art

Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.

"The Language of Tears"
In silence born, in silence fall, A whisper rolling down the wall Of cheeks that once held pride so high— Now drenched beneath a weeping sky.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
The Ache
I felt you before I saw you— a ripple inside a moment too quiet to explain. You didn’t arrive with thunder. You arrived with presence,
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
Smoke in the Shadows
Poetry: In the hush of night, he stands alone, A soul half-lost, in silence grown. Smoke spirals like forgotten dreams, Woven through moon's silver beams.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
What I'll never say...
What is that to never speak of? But then decide to write about? That seems like a contradiction, I would never let those thoughts out!
By Adora Hooperabout a year ago in Poets
"Whispers Beneath the Moon"
On the curve of night, where silence bends, A soul sits still as the dark transcends. Upon a branch that dares to dream, He rides the hush of moonlight’s beam.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
MEMORY STATIC
This a part of the Outstages Cafe series. The blue chair is the disappearing and reappearing object in this series of memory static, Blue Chair at the Edge. Step into the Echoes Beyond the Veil
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
The Tapestry of Life
I. The Dawn of Breath From silence sprung a whisper deep, Where stars and soil in cradle sleep, A breath was drawn, the first of flame,
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
Petals Against the Silence
Petals Against the Silence By Sahil’s Reflection She leans on stone that does not feel, A mask of time, so cold, so real.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
Blue Chair at the Edge (2019)
This is a prose with characters and script. The idea arrived in my brain after feeling blue yesterdays of then and now from 2019 to 2025. It's about a broken relationship with a family member and the day I shot the photo of the lone blue chair looking out across the ocean from a cliff in Palos Verdes, California in 2019.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
The Bridge
Just as the world tilts forward: Heart thud, gut drop Breathing stops, pupils flare. The Bridge. “Meet me there.” You said.
By Tammy Castlemanabout a year ago in Poets
The Legend of Fromm
Fromm the moment I read the first thing I read by the elven warrior, I was struck by his commitment to his craft and care for facts.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
Where the Light Hides
It wasn’t just a tear. It was a shift, a fracture in the story I thought I was writing. They said I’d come back, but they didn’t warn me
By Maria Kalafatisabout a year ago in Poets