art

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

What is SPAM?
Something Smells Sales Selling Sneaky.
By Mark Graham2 years ago in Poets
Life Makes Us Dance
Life makes us dance. We’ve learned some tunes, and we think we can perform our best. But life, the hard dance master, keeps giving us new tunes to move to.
By Seema Patel2 years ago in Poets
Mona in the Aisles
I was out running my weekly errands Stopped at the last store for the day Shopping for my favorite food brands Keeping up with what I’d have to pay
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Poets
Mechanical Painting Made by Man
Mechanical Painting Made by Man Beneath a sky painted in gold, where dust sings hymns to days untold, a creation stands on crimson stone,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Poets
A Universe Away
My gaze travels to you across the endless valley of our dinner table as my mind molds a ruthless stampede of questions from the clay of your silence.
By DLC2 years ago in Poets
Echoes
Golden light cascades, whispers linger on the breeze, love outlives the dusk.
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
The Light
Morning arrives like a slow-blooming ember, stretching golden fingers through the trees, stirring the hush of something unnamed—
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
The Art of the Counterattack
When does politeness become a problem? Not politeness in the sense of kindness But politeness in the sense of unkindness Sitting back and saying nothing at all
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
Dance With A. Content Warning.
Run into it all the time, There to give you access to a door, It does not always work that way, More like a pathway to destruction by the hand,
By Tambourine Man2 years ago in Poets
Heart
On some occasions, I must say, My heart will leave and fly away. When mists in mournful, murky mire Entreat to set my soul on fire;
By Austin Montgomery2 years ago in Poets
BAD DEEDS
With the hunger know I’m starving In my room I’m not with Marvin Thinking what I need to do Writing rhymes yeah just for you
By Haychie_Artist2 years ago in Poets
Sculpt
Another poem in my series about Sculptress Nancy Elizabeth Prophet. Prophet modeled this realistic wooden portrait after her estranged husband, Francis Ford of who she later divorced in 1932. After her divorce, she changed her name to Prophet, the modern spelling of the archaic Profitt.
By ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY2 years ago in Poets