Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I was a slut, I am a slut, the hour of the slut powers the Nucleus of such an act; The act of remembering, storing Is an act of the slut
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a year ago in Poets
Still pond, moonlight hums, a heron lifts through the mist; time folds into now.
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
Love is staying with me when I’m low, Love is god, your faith, fall in love with the unknown. Love’s a gift, it’s when she cook and you do the dishes,
By joeyy Tharpeabout a year ago in Poets
Two children laughed through schoolyard days, Shared secrets whispered, games, and plays. Through growing years their bond would bloom,
Books. She had found ways to live different lives under different circumstances, with different endings — disguising herself each time.
By aleallieabout a year ago in Poets
You cannot be woman and weak. Those are two things that together spell your undoing. You cannot tremble when the world burns,
By Alpha Manabout a year ago in Poets
naked, she unzipped Leather for a monster hide Full frontal horror. — Inspired by my brother Mike’s story.
I see black on my arm. It appears to be glitching in my eyes. I'm running for the rage and letting out all the scream. ...
By Lucripaabout a year ago in Poets
standby light, standby bright the last light I see at night a stark reminder, if you will of the impermanence of life human frailty and fragility
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
The thread hums when I touch it, a quiet recognition, like it knows my blood my heart my soul. - My fingers move without thought;
By Autumn Stewabout a year ago in Poets
Hellfire ... The world is burning, ashes from the dust. The sky turns grey. Burn, burn, burn. Everyone is a victim. ...
The mind sickness Been hardwired with the darkness Hallucination appearing on the mind Got insane with the overthing ...
