Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Aconite, monkshood, even wolf's-bane, it seems poison has many names.
By Bugsy Watts3 years ago in Poets
Cool as a lone cloud You wait within the vast blue Never succumbing
By Matt Dixon3 years ago in Poets
Beyond peacock blue heaves the blue-black nothingness strangely familiar
By Shobha Gallagher3 years ago in Poets
Sea and sky, these are blue to you. I see the world in a different hue
By Lauren Raine3 years ago in Poets
Drifting on a breeze Descending in no hurry Delivered on winds
‘Twas an emotion Is it something of value You must decipher
By Evelyn 3 years ago in Poets
The rain blows sideways Framing high hotel windows Buried in blue bed
By Deborah Busch3 years ago in Poets
I now believe in my new, grand concept of self through blue haze. Do you?
By Manette S 3 years ago in Poets
Blue ink in her flesh: Daggers and serpents and gods. Those lines were black once.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Poets
I sought clarity, saw ripples turn into waves, "In too deep", I thought
By Dominique Seaton3 years ago in Poets
My rhythm and blues, often when I belt my tune, joy evades such hues
A flame hot enough To smolder in this decay Is not red. It's blue
By Amber Fern3 years ago in Poets
