A woman’s most comfortable state is this: a clean appearance and a pure heart; accepting all of life’s gifts with equanimity; and living each morning and sunset to the fullest.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing13 days ago in Poets
We are the ones who are there when you are down We wait for you when you’re not around We know if you go out, you will always return
By Calvin London13 days ago in Poets
imagine feeling everything pangs 0f infinite gn0stic hunger bef0re, after, during thinly in the brain aut0cannibalized by the mind
By ⸘jason alan‽14 days ago in Poets
I want to say it plainly. No metaphors. No similes. I want to praise my friends. I want to tell the world how they save me.
By Tina D. Lopez14 days ago in Poets
Something, I'm saying something as if this word needs enough messages !? Something, I'm saying that makes us want to know exactly what it is that makes us who we are, and what we should do !?
By 365poetry14 days ago in Poets
I walk the old path along the ridge where my papaw once walked. 🌿 I came here first as a child, small enough that the hill felt wide and the climb long.
By Tim Carmichael14 days ago in Poets
The bee hasn't said hello to you, the function of it is to provide HONEY !? This bee hasn't moved, and also, haven't said hello to you, the function of it is to provide HONEY !?
I'm trying to understand the capacity of our thoughts !? The capacity of our words as we think of things from the past.. The capacity of engaging with a person, a name, or a page - the capacity to experience life more than what it is these stage !?
I lie in wait for want of precious clarity ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡ Sheer drapes finally alight with the golden wind of invitation ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡
By K.B. Silver 14 days ago in Poets
as if I understood what though who love is, was, will be I inlove, What kind of tissue dresses her what kind of blood through her
By Diana14 days ago in Poets
Once Upon a Poet’s Dream It wasn’t sleep, it was spark, words kicking walls in the dark, lines that bit, lines that burned,
By George’s Girl 2026 14 days ago in Poets
Last Bus to Wigan I got on the bus with a pie and no plan The driver just nodded and called me “our Jan” Though my name isn’t Jan and it never has been
