Poet – how to practise


Want become a good poet? You must do a lot of practice
Be familiar with all kinds of poetry, Then you can make a good poetry

Poet – how to be a good poet


How to become a great poet
I think, it still need many years of precipitation

Poet and cologne


I think poetry is a thing very similar to colognes
Poetry needs mood, cologne need feeling
Want to find poetry, you can go here
If you want to find the best mens cologne info, you can go here
Yes, improving your tasting

Poets for Palestine






Poets For Palestine was published to unite a diverse range of poets, spoken word artists, and hip-hop artists who have used their words to elevate the consciousness of humanity. Sixty years after the dispossession of the Palestinian people, this anthology presents forty-eight poems alongside original works by Palestinian artists. All proceeds from the sale of this collection will go toward funding future cultural projects that highlight Arab artistry in the New York City area.

Art and Artists

Poets For Palestine features thirty-one powerful images, each of which illuminates
a unique dimension of the Palestinian experience.

Poets and Poetry

Nathalie Handal

Wall Against Our Breath

We witness October in flames,
            and every other month following,
is the same, the streets
            we walk through a reminder
of who we are and what they will
            never make of us…
human portraits in corners
            we forget to look at or forget to reach…
pictures stuck on walls as if
            they belong nowhere
a groom and bride forced to wed
            anywhere but where they should,
and yet, we keep asking:
            what victory blows candles out
what sea speaks of another sea



Remi Kanazi

Palestinian Identity

I was born overseas
A refugee
With little knowledge of myself or my ancestry
Growing up in American society
I conformed to the mentality
I watched MTV
Envied actors and people who drove Mercedes
I didn’t listen to Public Enemy or read Edward Said
Comprehend the need for autonomy
I was a dark kid, trying to be a white kid, acting like a black kid
In my middle-class economy
But my mom didn’t speak this language perfectly
And I was reminded with certainty
My name wasn’t Ali or Punjabi MC
Not Khalid, Rashid, or anyone from Aladdin’s family
I was just me


Ibtisam Barakat


Our city is a cell
Children’s faces
Are replacing
Flower pots on
Window sills.
And we are waiting.
From our bars
Of boredom
We enter
A spit race
The one whose spit
Reaches farther
Is freer