art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Night
Tell me, Do I cross your mind at night When you lay beneath the stars I think we'd be a force untamed And one that takes us far
Scott JacksonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAbyss
Blood red sun lights up the sky, The birds are free to sing and fly, The towering trees create a skyline, There's no recollection of wasted time,
Hailly LeonaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsNeptune
Needles fall into my blue carpet soft but sharp red dots form on my bare feet blue paint cry's dye dripping off my fingers
Anonymous walrusPublished 7 years ago in PoetsUnlikely Murderer
A stroke of happiness, A smear of new beginning. Fading away the old, Bringing out the new. A block between reality; The most unlikely murderer.
Christine Bickle-lilaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsDrop of Hope
She's walking down the street. Looking like an ordinary, small piece of an enormous grey mass. Soft wind touching her dark, satin hair as her forest green eyes childishly follow slowly moving clouds in the sky. She has so much to say... Yet stays quiet. She's silent, for she's afraid to be left misunderstood.
Flowing Like Water in a Stream
As easy as it seems... to flow like water in a stream, so loosely following the way everyone thinks is your dream. Allowing oneself to be wet to the touch and never allowing anyone to drain your mind and take your ambitions
Jonqueshia HunterPublished 7 years ago in PoetsCreative Mind in a Bland Land
My mind is my best friend. In a world full of newspaper, my mind is a coloring book, pages of images of my own that are waiting to be filled in.
Jynelle WilliamsPublished 7 years ago in Poets9-5
Free these veins From chains Formed by ticking hands And growing sums- Beat, beat, beat The heart With songs of smiles
Katrina ThornleyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAlone
In a house full of people, I've never felt so alone. In a room of silence, only hearing faint noises, I've never been so aggravated.
Jynelle WilliamsPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLetter to Walt Whitman
My Dear Walt Whitman, Primarily, I feel compelled, before any other written action of mine is composed, I am compelled to exceedingly compliment your blatantly-written work, Song of Myself, as one of the best I've ever had the pleasure of perusing and contemplating! Were I to travel in time to meet you, I would convey the impeccable impact your artfully-written work has had on literature even to my own day and time, in the year 2013. The book my literature class studies praises and quotes you as "the poet of both the beautiful and the plain, the body and the soul; [and says] his sexual honesty and refusal to feel ashamed of the body was a slap in the face to Victorian prudishness."
Keilie Desirea RosePublished 7 years ago in PoetsMiss Acacia
The world fades away, revealing my memory egg, Which is thusly shattered, as You burst out at last, Illuminating my entirety,
Keilie Desirea RosePublished 7 years ago in PoetsDear Father
Dear Father, Where were you? I needed you, I needed you there I needed you to catch me if I were to fall You were supposed to love me,
Amber WilliamsPublished 7 years ago in Poets