art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Fire
They came They crawled Open chests beat hard Like clouds they Could never be caught Tied the rope taught Fired the gun
Random Rhymes #1
Stop it, read it, clock it, Done deal with a rat's spiel, that's a new reel on your locket. Your locket, my lock-it. Done lost the key,
Klyde Khalil WalkerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsOur Vice
It's time we paid the price It's time we faced our vice Confront our evils Ensure our peoples It's time we play it nice
Semira BirkePublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Play
Act One Everyone is speaking out loud while I daydream in solitude, thinking about my words carefully before I said them to you.
shiney poetryPublished 7 years ago in PoetsCandlelight
I watch you dance in my eyes, flickering but never extinguished. I see how you glow and I wait. I wonder. I hear the crackle and I feel at home. Candlelight, you know me. And I know you.
Emily ValdezPublished 7 years ago in Poets.secaf....faces.
There are faces in my head. Ones I don't remember yet. People quite often turn up dead. There are memories in my head. Ones I'd like to forget. People aren't what they seem, quite often turn out mean.
'I See Me'
Reflections bathed in the glory of night Untouched...unaltered purity in the rarest form Face singing the hymn of a life well lived
Ashlei NicholePublished 7 years ago in PoetsLaundry
Pile of clothes on the floor, Which ones have been worn? Who knows, so I throw them in a basket Before I throw myself in a casket.
Ilana WeissPublished 7 years ago in PoetsWriter's Block
I sigh softly and tap my pen Against the metal spirals Of my notebook I halfheartedly write a word I stare at the word, doubting
A. R. AmbrosiPublished 7 years ago in PoetsMother Says
Another day at school and I am ready to retreat As the bell rings, I grab my things and head on down the street I stop by a soda shop nearby and get myself a pop
Joshua ScottPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFlowers on the Edge
My poetry is simple My poetry is blind. My poetry is mine, Even if it doesn't rhyme. What? Poems can't see? The one who fails to see,
Julia SeverePublished 7 years ago in PoetsMidnight Memoir
She sat at her desk as she wrote her thoughts. It calls to her mind, stories of the past Memories forever, yet it's lost These misplaced memories have been amassed
Britney BelcherPublished 7 years ago in Poets