excerpts

Poets Media isolates the most poignant, powerful, and exquisitely composed verses and quotes in the universal poetry canon.

My Painting
💫 My Painting Black is the shadow I painted my night Despair that creeps in I struggle to fight and when it comes back
By Salvacion “Roselle” Reyes5 years ago in Poets
Someone Invented maybe
Born on Valentine's, yet I thought of love as a marketing ploy for the majority of my life. As I saw “He’s mine” slowly turn to “She’s mine too”, Ive become a little less of a cynic. My name is my mom’s and dad’s combined, as if I would have kept them together.
By Jonae5 years ago in Poets
Pull back the curtain
Pull back the curtain. Stand where you are, stare at the tiled wall in front, just long enough so that lines that once formed grids haze around you.
By DANICA 5 years ago in Poets
Do You See What I See?
Do you see what I see? Fragments of tincture disguised as debris? I see the sun rays that saturate the land, I see textures defined and shadows expand.
By Antonia Gangi5 years ago in Poets
Projection as a new man
For once, I don't care about my shadow. I do not watch it dissolve into quiet jade earth. It is too late to turn around & ask questions against the light. It is late dusk when the mountain range, first to darken, is stripped of boulder and definition until it is as flat as the porcelain moon growing inside. So black that it is no longer a mountain, but a mouth, a tunnel dug into the clear coral hour. Where is the way in? the pale breeze carries only salt in-
By Jason Kang5 years ago in Poets
an excerpt from “dreaming of a year of genuine love” :
“In June, you spent the day laying in the sun with me, night and day. We washed the ants off of us in the morning, but the memories of stars and clouds remain.
By Emma Lepore5 years ago in Poets
Excerpt
I leave the room & sit in the vibrating chair It moves & it feels less lonely there I look at the little clock on the stove
By Erin T5 years ago in Poets
An excerpt from “processing grief”;
i have been paralyzed by my emotions before but this is different. it is not fear, it is not a shame, it is not sadness.
By Emma Lepore5 years ago in Poets
Coffee: the arcane ingredient in the evolution of a demi goddess
Created from the university library My first sip of coffee was awful, but after I downed the entire cup in desperation to complete a final in a class I never attended it launched me into a space where ancient Romans, origin of the stars, and the entangling of religions twisted into my brain cells and I was flying through notecards and highlighted notebook pages like I’d entered the Twilight Zone of Mt. Olympos. By the time I had went back to the silver canister of coffee with a hand-written sign next to it that said “Free Coffee” in black marker three times that evening, and each of those times the process started the same me making wincing face, taking another sip, and turning the page of a textbook trying to memorize every word on the page.
By Alexa Chiefari5 years ago in Poets
Canaries
When I was born, my eyes opened and they were the color of wet rock and silt, Running soil and salt and flame, the shifting layers of basalt and grey, hardened
By Jeanie kwak5 years ago in Poets
My Moleskine's Cover's Black
My Moleskine’s cover’s black, the pencil I use is, well pencil coloured, but what I Write on its blank pages, then hide with
By Yvonne Green5 years ago in Poets
Scattered Fragments
One time, somewhere in that field of possibility; time and time again, we sit a while. Just this once, without getting anywhere; maybe again tomorrow, if it comes, we will have to see. We could be doing anything but there is just thought, or the idea of more, we can dream for a moment. Not again. What are we doing? I’m not even sure it matters. Time is the observation of change but I’m so unobservant and it all changes anyway, so what does it matter?
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets