art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Milestones
Stones standing vigil Witness one destination Not lush adventures I’ve always been fond of the quest tale; enthralled with the idea that simply going to look for the Holy Grail was worthwhile even if you didn’t find it. Milestones are important measures–Hell, I have an entire business plan built out with month over month metrics I need to aim for in this writing endeavor, but it’s important to remember that, while they’re undeniably important, milestones often end up as dull bits of stone along the much wider road. Let them be your guides, not your destinations. The list of places to go in life always ends at six feet under. Take a second and enjoy the spaces in between.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Poets
Rumbling Through My Thoughts
So many rules cosplaying exceptions So many broken hearts mascarading as healed So many naive acting like gurus So many fearful playing fearless Oh to be lost and found by lost souls that pretend to be found It's like being loved by someone on their last straw, they'll be your last straw Try try try again, not with my heart...I beg Try Try try again, not with my mind...I plead Try try try again, by yourself this time By myself this time Echoes of righteousness, I wish were mine Humming of abundance, I hear from afar. Don't mind me, I'm just rumbling through my thoughts Rumbling through you Hoping to stumble upon the answers
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Poets
Poetry in the Age of Instagram
When emotions meet algorithms, what becomes of the soul of poetry? Once upon a time, poetry lived in dusty journals, passed between lovers, or whispered in candlelight. It was long, complex, aching with metaphors and layered meanings. You had to read it twice to begin to feel its weight. But today, poetry often lives in squares — specifically, Instagram’s 1080x1080 grid. It wears minimalist fonts, has line breaks designed for scrolling thumbs, and sometimes, it's captioned with nothing more than a hashtag.
By Mehtab Ahmadabout a year ago in Poets
These Lyrics Broke Me And Then Stitched Me Up - You Need to Hear Sleeping At Last
If you seek songs that leave you shattered and whole at the same time - keep reading. There are artists you listen to, and then there are artists who listen to you. Sleeping At Last has always felt like the latter. With lyrics that carry comfort, brokenness, love, grief, and acceptance all at once, Ryan O'Neal captures emotions so delicately it feels like he's stitching them together with light.
By Scarlett R. 🍁about a year ago in Poets
Grease, Grit, & Gasoline
I was watching the news as of lately realized, we are still fighting over oil in 2025. My kind, hardworking late Dad, big Vic, was a mechanic who loved his work. He worked with oil, gasoline, and all those products. He didn't fight over the guy’s gas station down the street. They would shake hands. talk & laugh. The only argument I remember is the time when my dad worked for a real jerk before he bought his own gas station. The jerk boss refused to buy a heater, fan, or AC for my dad’s stall. My dad was not angry. He went to the bank and borrowed money to buy the gas station down the street from his jerk boss. He opened his own gas station. His former jerk boss visited my Dad ready for a fight. My Dad, big Vic, shook his hand, invited him to see his new station. The first thing my dad showed the old boss was his his AC and heater. The guy left. My Dad told him, “Have a wonderful day. Come back anytime.” That was decades ago in another reality of time and space. My Dad just wanted to work hard, take care of his family, and bring home the bacon. So, my friends, I wrote this country song dedicated to my late Dad, big Vic. He was my hero!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
