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 2718° 
Alex Teng
Don’t stay because you feel you must,
Love can’t be built on guilt or dust.
Stay only if your heart beats true,
If every breath still aches for “you.”

I want your smile, not just your face,
Your laughter warm, your soft embrace.
But if your joy begins to fade,
Don’t let our love become a cage.

I’d rather kiss you one last time,
Than hold you bound by silent crime.
So stay, my love, if love is why
Not just to soothe a saddened sigh.
 786° 
Max Neumann
A light has grown
In me
In you
In us

A light came into the world
In the East
Where gardens bloom
And memories live

A light shines now
Born from silence
Close to the colorful mist
Where skylines rise

This light is for you
I’d like to give it to you
It comes from the heart
From me to you
A Light
 677° 
Karen
A blue flame flickers
Enchanting in deepest blue
Amidst a dark night
Haiku
 643° 
badwords
No one told me
the silence would be so loud.

That after the storm
there would be no sun,
only fog thick as milk
curling through my ribs.

I did not beg for light.
I did not curse the dark.
I simply sat—
hands open,
palms salted with memory.

There was a moth once
that lived in my chest.
Fed on echo,
slept in shame.
I haven’t felt it in days.

I think I may be alone now.

And for the first time—
that does not terrify me.
 558° 
kevin
a whole sorrow ago
she held me
the talismans guide
bereft of speech, thieves in hand
offered to lend the body
and boy ran, vexed
crossed oft, learnt
wounds a whole sorrow
seven tales of prayer stilled
the mothers fix?

blackness of shelter
alcove of sickness
thieved inside the wars, young

learnig to speak with my tongue held,

dedication of chrissy strassburg

what didn't we all notice, in the subways?

how eyes absolved, escape ironic

i am only as poems being discovered, in irish
behind a play writing unfamiliar and at war with itself
atone, ment in origin is parched is shame


to be just with my audience is to honest ones self
talled of accusation, only finding i am not knowing how to live
a world in turmoil, against dis-satisfaction attempts myself?
the improbable design of an ill conceived mind
 524° 
B C Stan
To be loved is not a virtue
To be hated is not a sin
 359° 
Dom
Gimme a clear square glass
With that clear spherical ice.

Gimme that orange bitters
And just a spritz of water to break down the sugar.

Let me smell the aroma
Of that bottled spirit,
Perfume of aged charred cask,
And vanilla laced with caramel.

Let it waterfall into the glass,
Hugging all of the curves as they cascade down
And when you stir, do it soft and slow
Look me in the eyes,
Tell me I've been a good boy

Garnish with a zesty peel.

Let this liquid ***,
Slip down my throat
Throwing me deeper in lust
For another.
My favorite cocktail, preferably with maker's mark or bulleit.
 344° 
Traveler
Beliefs
Effect areas
Of our intelligence  
That sould otherwise
Contemplate logically

Waiting for
Miracles
Impossibly real
Stuck in caves
Where kindness
And fear
Come together
And ****

More than an image
The sky outside
Turn around
And run for the real life!
Traveler Tim

Greek in origin (:
 182° 
M
i saw you
and i was sure
the stars reflect in my eyes
the wind splash
smiles and blood rush
i felt them altogether
i heard the leaves,
and my heart
fall at the same time.
i did not know
it was possible
to touch destiny
until you appeared
next to me.

- M
wrote this way back and i was just looking for a place where i can share it, i am so glad i found this site ^^
 177° 
Amethyste
I do not want to surprise you in a poem
I am not an entertainer
Call me a bad writer even
I express my thoughts
in paper
and if they are boring it is ok
they are genuine
and mine
 155° 
Marshal Gebbie
They touch
With a featherlight, brush of the fingertips.
Their prompt is a mere insinuation....
And their influence offered
As the slightest whisp of a wafting breeze.
But the impact made
Can be utterly monumental
And a driving impetus
To the receptive, creative soul
On a mission!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Inspired by the melodic artwork encased
in Agnes de Lod's short verse "Muses"
 134° 
Yonah Jeong
don't bend your back
get down your knees.
 133° 
Peter Gerstenmaier
Just like that, outta the blue
I realize that no matter what I do
There'll never ever be another you
And it hurts like hell...
Btw, how great is Chet Baker??
 116° 
Peter Gerstenmaier
It could never work
You were a duchess
While I was a fool

But what a pretty
Dream it was...
If only my blood was blue...
 104° 
Fumbletongue
Each smile a map, each line a trail,
Etched softly on the skin's embrace.
A journey marked in fine detail,
The story written on your face.

The laugh that danced around the eyes
Still lingers in a softened fold,
A map of moments, lows and highs,
A quiet story, gently told.

Not every crease was born from pain,
Some stem from joy that overflowed.
Expressions that we can't restrain,
Emotions that our hearts bestowed.

So wear these lines with quiet pride,
They are the footprints of your days.
A testament to life applied,
A living poem on your face’s page.
Time always tells no matter the canvas. When I look at others I can't help but notice their resting face and what it says about how they feel about their life.

We have earned everyone of our wrinkles. I refuse to try to make them disappear to look more attractive to anyone. If you can't see beauty in the life that I lived on my body then honey you aren't my people.
 100° 
Aaron Beedle
This fu@&!n app
I don't undertand.
I'm following instructions
as best as I can.

I tried five tutorials,
and searched it online.
Why does this time saving tool drain my time?
I feel like every piece of software I've used in the last 2 years has been disfunctional or just terrible ha.
 98° 
Isla
i am not a poet,

nor am i a poem.

i am not a writer,

nor a book.

i am not a painter,

nor a painting.

i am not a sculptor,

nor a sculpture,

i  am not the artist,

nor the muse.

i am an idea,

that exists

only

in your imagination
I wrote this on a total whim, I quite like it.
 95° 
badwords
They caressed the stone with open grace,
the trembling fiber, molten thread.
Their fingers learned each hollowed place
where breath and silence bled.

They shaped, and shaping held them whole,
for hands that sang in woven sighs.
But craft alone cannot console
the ache that leaps, that flies.

The wheel spun hours into dust,
the chisel kissed the throat of stone,
the loom unraveled thread and trust
and clothed the world unknown.

Yet still the fire withheld its claim,
it would not bend to patient hands,
for art demands the broken flame,
the blood no craft commands.

Why is it easier to fold and drift,
to close the eyes, to drift unseen,
to call the weightless current gift,
to name the dreamless dark a dream?

It is easier to fall asleep,
to press the mold, to bear its seam,
to call the shallow caverns deep,
to live another’s dream.

It is harder to betray the frame,
to slip the taut skin clean apart,
to breathe into the searing flame,
and carry fire in the heart.
"In the Hands of Fire" is a meditative, structured poem that explores the tension between craftsmanship and true artistic creation. Through a controlled yet emotionally resonant form, the poem examines humanity's long history of making — from the shaping of stone to the weaving of stories — and questions when, if ever, the act of creation transcends into something more than skill: into genuine artistic fire.

Each stanza progresses from honoring the labor of the craftsman to confronting the deeper ache of original thought — the existential hunger that skill alone cannot satisfy. The poem is marked by careful, slanting rhyme, tightened meter, and a subtle undercurrent of sensuality, lending the work a tangible, almost breathing quality without descending into sentimentality.

The tone remains contemplative and tender throughout, avoiding accusations or polemics. Instead, the poem invites the reader to sit with the painful beauty of its questions. The structured ABAB slant rhyme scheme provides a gentle rhythmic pulse, enhancing the poem’s tension between discipline (craft) and the yearning for transcendence (art).

Imagery leans toward the tactile and elemental — stone, thread, fire, bone — evoking both the physicality of craft and the ephemeral nature of inspiration. There is a quiet mourning in the lines for the human tendency to drift into complacency rather than risk the harder path of original creation.

The artist’s intent with In the Hands of Fire was to explore the difference between the refinement of skill and the dangerous, necessary leap into true creation. While honoring the dignity of diligent craftsmanship, the poet suggests that skill alone does not constitute art.

Rather, art arises from a rupture — a questioning, an aching for something beyond arrangement. The artist also questions why so few choose to awaken to this necessity, proposing that it is easier — and perhaps tragically human — to drift, to accept imitation over authenticity.

The poem ultimately stands as a soft but unflinching meditation on the state of creative spirit in an increasingly mechanized world, affirming that true art demands not just the hand, but the heart willing to burn.

"True creation demands not the hand alone, but the heart that dares to set itself on fire."
 90° 
DElizabeth
bruised my knuckles
knocking on your door

for so long
you wouldn't answer

but i was the one
who had the spare key

all along
and you knew it, too
 87° 
Kai
I've been lately writing poetry!
Oh? What do I see?
A perfect poetry site waiting for me!
First poem, proud of it!
Oh? Someone in my messages?
This guy seems sweet
And he's hoping I don't get beat!
Pretty songs for me to listen to!
And a drunk man messaging me...?
“You're only making yourself a victim because you're cutting yourself"
Oh? Okay- thanks for the paragraph/drunk rant?

Shining lights on all of my latest poems?
Thank you! You're so sweet!
….oh…talking to me about pedophiles…got it…
Why are there so many sad songs?
WHY DOES THIS MAN HAVE SO ****** MUSIC TASTE AGGGHGDGFGCC

Oh? You wrote a poem about the 764 and absolutely humiliating them?
Great! Good job!
…But uhh… why and how did they make a virus only going after your followers that are minors? Not funny!
Why is this man warning me if they threaten me? Is he trying to make me scared on purpose?
Blaming the Japanese for this virus now, huh?
Oh? Now blaming someone else named Pax to be part of the 764? Crazy

…. going to another website? But you're so fun!
May as well click on the link you sent me so I can join you

Drunk rants with me? That's okay!
Giving me gold so I can freely make poems?
THANK YOU SM
Daily texting
2-10 hour sessions
Why are you drinking everyday?
You're making me concerned for your health
I told you to stop drinking, papa
You promised me you'd stop
All you did was keep on drinking

Commenting on every poem I made
Oh? So suddenly I'm a “nasty *****" when I have done nothing to you? ありがとう!
We have a suicide pact now?
I'm going off the bridge first?
Don't mind if I do

Oh? Another poetry site? Okay…
I really don't like the way this site works, can't we just message each other with email?
Yes? Yay!

People bullying you on the internet? That's not okay!
Why would they accuse you of being a *******?
Letting me join an uncensored group to back you up? Great!
Sending me to a Reddit page to back you up?
Alright!
….oh … they warned me and I didn't do anything….
******* this man is an actual *******…..
gotta go fast like Sonic
pack my bags and leave

Oh? I betrayed you? Crazy
We were just friends
Can you stop spitting my name everywhere?
It's like you're so obsessed with me
Stop trying to be the Eminem to my Mariah Carey
Made a poem about you and you HAD to take it down?
Never thought you'd want to hide your identity THAT hard
Oh? Betting on my suicide now, are we?
Sending me multiple emails, desperate for me to come back to him?
I'm not that ******* naive or gullible
It's crazy if you think that about me
…I did tell you to send those photos of your cut open arms but I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D TAKE IT SERIOUSLY AND DO IT

Being racist?
“Japshit”?
Why are you so obsessed with my Chinese genes?
“I thought I can use Kai because of her Chinise genes because the Chinise was known to be very good spies. ☝️🤓" へー! Didn't know that!
Also, that's not how you spell Chinese, my fellow kind sir
Threatening people to come to America with a Katana and slice us to pieces
So envious, I see
You're just mad because we have a little bit more freedom than your drunk *** does

Oh…. Talking to me about ****
Got it
Thanks
I didn't need to be taught about METART or some **** like that
I'm only 12 years old
You ***** *****

Well…this is the aftermath
There it goes out to all of you:
Ghost
RGH
Ryan Geoffrey Hayward
Nephilim Angel
Nephalem
Rose White
Rose Red
Jacob Lives
Hybrid Angel
Tormenter
Bread Crumbs
The Machine
Dirt-In-My-Shirt
Soul Unknown
And etc. ENJOYERS

(Btw, all of these names are RGH's names so if you have these names, please don't feel targeted! The person knows who they are.)

EDIT: ILY ALL SM!!! I DIDN'T THINK THIS POEM WOULD GAIN THIS MUCH ATTENTION BUT I'M HAPPY THAT IT DID!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I'M GOING TO VIRTUALLY KISS EVERYONE ON THE CHEEK ONCE THEY READ THIS... or just virtually hug you, yk, whatever you're comfortable with
 86° 
Sean Maloney
You made me happy
Truly happy
But I guess
That’s not how you wanna go out
 82° 
Bekah Halle
I stand.







In the middle of my lounge room.
Not wanting to sit,
In case I crease
My cream linen suit
I just so tirelessly
Ironed.
I wish I could dream where I roam,
place back all un-threaded seams
Born again with a nicer clone
and outlive all my nightmares
all of I planted these seeds,

I don't wish to be a monster,
tormented by lovely dreams
of how I am so missing her,
and this void has the abyss tear.

My eyes are yellowing and my chest,
feels a pain as my liver pain pierces
Every dream was of my perfect job,
Now I lay in bed for days and don't sob.

What is the use of crying?
Rare is ever happiness.
 76° 
Albamaine
Because everyone i know matters alot for me
I will start to cut them off one by one
I can't stand the constant worry
I can't stand the feeling of knowing that it's almost impossible to protect them all at once
 74° 
Purbita
Never been in love, yet I still dream,
Of silent glances and a moonlit gleam.

Never been in love, yet my soul still yearns,
For a quiet touch where the fire gently burns.

Never been in love, but I still ache,
For a heart that knows the risks I take.

Never been in love, but I still believe,
That one day love will find me when I least grieve.
 71° 
Emery Feine
I am throwing up straight gasoline.
Steam is dripping down my eyes.
I work twice as hard as that man.
I earn five times less awards.
My body is deteriorating.
I am tripping over the wires at my feet.
I am falling ill; I keep working.
That man will pay
But you know what they say
You can’t take it with you.
why do they get to determine his success, just because they said so?
when death comes
it will not be the patient ground
that opens up to hold us

it will not be the restless sea
that reaches out to collect us

it will be the wind
that finally takes our names
spins and shakes them apart
tossing them into infinite sparks

are you accepting of this?
are you prepared for this?

the seasons wheel away
and so must we
 66° 
Theo
do i just assume any and every one is an ai? does it make a meaningful difference?

anyways-
what a ride!
napowrimo 2025 over
 66° 
Michael Rudelich
The drunken clown
breaks his leg as he’s
singing and dancing,
and the bird in the
room sputters, boxed
in, disoriented, as the
brother outside has
his trained ear to the
ground, listening for
their disturbed mother’s
angry mob, coming to
reclaim her lost home.
 66° 
Hemendra
In stillness deep, where shadows bend,
I watch, unseen, the long world end.
One pale hand stirs the winds to sigh—
The breath is lost; the soul slips by.

The earth still shivers at my touch,
Yet none take heed, nor feel too much.
Faint whispers drift through moonlit air,
While ether shrugs, too still to care.

Most strive to unlearn my name,
Denying me through wealth and fame.
I am the law, life’s final thread—
The end will come, and all things wed.
In this poem, Death is not a shadowy figure lurking in the dark, but a calm, inevitable force—a quiet presence that watches over the cycle of life. Through stillness and restraint, the speaker embodies Death, offering a meditation on its impartiality and its role in the greater order of things. Here, Death is not feared or mourned, but acknowledged as a natural law, ever-present yet unseen.
 63° 
Prosper Anyanwu
Ahhhhh Chickens!
Such fascinating creatures, the way they walk, the way they run, the way they eat, the way they look.
And of course the way they taste. Hnmm, how tasty indeed!
 62° 
Caroline Shank
Always Here

for you my love.  I said
that last humid afternoon.  The
melt of love dripped,

refused to release
into rivers, steamy and
loud. The birðs

squacked
inside the black
cage,

as if they were prepared.

Love never lasts
in my yellow
world.

It is always  in Shakespeare

that tomorrow
accompanies
the winding down of
a love affair.

True north
is

Rarely ever

True


Caroline Shank
April 30, 2025
 62° 
Dr Peter Lim
It's because

of today

that I have

my say:


I'll stay

I'll not walk away!
 57° 
brooke
Perhaps it is not made for me—
I’m afraid if happiness ever prevailed
to settle upon me it
might be swept away suddenly and
without warning

I have feared that my entire life;
every small joy I have gripped with
the hands of a child
it’s tendrils curled in the web of my
fingers, rare as Vigné a Farinet
fleeting,

Always

Fleeting.
(c) Brooke Otto 2025
 54° 
Synnove Carvalho
They say, ‘Eyes are the window to the soul’
And I agree
And I feel
Maybe
That’s true
Because ever since you and I have exchanged our vows
My vision have become blurry
Blurred by love

Blurred to see any better
Blurred to find any new

I think it is a curse
But
Maybe it is not

Maybe I’ve found treasure
And it’s shine has faded my vision

But maybe it’s a curse
But
Maybe it is not

It’s only clearly when I see you
It’s only clearly when I love you

And I feel all belonged to you
And maybe
That’s true

Because ever since you and I have exchanged our vows
My vision had become blurry
Blurred by love
 54° 
Randy Johnson
I had a green parakeet and Sparkle was his name.
When he died thirty-five years ago, it was a shame.
On the last day of April, I found him dead in his cage.
I bought him in 1981 and he died of old age.
My one parakeet outlived three blue parakeets that belonged to my mother.
Sparkle was my one and only parakeet, when he died, I did not buy another.
I owned my parakeet for over nine years and he was a great pet.
He died 35 years ago today and he was a bird who I'll never forget.
DEDICATED TO SPARKLE WHO DIED 35 YEARS AGO TODAY ON APRIL 30, 1990.
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