Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
His umbrella blue Stolen by a clever wind, Pirouettes away
By Jon H. Davis3 years ago in Poets
Amidst a wild sea, Hauling nets of bluefish fast, Rocky shore looming
No, it does not do To dwell upon airless days Lest our hearts bleed blue.
By Adam Mourad3 years ago in Poets
Drowned in surroundings Take my life to the water Breathe out, breathe under.
By Ángel Sierra3 years ago in Poets
Last Christmas I was There, not here; Black Christmas, have A blue Christmas tree.
Let me just start with I drew for me: blue body That I must part with.
Where, along the lines, You're disguised behind blue eyes, Though through them, they're brown.
If you're not dying Then you're not alive just yet As the sea's blue-green.
This is a blue room Meant for two—too, meant for ruse— Velvet curtains thick.
Not a cloud in sight The Institution is near— Hear Mr. Blue Sky.
So I was born sick— Am I part of the disease? I'm blue—doubt I die.
Blue haiku for girls: Ghosts of cruel winter a past, Now we wear pink hats.
