Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
A half-finished vanilla yogurt, now sprouting verdant green Tumbles in the wind, to stump and bump against A rusting regal compass, imperially garbed, in flowing spiderweb silk
By Bonnie Bowerman3 years ago in Poets
In the quiet of the night, where shadows weep, Lies a tale of love lost, where memories creep. A heart once whole, now shattered and torn,
By mike webster3 years ago in Poets
I am a sculpture I do not remember carved by passing echoes what once was me continues on a bundle of scars, sensations, and time locked away
By Bridget Couture3 years ago in Poets
These black holes are practically irresistable, whisking me away into voids of ecstacy. I try to avoid them, changing my trajectory towards bodies
By Eden Bell3 years ago in Poets
Wear the clothes I really like Don’t you judge on how I look…. Come & talk let’s have a convo Then you’ll see more than a book….
By Haychie_Artist3 years ago in Poets
Mirror mirror on the wall Hanging by a nail so small It's a miracle that you don't fall It takes time for me to recall To recall what I see and know what it means
By Thomas Terry3 years ago in Poets
My olive skin provides me with ample opportunities to exploit my white privilege. Depending on the hue of the situation, it's a superpower that allows me the ability
By Kale Sinclair3 years ago in Poets
I forget what you look like. Kind of. You know what I mean. I won't look back to old photos of happier times. I can't. The artist in my mind cannot mix the colors to complete the outlined image of you. Is your skin still sun-kissed or are you working too much to spend days dancing in the sunshine? Does your hair still go down to your butt or have you cut it since? I haven't gotten over how indifferent the world is that you and I are not together. Distance and time don't fight fairly. I'm not an out of sight out of mind type person. You consume my mind on a daily basis. Quite frankly, you haunt my existence. It's true what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. But darling, I am fonded out. I famishly break into soup kitchens slurping the leftover mush of your entire being. I live off our memories like koi fish live off wishful pennies that won't be answered in passerby coin ponds. I create visions of us that never occurred and explore them ad nauseam.
By D3 years ago in Poets
These are the testing times Say It when I’m writing rhymes Stating facts don’t play with axe…. Take a look at rising crimes
In the quiet of the night, where shadows dance, And stars shimmer in the vast expanse, Whispers linger in the air, soft and low,
It's not the pressure that keeps me awake that destroys me But the silent expectati0ns that await me The pressure and pain is building up and I d0n't think I can take this with0ut giving up
By Agnes Nyambu3 years ago in Poets
In the Quiet Moments: Embrace of Affection, Love's Tender Touch In the quiet moments, affection blooms, A gentle touch, dispelling gloom.
By Preethi 3 years ago in Poets
