Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Intricate carved wood Of roses, leaves and mule deer A back for a chair
By Rebecca Louden7 months ago in Poets
Open the top drawer Of the antique cabinet The smell of cedar
Ink called my name like a late-night sin, Said just one line, let the healing begin. I swore I was done, said I’d learned my lesson,
By shallon gregerson7 months ago in Poets
The Crow Who Fell In Love With Emma A crow watched Emma in the late evening garden, black wings folded like a secret kept too long.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
My condolences Thoughts and prayers They were patriots They died for our country Our freedoms The lies we tell ourselves
By Atomic Historian7 months ago in Poets
Sir Winston slept thrice Tucked beneath foggy London Others? With his charges ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Matthew J. Fromm7 months ago in Poets
The board came as simple packaging in a utensils box. For me, everything is art surface. I love the of Japanese sumi-e relaxing, healing, meaningful,
By Seema Patel7 months ago in Poets
I broke Mother Tree Her Blood drips down Adam’s leaves Roots sleep to dream death.
By Melissa Ingoldsby7 months ago in Poets
Midnight releases Reflections and melodies. Sit with the hearts splayed.
By Jada Ferguson7 months ago in Poets
Morning mirror shines, A face I will know too well Looks back silently.
By Angel Adagio7 months ago in Poets
The moon leans low on silver beams, Unraveling the quiet of our dreams. Stars like whispers, soft and slight, Carry the secrets of the night.
By Eliani Suarez7 months ago in Poets
On a morning without the wail of alarms, The sun spreads across a hushed horizon. No imprints left by columns on the march,
