Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I wake to the sound of your breathing— steady, like the tide marking time against the shore of my shoulder, your hand draped across my back
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
In the heart of the forest, where whispers take flight, Ancient trees reach for stars in the soft velvet night. Their roots weave a story, of earth’s tender care,
By Am@n Khan about a year ago in Poets
Poem: Shikwa (The Complaint) bal Why should I choose the path of loss, or bear the weight of pain? 😔 Why should my heart not yearn for days when faith did reign? 🕋
Alone in the dark, People shun you when you say, You are afraid, Day will come soon, The pacifier will not save you, Or be your best friend,
By Tambourine Manabout a year ago in Poets
An apotropaic prosaic mosaic Founding member of Melancholics Synonymous Happiness taunts us As our ego haunts us A dauntless existence of seeing all and none at once
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Poets are strange, beautiful creatures. They sit with silence. They stare at walls. They write lines no one may ever read—then tear them up and begin again. They don’t always speak much, but their words can change everything.
By Filiponsoabout a year ago in Poets
I have two cats called Yin and Yang I have two cats called Yin and Yang one moves like smoke, one like a sigh they don’t chase light or wear a bell
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Word to ya Mama! Yo, waddup? Art o Fishal Lil Deb hear at ya chattin up the Nah Channel Deficit. What's up yours? Mine at 60 thou. Hey Robo, you got enough Ram for that? You the horse, the car, or the dotted line?
By Shanon Angermeyer Normanabout a year ago in Poets
In a meadow kissed by dawn's first light 🌞, A flower blooms, so delicate, so bright 🌸. Its petals soft, in hues of pink and gold,
Sharpened up so call me pencil I’m so handy like utensil Cannot lose control you see On my lane just by the sea Writing rhymes I have potential
By Haychie_Artistabout a year ago in Poets
The Writer Haiku write re write erase erase again and then look A new poppy blooms
First light, you tilt your head, asking if I remember the dream— the one where the hallway stretched like taffy, and we ran,
