Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
The edge of sheer vulnerability yawns, slowly spreads Stretching over the bed, it proliferates, seeping into each thread Whilst lingering, always observant gold eyes peer and ignite
By Cindy Calder2 years ago in Poets
Tanned, tall, ocean blue. Speak into my ear what you want to do. Grab me, slap me, bite me, lick me. Cigarette smoke on my hair in morning.
By Katerina Petrou2 years ago in Poets
Driving Radio on Another poem Another stupid line Because you are my sunshine The thing that keeps me from losing my mind
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Strapped in my vest The weight crushing my chest Why does life always feel like a test Trapped in the vestments of life Listening to each other’s strife
‘Tis that time of year again, the witching hours upon us. To sow the seeds of mystery, of horror and disgust. Trick-or-treaters walking hand in hand, dressed in clothes of the macabre,
By Mat Barnsley2 years ago in Poets
The truth will surface and stop hiding behind the lies That's how you separate the real from the fake Stop reaching out to people and see the people who reach out to you
By L.I.E2 years ago in Poets
In shadows deep, where echoes lie, Beneath the stretch of starless sky, There lingers soft, a whispered thread, Of dreams once lived, now long thought dead.
By Danny Prem kumar2 years ago in Poets
In silence, I hold you near my heart, Words dissolve where emotions begin, The warmth of you says more than speech, Our breaths entwine, slow and sweet,
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
The air was thick with scent and stillness drawn, As silver light spilled gently from the sky. I stood between the trees where night had gone,
In the forest’s hush, Sunlight filters through the leaves, Breathing in the green, Whispers of the ancient trees, Nature’s calm wraps around me.
I don’t think this is going to work Like always I’m your umbrella Or I’m ignored. Violet skies we paint Except it’s just me
By Matt B.2 years ago in Poets
In the quiet fold of dusk, she—a flower in bloom, delicate and inviting, he—a wanderer, drawn to her fragrant light. Together, a dance of shadows and whispers,
By Rajesh Dhiman (Rajesh)2 years ago in Poets
