rommial ButlerPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsWork Time
It’s all becoming clearer It’s all smoke and mirrors As everything draws nearer We pretend to do the right thing But life’s queerer than it seems
Atomic HistorianPublished about 6 hours ago in PoetsWilderness
They think I’m always on the hunt Always on the prowl But usually I’m just sitting here Thinking Pondering in this wilderness I call my brain
Atomic HistorianPublished about 7 hours ago in PoetsUnveiling the Secrets Below
Once in the past, within a quaint coastal village wrapped in enigma, rumors circulated about a concealed fortune resting on the seafloor. Murmurs of vanished wealth, sunken vessels, and forsaken artifacts permeated the atmosphere, attracting adventurers and seekers of riches from distant places.
Ishaan SharmaPublished about 7 hours ago in Poetsuninspired
I keep waking up and feeling stuck, behind my eyes of what if I am no longer enough. Not for a person per say, but the actions that define me going about my day. I see myself, I see the list of dreams I have set, yet, I am in my head. Riding the coattails of the biggest theif of enjoyment, yet seeking that same disraction to ignore all of it. I can say I know what I want to do and where I want to be, but you see, I am my biggest enemy. Both locked behind watching a screen, but missing what I need to be learning. Instead, I am avoiding, toying with what I would buy with the money I don't have, being distracted by my time instead of it adding value. The screen, the knowledge, the dedication, the pressure of it being my occupation, should motivate me right? But instead I sit here and I fight with myself, denying, even, lying to myself on what would help. I am destroying my confidence by affirming my actions, of not doing anything at all. No longer extrodinary, not even oridnany, not a doer, but a follower. Someone full of wants with no direction, a complainer lost in disillusion. I am untterly stuck behind the lack of motivation and or determination to be the expectations I thought I could be. I want someone who knows what I am about to believe in me, but in reality, that person needs to be me. But here I am writing and rambling, over the uninspired poem I had to scratch out of my dislocated mind. I dont deserve anyones pity, because this illogic is considered blind. But here I am, uninspired, venting untill maybe I can feel the fire of desire to be better than I was today, but like I said, I am really good at what I say.
Rilee AreyPublished about 7 hours ago in PoetsRoad Trip Sweeties
Petrol station snacks - You have to get Tangfastics. Pass them to the back.
James DormanPublished about 7 hours ago in PoetsHOURGLASS
All of our days are numbered- But if you knew what that number was Would you live any different? Would I? I'm sure the answer from most would be yes
Josh MorganPublished about 7 hours ago in Poets