art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
UNOFFICIAL: July Poetry Prompt Contest
The Summer months are long, hot, and heavy with humidity that clings to everything. For some, it can be demotivating, much like the depths and dark of winter. It can also bring with it fun and festivities that can be completely distracting as one tries to write and stay motivated. So, I've put together July poetry challenge, complete with a journal you can download and use along the way!
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Tick Tock. Top Story - July 2025. Content Warning.
This is part of Step into Echoes Beyond the Veil with Pookie & Vicki After we connected with our ancestors, my dad, and her mom I thought how thin the veil is and how the earth is spinning faster, this had to be written. It is other, time zones, tick tock clocks of time & space, birth, death, and closed & open doors. This is truth, fiction, and science fiction written in words regarding living, and the fantasy of time.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
The Secret Room Where Our Love Still Breathes"
The Secret Room Where Our Love Still Breathes" There’s a room they say doesn’t exist— No window, no key, no name on the list. But I’ve walked its floor with trembling feet, Where shadows hum, and lost hearts meet. It hides behind a mirror cracked, In the house where time has never tracked. The hallway moans with every gust, And breathes of stories sealed in dust. I found it first on autumn’s breath, When leaves like love had danced to death. A creaking door, a ghost of light— Your perfume stirred the silent night. The room was small, but wide with dreams, A world within old broken beams. There were notes we wrote on candle smoke, And promises too soft to ever revoke. A scarf you left hung on the chair, Still whispered warmth into the air. And on the wall, in faded ink, Your poem sat on memory’s brink: "If I’m not here, don’t think me gone, This room remembers. Love lives on." Each visit now, you’re almost near— A laugh, a sigh, a breath I hear. Your shadow flickers in the glass, Like echoes from our moonlit past. I sit beneath our phantom stars, Where silence heals and opens scars. And tell the air how life has been— Since you walked out, and left me in. I’ve brought new letters you’ll never read, And flowers that wilt, yet never bleed. I read aloud each trembling line, And hope the dust will make them mine. Sometimes I feel your fingers graze My shoulder in a loving haze. Sometimes the door swings half ajar, As if you walked back from afar. Yet when I turn, the room is bare, Except the scent that clings to air. And still, that scarf sways soft, alone, As if it knows it’s not yet gone. For here, this room defies the end— Where past and present subtly blend. Where love escaped time’s closing hand, And built a world we still command. So though you’ve vanished from my days, This secret room still holds our ways. It keeps our vows, our silent cries, Our midnight talks, our long goodbyes. And I will come, though seasons flee, To where your love still waits for me. In wood and wall and breath and beams— Where we still dance inside our dreams.
By Ali Asad Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
Slow Heartbreak
A Poetic Exploration of Slow Heartbreak “Some heartbreaks don’t roar. They whisper — like wind leaving an open window.” There’s a kind of heartbreak that doesn’t come crashing down like a storm. It doesn’t break dishes or burn photographs. It doesn’t scream in parking lots or cry in public.
By Mehtab Ahmadabout a year ago in Poets
