art

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

The World Is Deaf
I used to be just another ordinary person. Well… not that ordinary, to be honest. I lived and vibrated well. And because of that, my life was peaceful and calm.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
The Gift We Forget
The reason you feel anxious is because your mind is running toward a future that hasn’t arrived yet. The reason you overthink everything
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
Blooming Hurts First
When you feel lost, when you think you’ve hit rock bottom, don’t run away or hide. You’re not broken— you’re just beginning to grow.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
The Route of Wisdom
This poem was born from the hope that everything is written beforehand, and that all the good and the bad happen for a reason.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
My Awakening Came from the Invisible
For a long time, I was a shadow searching for a door. I felt out of place, like the world moved to a rhythm I couldn’t follow.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
Where True Joy Is Born
Never doubt where your inner joy can bloom from. Even when you feel lost, without a calling, or without real friendships—
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
The Beauty of Not Fitting In
The fear of failing — is really just the fear that your true self won’t be enough. But here’s the truth: Your soul is always enough.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
The Joy of Awakening
There is no act more underrated, yet more powerful, than opening your eyes in the morning. In that first breath lives the miracle.
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
The Doors of Your Soul
When you feel everything’s fading and nothing turns out the way you hoped, don’t believe the doors have closed on you,
By Liora Vogel about a year ago in Poets
Arches of Memory
Beneath the arches of red and white, Where light filters like ancient breath, Whispers stir in columns’ flight — Silent songs of life and death. Stone remembers every prayer, Every footstep, every tear; Visigoth, caliph, king — they share The shadows of this hallowed sphere. Marble echoes golden days, Córdoba’s streets, bright with flame, Scholars’ words and poets’ praise, Empires rising in its name. Arches curve like ribs of time, Holding centuries in grace, Faiths entwined in quiet rhyme, Stories etched in sacred space. A mihrab glows with gilded light, A nave soars with Christian stone, Two faiths, two empires, in their fight, Left beauty neither one could own. Orange blossoms scent the air, Minaret and bell compete; What endures is what they share: The wonder where their echoes meet. So let us walk these columns long, Let our hearts in arches sway; For memory’s arch is wide and strong, And holds the past we can’t repay. ---
By Huzaifa Writerabout a year ago in Poets
Excluded: Biased Toward Bias
Preamble: As many of you probably know, I've been working on trying to get published and entering various competitions outside Vocal for sometime now. This next piece, is my 10th overall rejection, that includes competitions and submission calls with literary publications. I've been encouraged, inspired and spurred along to try by the two Stephens. Stephen A Roddewig and Stephen Kramer Avitabile.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
When the honey itself
I have longed for my first attempt at feminine art to be as polished, I declined my seasoned work as I had hoped for deep red lips and sparkling eyes that glisten with goddess like captivity
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a year ago in Poets