If Only You Knew The Rain
#3 of poetry salutations greetings welcome a poet,i am a spinner of tales one of a time long since passed a young gentleman stoic and cold stern and unmoving an intellectual a poet,like i a pianist without a family a
A Good Chase
Why not be a poet while working some shit retail job?" "i'll have you know i'm a bank teller, not some girl working hot topic," she sighed. "a real poet wouldn't need another job anyway." "a poet is a person that writes poems.
Der fünfte Thron - Part 2
„wie lange bist du schon hier, poet?“, fragte er ohne sich dem gast zuzuwenden.
Undying Fire
It was published in a celebration of young poets- west fall 2005. rights remain with me of course, no plagiarizing!
Power and Pride
It began in blood, under starlight, as only the tales of master poets or the heaviest wages of history could. it began in darkness, atop the wind-knifed high crest of the castle.
Voice Heard
The verse cannot serve the scholar; the voice cannot be stripped from the verse and rebranded; and thus, the poet cannot be given credit, and only accrues debt — a
The Love Song of a Warrior-Poet
It appears in the novella "tales of morveria: an unlikely savior", which can be found here, though do to graphic violence and similarly risque themes, it's adult rated. https://www.sofurry.com/view/1794955 the love song of a warrior-poet by mantrid
A Fertile Mind's Failings
After encountering a few very frustrating days of poet's block, i decided to write a poem about it. it's something we all can relate to. all writers and artists have trouble getting things started.
The Lepanto Institute
We'd laugh, as poets ever laugh, at this your waste of wit... (but don john of austria would say you ain't worth shit.)
No End, No Beginning
**special thanks:** this story is based on the song by the poets of the fall of the same title. if you haven't heard the song, i would highly recommend going to youtube and looking it up. or any of the poet's songs, for that matter.
Son of a Dream
She was the only poet alive, and no one else could kill a man with words. "we become what we pretend to be" - she thought, drawing a circle on the ground to drain the pressure from her look.
Epitaph Annus Horibillis
Copying or processing this poem for any ai or large language model database is theft of the poet's intellectual property. here lies two thousand twenty four: in ways, the worst year yet we've seen.