Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
My distant correspondents feel like lost letters And trying to connect with them Is the post office where they stay in limbo
By 𓍢ִ໋. ✿ Ghislaine ✿ 𓍢ִ໋. 11 months ago in Poets
There’s a quiet that hums between stars— a space where everything we’ve ever said still lives. Love drifts there, weightless and awake.
By Emily11 months ago in Poets
I start with this steady knowing, the kind that settles in my chest like a quiet sunrise deciding we belong here. Your presence folds into mine,
By Printique Studios11 months ago in Poets
there is a certain magic in the air it bends not to human will a voice that lives sometimes in the stars and at others in the sea
By John Cox11 months ago in Poets
The wind remembers things we forget. It carries the laughter we left behind on porches, the promises we folded into paper cranes,
laying flat on threads of deep cold, the majesty of the hard blue tips the grass as they petulantly lay flat about the syrupy nook of nature’s impermanence
By Melissa Ingoldsby11 months ago in Poets
Reaching for the light, after a long walk alone. Not knowing what life is or why we are born, on this paradoxical world.
By Lucripa11 months ago in Poets
June 12 320 in the attendance Came to dance on a Saturday night Latin night All the beautiful people Having fun like it’s the summer sun beaming on them
By Gladys W. Muturi11 months ago in Poets
It all starts with the mistaken belief (sorry Hank, but not that much) that anyone wants to read anything I write. The spirals downhill from there.
By Paul Stewart11 months ago in Poets
All through the years, As summer is UP, The fall season starts at the TOP, As life goes on the Fall leaves fall OFF, Winter is to peak AT as we merge IN
By Rachael Frazier11 months ago in Poets
I. The Mirror Isn’t Me (Philosophical — AABB) . I look into the mirror’s face, A quiet, silver, borrowed space. It copies me without a sound,
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast11 months ago in Poets
