Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
In autumn mountains, The air smells of spiced decay, And summer's quittance.
By Algernon Locke3 years ago in Poets
Fire in the mountain Fire burns bright and high all night Water fights the fire
By Alex H Mittelman 3 years ago in Poets
The mountain calls me Fear has frozen me in place Today is wasted
By Braden 3 years ago in Poets
Picnic on the hill The mountain provides good shade The ants crawled in too
Treacherous Ascent Dreams for fuel, doubt for hurdles Fleeting Pride. Descent.
By Emily Rabone3 years ago in Poets
The mountain flares bright The ashes churn overhead I say let it burn
By Aliurtuq Waqaa3 years ago in Poets
Earth moves by habit. Ground shifts upward; new peaks form. Mountains--tall and proud.
By Jackie Barrows3 years ago in Poets
Alone, it's not safe; With steep rock and sudden drops. A dangerous climb.
Deep in the desert, Over the Devil's red bridge, Lurks mystic beings.
A cordillera with eminence commanding Chikuma River
By Brian Furphy3 years ago in Poets
There is this mountain breeze that shivers shivers upon the trees I love this mountain kiss There is this echo waves upon my lips singing lullaby to every twist and swift
By Darkos3 years ago in Poets
A mountain of rules.. The winter of eloquence Start with a fresh page.
By Wendy Musk3 years ago in Poets
