Ekphrastic
Be the love you so actively seek
The horizon awaits the embellishment of its blending hues, To be dazzled in its beauties, to be unafraid of the unknown mighty blue.
Hridya SharmaPublished about 11 hours ago in Poets5/20/24
The view astounds As the word bounds from the top to the ground I find what was said to not be found My soul resonates sound
Atomic HistorianPublished 3 days ago in PoetsIf I were stung by a bee
If I were stung by a bee, Would the uncertainty of the writhing bane of living finally subside the menace of who we are deemed to be?
Hridya SharmaPublished 3 days ago in PoetsBeloved Doubter
One must respect the narrative technique When an obstinate skeptic is woven Into a tale audacious, nigh unique Who doubts that bread emerged from yonder oven
D. J. ReddallPublished 4 days ago in PoetsFamilial Fables
Our enigmatic origins have been The subject of many peculiar tales; Sacred, secular, lofty and obscene Many involve a villain with bright scales
D. J. ReddallPublished 5 days ago in PoetsThe Artist's Promise
At some point in the far-off past, in an inquisitive town settled between moving slants and mumbling woods, there continued to be a young woman named Elara. Elara was known all through the town for her agreeableness and splendid smile, which could illuminate even the haziest days. She continued with a clear life, working at the town cake kitchen, where the scent of recently warmed bread and prepared products drifted through the air, drawing in people from miles around.
Rony SutradarPublished 5 days ago in PoetsArt
Kings come and go But art speaks to the human soul Art is immortality This poem was inspired by a friend asking the question, “I'm good at art but does that even mean anything at the end of the day?”
Atomic HistorianPublished 5 days ago in PoetsSong
This is a basic poem I don’t know how to write rhymes If everyone ever wonders I just can… sing! * And I lend this hand to music
Vale Perficientur
Do it as if this Is your last chance to do this Well, for it may be
D. J. ReddallPublished 7 days ago in PoetsBad Habits
Most carnal pleasures are forbidden me My bed is cold and lonely as a tomb Never will I a naked maiden see Nor see my son spring from her fertile womb
D. J. ReddallPublished 8 days ago in PoetsIs the beauty of realism a facet of truth or the prescribed norm of society?
Is the beauty of realism a facet of truth or the prescribed norm of society? The beauty of the strides reckons itself like the clock work's step
Hridya SharmaPublished 8 days ago in PoetsSubmarine
Everyone is so worried about keeping their boat afloat In hopes life will keep them off the ropes But I’m just a slick and lean submarine
Atomic HistorianPublished 9 days ago in Poets