Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Opening a long closed heart is like: After years of torment torture and pain, a final stop to the end of it's reign. Lighting a torch in a dark cave after years of seeing no real light,
By Seriously Caring4 years ago in Poets
When I adorn my body I become more than just a body that has withstood the cruelty of careless men When I adorn my body
By Tuli4 years ago in Poets
Begin. She is a mother. Enter the child, a boy he sits, and plays and dreams with jacks, and string and things his mother the sun, so bright
By John Eva4 years ago in Poets
My Father Told Me... By: Jonathan Hinternish My father told me someday I will have. Land and food A-Plenty.
By Jonathan Hinternish4 years ago in Poets
My dearest Johanna, Learning of you has sent my brain down a rabbit hole of art and creation itself! How does one become a great artist?
By Halle Wagner4 years ago in Poets
I, remember, when I was in Iraq. Camp Stryker, to be exact. It was Specialist Ochoa, who always had, all the updates, and all the news. "How?" Was this specialist; so, high-speed. And, aware of everything, I do not know.
By Arturo Ben-David Maimón4 years ago in Poets
Colorful days of meaning, all the birds are out and singing. This day is never dull or blue, and it spends its time thinking of you.
By Kim.D.4 years ago in Poets
Few weeks ago I saw a movie on Netflix, Its title was RRR (Rise, Roar, Revolt). Made in India, it was one of the best movie I have ever seen.
By Anshuman Kumar4 years ago in Poets
Isn’t it always that way? Time flows by and you never know why – the many loves of your life still haunt your mind. At the age of ten,
By Rasma Raisters4 years ago in Poets
A flower finds its tower and displays the princess. A lover climbs the tails of stories looking for all the chances. Broken bridges and buildings and hearts.
By Shane Harrington 4 years ago in Poets
Everyday my mind wonder There so many things to think about And so I pounder Until the next thing fill my mind Do you ever stop thinking?
By Mariann Carroll4 years ago in Poets
Drowning within the swirling confusion between thoughtless despair and humility, the body that holds me wishes to crack like an egg on a breakfast skillet.
By Natalie Johnson4 years ago in Poets
