art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
9-5
Free these veins From chains Formed by ticking hands And growing sums- Beat, beat, beat The heart With songs of smiles
Katrina ThornleyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAlone
In a house full of people, I've never felt so alone. In a room of silence, only hearing faint noises, I've never been so aggravated.
Jynelle WilliamsPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLetter to Walt Whitman
My Dear Walt Whitman, Primarily, I feel compelled, before any other written action of mine is composed, I am compelled to exceedingly compliment your blatantly-written work, Song of Myself, as one of the best I've ever had the pleasure of perusing and contemplating! Were I to travel in time to meet you, I would convey the impeccable impact your artfully-written work has had on literature even to my own day and time, in the year 2013. The book my literature class studies praises and quotes you as "the poet of both the beautiful and the plain, the body and the soul; [and says] his sexual honesty and refusal to feel ashamed of the body was a slap in the face to Victorian prudishness."
Keilie Desirea RosePublished 7 years ago in PoetsMiss Acacia
The world fades away, revealing my memory egg, Which is thusly shattered, as You burst out at last, Illuminating my entirety,
Keilie Desirea RosePublished 7 years ago in PoetsDear Father
Dear Father, Where were you? I needed you, I needed you there I needed you to catch me if I were to fall You were supposed to love me,
Amber WilliamsPublished 7 years ago in PoetsWho Decided?
Who Decided that dandelions were weeds? Why can't they be flowers? Why can't they be free? Who Decided that fathers should work?
Kylah Rayne de' Medici McAdenPublished 7 years ago in PoetsRandom Rhymes #2
I want to bleed, I want to say that everything will be okay but sirens scream and plant the seed of everybody's worst domain.
Klyde Khalil WalkerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThat Coming Kill
Down the lonely road at night With no stars in the curtain black, The weary man stumbles along Fear breathing down his back.
Jacob JohnsonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAs I Am
AS I AM TWO SOULS WANDERING THROUGH THIS LIFE CHANCE MEETING SMILES TURN TO LIGHT LOOK IN MY EYES CAN YOU SEE US DRENCHED IN THE THRILL OF IT ALL
David AvnerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsEmotional Sunset
A true artist, to me, is exposed to an abyss, A savage and unrelenting catharsis, And in this intensely dangerous and beautiful land,
Pete MaguirePublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Townley Venus
The first time I saw Venus The Townley Venus at the British Museum I was overthrown Her stomach, gentle curvature Arms risen in strength and fullness
Annie Rew ShawPublished 7 years ago in PoetsCamera Shot
Being fifteen, I'm only ten years conscious ten years of deciding for myself, I've made mistakes, some that I wish to wipe off the surface of my mind with a tidal wave,just so that I can make sure to get in every crevice
Annabelle PidekPublished 7 years ago in Poets