art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Remembrance
A coffee shop. A bed full of clothes, a cat beneath the sheets, the sheets that are not tucked in because I forgot to, Because I didn’t want to, for fear that the cat would hate me.
Elisa ClynePublished 6 years ago in PoetsHaikus: Volume I
We're both a whisper Away from screaming the truth. Let me talk to you. // You were out of your mind. Now you're out of mine. See,
Rachel NavarroPublished 6 years ago in PoetsUntitled 24
To feel like a Cello Sonata sounds Would I have to climb a mountain? Or could I just sink into warm water With some roses and the scent of vanilla
My Lifelong Friend, Art
"I have found a friend that never ages called Art, no defined sex or clothes, only dressing of the soul is Art. Whether the heart is being grated to shreds,
Where I Stand
Where I stand my feet cannot move, They are bounded to the floor as an anchor. Where I stand I have thought of many things,
Chase TaylorPublished 6 years ago in PoetsDyv3rsity Killed the Poet...
A close friend says I'm "Poetry in Motion." I don't need to write things down on paper. The mystery is already there. I speak in metaphors. My eyes alone can describe something larger than life. Who needs a little black book and pen?
Ra Dyv3rsePublished 6 years ago in PoetsDeceive True Meaning
Beneath what is deceived Abilities lie in weak performance With no desire to explore it Squinting at the sight of it's importance
Sol DevereauxPublished 6 years ago in PoetsOde to Music
Oh, sweet, sweet music How you soothe me Your comforting sounds embrace me Your heartbeat drives my soul Your melodies excite me
Lorraine WoiakPublished 6 years ago in PoetsFreedoms Sound
A kiss goodnight, a wave good bye, a sigh of relief, or maybe a cry. Lay your fingers upon the keys and please, let freedom ring.
Hannah HarrisonPublished 6 years ago in PoetsRemember Me
I promise whenever I think of you I'll smile. A path of happiness down memory lane. Even though we won't see each other for awhile,
Alexandria ApontePublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Commute
I look up She looks to the side He looks at the floor Oops there's an awkward meeting of eyes This is the daily life of an underground traveller
Me
I could write a list of so many things I don't like about myself: how pimples shadow my face, how my boobs are a little too small,
Danielle KnottPublished 6 years ago in Poets