Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Roses are red Violets are blue Sugar is sweet But so are you Teddies are soft Flowers are nice In my life You are the spice
By Tina Morse8 years ago in Poets
If I had the chance to go back to re-sketch the events in my life I won't deny any of my truth I would rewind the hands
By Dawn Coleman8 years ago in Poets
And so it turns out that I am a homo The fourth of July and Halloween combo The cooked spaghetti my grandma serves well That’s why the only playlist I have is Adele’s
By Angelika Arroyo8 years ago in Poets
Drunk dreams keep fucking with me No longer holding on to sobriety Can't decipher what's real and what's not Goddamn bring me back to reality
By Abigail Rutherford8 years ago in Poets
My black pen It's got me through rough times. Like when I tried to write this song Couldn't think of any rhymes On my skin flowed the dark ink
By Loaf8 years ago in Poets
Another day at school and I am ready to retreat As the bell rings, I grab my things and head on down the street I stop by a soda shop nearby and get myself a pop
By Joshua Scott8 years ago in Poets
If I could sell my thoughts, how much would it be? A penny, a dime, a dollar or three? Will the public demand that I cheapen the price
Readily available to be angry. Under many conditions enraged, Feeling wrathful and your blood's boiling! All because of irate.
By Joseph Marra8 years ago in Poets
Was Nas rapping to me about me for me? Because if I ruled the world there would be no need to imagine anymore… No more ghettos saturated with liquor stores
By MJ Savino8 years ago in Poets
Another day in Hawaii Before the wonderful sunset Cats roam around the beaches Demanding people to feed them by being cute
By Lin8 years ago in Poets
As I lay I try to write But nothing comes to mind No rhymes, no verses No hidden messages Simply ... empty space. The noise in my head is fuzzy
By Sammie G8 years ago in Poets
Sometimes I can still smell the gunpowder and the smoke. No, I wasn’t here when the dark clouds hovered over this town. But, you can feel it; the terror and the intensity of the flames. Brick by brick, stone by stone they rebuilt the presence of this place. Memories of the town are dreary, but there is one area that refuses to die.
By Meg El8 years ago in Poets
