art

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

What Am I Doing? Episode 1
On the surface level, am doing nothing, Honestly, if am being objective, No job, being a college drop-out, no major milestone,
By VIXI2 years ago in Poets
not an artist
i am no longer an artist i now stand vigil at the bedside of a man tangled in blue sheets i worship at his feet like he is a god
By Sara 2 years ago in Poets
Sun and Moon
Never be a nightmare, In our cosmic dance, we’ll stay together. Just like another night — Who cares if we must fight? Wanna be far from you,
By pm2 years ago in Poets
The Way
The air hums with something unnamed, thick with the scent of warm earth and distant rain. Somewhere, fireflies etch golden sentences into the dark,
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
Roots of Hope in the Dark Soil
Beneath the surface, where light never reaches, there is a quiet, steady growth. The earth may seem cold, heavy with shadows,
By Edina Jackson-Yussif --personal growth 2 years ago in Poets
"THE THERAPY OF THE ROSE"
This is the therapy of the rose. We are not promised roses without thorns. In this year of 2025 we cry, we smile, but all the while we are faced with storms in America as we cry & smile. Smell the rose, spread petals of the scent of the rose to everyone across the globe.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 years ago in Poets
In The Ground
When I’m six feet in the ground and all the little bugs dig through to my brain they will have a taste of you they will get visions of you
By Isabella Walker2 years ago in Poets
3/30 God-Plated
3/30/25 10:08pm Droplets of religion In a blue-stained glass Splitting oranges in the trim Of our bedroom Coats of limerence hanging
By Olivia Dodge2 years ago in Poets
Soup
Simply soup adorns my walls Soup above the couch, soup in the halls Cream of chicken by the phone So I can see soup while I make calls
By C.Z.2 years ago in Poets
Internal Aches
The craving for darkness is insatiable Yet you never indulged me in such “immorality” Is it unbecoming of a woman to consume with only her hands in a bout of desire?
By Kyleigh Richard 2 years ago in Poets
The vieled canvas. Content Warning.
Here I am, seated before a blank canvas. Anxiety crawls all over me. I close my eyes and inhale as deeply and as long as I can. I see it—the anticipation in their eyes. They are unaware of my lack of intent in making this a lustrous or glossy piece.
By Andra river2 years ago in Poets
(Infinite) The Artefact
we are all stars dusted sugar topping this green land of beauty and wonder fool I am a poetic halfwit less man of words and power, debunking culture
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets