Online Poets Showcase
Poems from strangers on the internet.
This page showcases great writing from regular people on the internet. If you'd like to submit to the blog, you can submit a piece of writing or a collection of your work here
Once upon a time
roamed the earth
the curative and magical
properties of plants
animals birds and stones
runes on the eternal ocean
ecology of our extinction
discussed around the dinner table
the first image I see when I wake up
Kim Kardashian falling asleep in the ocean
suspended by buoys
Pills for sleeping while waking
I’m a spiritual kindergartener
I’ve learned to worship the lies
You’ve loved the best
Green marzipan razzzzberry jam
garish insects glistening in my palm lines
making afterlife notes for my ancestors
I tear me to pieces
then bring them back to life
My dewy other self in a green
and orange grove
What I meant was...
I’m relaxing into my decay
in chemical colors
A poisonous gas cruises
Another article about bees dying off
Fields of clover, unhumming
O god of the stagnant water
All the things I believe in are wrong
And I know it And yet I still have as much power as the people who hate
Far from winter
when the humidity hits differently
noticing the honeydew drip from the outside of your glass
a reminder that time, uninterrupted
will continue to pass
The Witch of Chronos
The sunset is in her hair,
and the night is in her eyes.
Her hands are starlight, dancing
in the chill air–the still air.
Tomorrow never comes, she is
the eternal present, the undeath
of moments. Life suspended
in amber, time stoppered in
a bottle. The world surrenders
to her, all clocks and hearts
The tomorrow that never lives
is the tomorrow that never dies.
~ S.E. De Haven
Back at work.
The heat is cruel.
The grinding and whirring is relentless.
I inhale rust.
I’m drinking black coffee in a hundred degrees.
I gaze into the abyss of a dozen combustion engines.
A mangled monarch massacred on the machine’s greasy black grill decorates it in pastel orange with the brilliant contrast of a Jackson Pollock.
This is the magnum opus of capitalism.
Here is your American Dream ™️.
An uncaring automaton that spins and spins and spins in a gaseous, nauseating cyclone of creative destruction.
A putrid mass of moving parts that marches ever onward defacing the air—poisoning the very breath in our lungs.
And we suffer and bend and wrench to keep it chugging along.
~ John Szandor Monroe
the incense burns late tonight,
the wisps of smoke curling in the moonlight
coalescing into shapes that disperse
just as quickly as they form.
it’s funny how alike ecstasy and agony look
and how hard it is to tell
which of the two is dancing in the smoke
but there’s no choice but to breathe and hope.
the room smells like cherries and nostalgia,
and it isn’t the cherries that are choking me.
the haze is blurring the sharp edges of the world
and as i fade to black,
i wonder what will fill my lungs in the night
will i wake to ecstasy or agony, delight or despair? only the sunrise knows
soft dawn stains the sky,
her rosy fingertips stroking the clouds,
marble pillars rising up like messiahs to meet her,
they are craving the brush of her love.
temples standing as their own gods,
their own religions,
standing as though they could have their own disciples,
instead of only the worshippers of desperately destructive gods that shatter the world
with their breath.
we are desperately destructive gods that could shatter the world
with our breath.
pale white stone,
femur bones and rib cages and pelvises bleached to ivory,
pure in their sacredness that has been
deemed such not only by society but also proprietary and age and seemingly perhaps
the very earth itself.
but soon comes time,
his inevitable hands rubbing dull splotches into the marble
of the temple
of your body.
then come the ransackers
the petty thieves and beauty-gobblers,
smashing stones into the temples’ columns and steps and pristine sacrificial altars.
then come the rough hands
the pointlessly addictive poisons;
with time comes everything that is done to you and everything that you do to yourself.
“your body is a temple.”
your body is a ruin.
isadora duncan’s scarf
a ribbon of living, she got
entangled in the spokes of life.
& like a dance
decapitated, before her
snapped back. she said
“I go to glory”
as the wheels pulled
the noose taut.
Back netting, lying loose
draped, dripping over your
sinful smile, half closed eyes.
oh how I love you endlessly.
You are my pearl, my precious little shell.
Come, dear. Let me nestle you in furls of fresh silk.
Let forests and oceans recede into nothing, let smooth and dry safety envelop the earth in endless desert. Take asylum in the soft salmon sands of the world.
Come, where nothing grows under the snow-white heat of heavens stare. Only bones, clean and pure. And blue eyes, milky spheres that shine like glass planets, the irises hued with deep summer skies. Only fresh, tender meat, raw and marbled with pink and white.
Nothing drying or fading, all across the acres of land:
the forests of hundred-foot fish spines that stretch upward like strands of kelp, and the arches of whale ribs and coral, like ancient ruins. Hearts huge as mansions, full of grand chambers and artery halls, overlooking an empire of sand.
Come, my bead of sky.
You are a seed of dawn, a drop of dew unkissed by destruction. So small, so brittle and calcified.
My spiraling fossil, my larvae, rest upon my barren tongue and let infinity enclose you in satin.
In the palm of the furthest dimension, fanning long phalanges through beginning and end.
In the womb of our astral mother.
Come to life in a new age.
How fair you look
beneath that silver moonbeam,
your eyes shine with love
and your lips I long to kiss.
There’s nothing like the night
to make love bloom,
as it sings a strange song
that only the heart can hear.
~ Ely C. Winters
night and day
In the warmth of day
my love lies soft and tepid
sealed inside my lips
shy and concealed in
cool shade, congealed
within the nebulous pools
of my eyes.
But at night
veiled in darkness
my heart opens, finds
comfort in dim-lit shadows
that warp and stretch,
and dreams swallow
my unspoken protest
with just a whisper
of your name.
June 08, 2021
The smell of her skin. Beyond imagination. Beyond sane thought. The fresh scent of rain, heaven’s tears, strongest around her neck, where I plant a kiss, unable to hold back.
All hesitation vanishes, in the space of wilting flowers around us, where she shares not only her breath with me; her entire being, as wild and bewitching as they come. Her hair fans around my head, shielding our reunion from prying eyes. All I see, are the constellations in her own as we come apart.
Be mine, she whispers, out of breath, filled with unwarranted hope.
~ Yasmin Ali