Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Have to stay strong even though What I see through that window All the nonsense daily basis…. Getting Inside creeping though
By Haychie_Artist2 years ago in Poets
You look at me askance As we dance To the limerence in each other’s eyes Sometimes I see what’s on your mind But I promise, there’s no lies
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
It’s funny how you stole All the best parts of me And still asked me to stay You stole all my best qualities And all of my memories
By Belle2 years ago in Poets
I've heard one man refer to his lover as his peach his plum (thank you, Brian) but if I was your peach and if I was your plum
In tiny realms, where sunlight creeps, A colony of ants their vigil keeps. Their world, a grain, a crumb, a leaf, A universe where dreams are brief.
By Moharif Yulianto2 years ago in Poets
When I was only three years old and able to hold onto pencils, My mother asked me, a small inquiry, What is it that you draw?
By Amos Glade2 years ago in Poets
I never stopped to think about it until very recently how sad it is we can never enjoy the simple pleasure of a piggyback,
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
i have a lot to say and a lot of people i want to hear me say it so it isn't the throws of shade no intentions of addressing inequitable exchanges
By ⸘jason alan‽2 years ago in Poets
We’ve waited all year for this moment The big day has finally arrived The taste of fall is here Running across our tastebuds
By Thomas Terry2 years ago in Poets
"i dont’ know who you are anymore,” soft sounds of fraud's mouth, “i don’t know where my baby is." i smile, and i edge close to him, “it’s the same me as ever, sweet love, and i am nobody’s baby anymore.”
A watermelon, round and green, A summer treat, a juicy scene. But wait a while, before you slice, A hidden wrong, a bitter vice.
Tiny creatures, flitting free, Male flies, a buzzing glee. With eyes that see, a world unknown, They dance and buzz, alone.
