Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
What would I have done if I were older? And what hopes did I have other than the keys to victory? And what anthem would I have composed if the strings had deserted me?
By Kisama Riyo 2 years ago in Poets
If it weren't for sadness, I would have built a racetrack I raced the bird that flew in space I asked him about the state of my country, and the sky was a collapsing river
Each breath, a wave, rising and folding back to where it began. Rest, feel the pulse of stillness, a pause between moments,
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
We stand where stars and daylight first meet, in a dance, the world fades softly— two hearts opening like dawn, new and boundless, aglow.
Fallen into treacherous depths, A cloud of bats rushed out of the cave flying into the sky. Evokes terror in the innocent hearts.
By Malleswari2 years ago in Poets
I thought of selling my poem And betraying all the promises And letting spring come after me Because I will break all the promises
I go to a wonderful writer's group called "Poetry Preserves". In this group we read a poem the moderator picks out, discuss it and then write about it and likewise we view a piece of art, discuss it and write about it. You can of course write about whatever you like or you can follow the poem and art as a prompt. The above piece of art inspired the below poem.
By ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY2 years ago in Poets
Can’t go wrong In getting sign outs ‘Member them times playing hide outs Long as we were having fun Getting sign outs more than one
By Haychie_Artist2 years ago in Poets
I live in the darkness of days waiting As if I will explode at dawn I was sailing in the ships of the sea And I did not know what was wrong with me and what I felt?
Stop crying at the memory of the beloved For longing has become like a baby to me My longing for you reminds me of you, my love
I let the sea lead me to the depths When I committed suicide I had no mercy My life is full of discord And the storms made it like a drowning wave
I wish poetry would read what the pen writes And that would end the pain in my chest? The bird's echo rises, repeating the tune
