The Decline of Poetry & How Our Expression Is Dying

There was a time when poetry played a central role in our culture and civilization but today it has been pushed backstage. It occupies an obscure corner in our society - one knows the foremost poets of today. The classics still have their audience, their aura of mystery and attraction but poetry as a living mode of expression for our cultural experience has died.

Streetwriters

A community of artists working together to grow, nurture and help build a better and artistic world where greatness is a measure independent of one's race, status, ethnicity, color or creed.

Thoughts! What are you, O thoughts!

Thoughts. What are you, O thoughts? The beginnings and endings. The journeys and destinations. The highs and lows. The transcendence of pleasures and pain's mighty blows. Are you these or are you more? What depths hide your origins? What drives you to death on abandoned shores?

Muhammad Ali

I am Muhamamd Ali. I love to write poetry. I like reading books and thinking about people and things. Ideas delight me, nature mesmerizes me and people confuse me. I think a lot about about different cultures, peoples, civilizations and nations but then I feel really small and think about myself and this complicated web in which you, me and we all are...I maybe boring you. Or maybe not.

Chapter 3: A Call of the Forest

"He was on a dear hunt in a grove near the forest. He caught sight of a beautiful doe with her child. The doe strangely left the grove and began running towards the forest. The King pursued it with his retainers behind him. The doe was fast — too fast."

Muhammad Ali

I am Muhamamd Ali. I love to write poetry. I like reading books and thinking about people and things. Ideas delight me, nature mesmerizes me and people confuse me. I think a lot about about different cultures, peoples, civilizations and nations but then I feel really small and think about myself and this complicated web in which you, me and we all are...I maybe boring you. Or maybe not.

A world globe representing the Contempla of the Princess of Aanunja

Book Review: The Tale of Two Cities

The way Dickens portrays his characters and the shift from peaceful London to the terrified city of Paris is so flawless that it'll make you cry. It is, without a doubt, one of the best classics ever written. If you’re in the mood for a history lesson filled with a swashbuckling doctor, a pathetic impostor nobleman, a perfect maiden, and a knight shining in breeches, then this is your go-to book.

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I Sit Under the Greenwood Tree

Weekly Winners: I Sit Under the Greenwood Tree

"I sit under the greenwood" was initially inspired by the book of the same title, "Under the Greenwood Tree" by Thomas Hardy. There is also a poem by Shakespeare of a similar title. This is a reflective prompt and the submissions we got showed this character in almost every other piece.

Weekly Winners: If Tomorrow Starts Without Me

If tomorrow starts without me I wonder what will happen? Will anything change? Will the world stop for a moment and sympathize? Probably not. But if tomorrow starts without me, I am sure the night will miss me for it will have one less lover and the moon will weep for me for it will have one less friend.

An Endeavor Towards Self Love | Streetwriters

An Endeavor Towards Self Love

I write this while embarking on a journey of self-appreciation and love, where I can pause, savor, cherish and remember the things that I passionately care about; a journey where I live for myself. I write this while training myself to praise what I see in the mirror instead of my surreal imagination while taking my baby steps to create a life that veritably screams, "Me."

the dawn of the living by the weavr - Streetwriters

The Dawn of the Living

What is life but a story, one part badly told and the other justly, one forgotten and the other…lost. Life is a story, and the road is never the same, never straight. With love and hope and happiness, it is lively but with despair and hatred, it is dead. What…

backlit-dark-dawn-environment

Palpable: An Excerpt from an Unpublished Novel

All my memories are the same. Various scenes pass, I am the victim in this nonsensical existence. I just let it play out, for I have no other option. Stuck in this horror that is my mind. To and from each day I go, ever exploring. Hoping beyond hope I can find some kind of solace, make some kind of rational out of all this.

Book Reviews