Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I remember when I was a little girl It is so fond to me because I was free able to play with my brother at any time of the day
By Aubrie Belle 3 years ago in Poets
It is fall again... Welcome to the pumpkin patch. Bounty of harvest. _____________________________ Chloe Rose Violet🌹 I wrote this as a part of my "Writing Prompts for October Challenge" which you can view down below.
By Chloe Unfiltered3 years ago in Poets
Love's beauty unfurls, In hearts, a tale of the ages, Golden dance, it twirls, In each smile, a gem engages, Eternal flames, love's history writ.
By Printique Studios3 years ago in Poets
He'll be back any day now. The signs are clear. Where is your heart ready to steer? He'll be back any day now. He’ll rescue me from life’s toil.
By Rowan Finley 3 years ago in Poets
yesterday’s bullets instead of shooting her down, became poetry
By Kayleigh Fraser ✨3 years ago in Poets
In the embrace of love, a cozy nook, Where hearts entwine, like an open book. Warmth, like a blanket, soft and kind, Enveloping souls, a treasure to find.
By Smart3 years ago in Poets
Colors nothing, "who you telling" Sushi from sky, not sea! Woman? She blue robot 3022 Lines go that way and this way Clown huh? Go play
By Desiray J3 years ago in Poets
At the sound of the trumpet his people will hear the ones that mock him shall tremble in fear Now you know, go spread the word. The ones who bow shall carry his sword.
By Melissa Novak3 years ago in Poets
You burnt a massive hole deep inside my heart The wound still stings The wound is always sore Yet the wound has also started to heal
By Mattie :)3 years ago in Poets
Witchcraft comes in many colors, and you may wonder; W is for witches and why. I is for intuition and intellect to remember various incantations.
By Mark Graham3 years ago in Poets
Bullying is not a respected sport in no way. B is for the Bully Himself. U is for Understanding, maybe the why he bullies.
Warm ripples, as water cascades; curiosity lingers, distant yet craving the human presence, meandering ankle-deep. The Earth-honoring footfall, echoing back to the first sculpted shapes in the sand.
By Yokopi3 years ago in Poets
