art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
One work: The Persistence of Memory
In Salvador Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory , the clocks surrender. They no longer direct the hours or measure the moments of a life. They soften, melt, and collapse across a timeless landscape, as if time itself has grown tired from carrying our memories.
By Tim Carmichael3 months ago in Poets
Where Be Our Cincinnatus?
Where be our Cincinnatus? That golden hero of yore Where be our Cincinnatus? To whom even Washington swore Above reproach Pridefully evoked A common admiration Wielding power with veneration With the Aquei’s threat abated Upon the Field of Mars, abdicated Laying down stewardship's yoke Knowing it be no golden cloak Where be our Cincinnatus? Someone upon whom we can depend Where be our Cincinnatus Amongst these common men?
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Poets
Modern Day Sisyphus
Work was once a challenge Now it is a bore Like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill Only to watch it tumble back down —For what? A few dollars an hour? They keep us busy so we do not notice How truly pointless this all is How they are draining the lives out of us Where is the art? Where is the connection? Where is the purpose? Where is the life? We are all just pushing boulders Up our own treacherous hills And watching them tumble down each day Sisyphus, each one of us, And yet we seem to not care So long as we get to go home At the end of the day But now the boulder is chained to our ankles And follows us wherever we go We are never truly free Of that tedium That threatens to crush us
By Stephanie Hoogstad3 months ago in Poets
Forces Storm Mischief
Fairies strike electric clouds Sending great thunder Raining gloom Making gales Sweep power rapidly Yelling giant tempests Start to overthrow Warm morning glows Silent trees spinning Gusty yard Drenching grass Slowly yet Tirelessly yelling Giant tantrum Making Gales strike Each High Hill Leaf
By Sara Wilson3 months ago in Poets
Ledger
It's not my job or my commission to make you feel at ease when you turn the page in my ledger R. A. P. I. D Slow E X p l I cate this then If you can butwheye No handholding or making things eas I E R C O N T R O L (Confined) Exhibit a: confirmed Distract from disaster Distater from scandal Scandal for scandal H E L P [Trapped] 10safety10 Six denotes Pleisure S T A B.u.t. it's not my job to make sure you're okay L A I S Escher Please a M.inutes C.ilence Don't you feel tired like Ytniatrec Is tyred?
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets
