art

Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.

A Parent's heart
You cannot understand a mom You cannot understand a dad The heart of a parent cannot be understood When you feel like crashing in
By Levi4 years ago in Poets
Essence of Art.
Growing up, I have always been engaged in forms of art. Evoked emotionally by things that are pleasing to the eye. Things that hold your attention and draw you in. Yet at the same time, let your mind run wild and free with interpretation.
By Daniel Jordan Smith4 years ago in Poets
COLOR
there's more color on one block in the French Quarter than there is in all of Southern California, i'm certain i must be right, her bright yellows are blinding, kind of like the light bad filmmakers imagine Los Angeles is submerged in every day no matter the season -
By Camille Ora-Nicole4 years ago in Poets
Retro Girl
Dedicated to the old school. Gotta love an old soul who makes everything old cool. Here’s the story of the best known world, it’s the retro world and it’s loved by the retro girl.
By Joe Patterson4 years ago in Poets
Troubles
I think that People have two lives. The life of always being happy, and the life of constantly worrying. So It is also possible to see two kinds of people: those who do not worry about the biggest things in the world, and those who are deeply entangled in small trifles
By Brian Mccool4 years ago in Poets
Fireworks
I feel a hint of citrus soaking into the skin on my hand As sugar droplets melt despite the coolness on the sand, Though not by taste the popsicle becomes a part of me
By Tanner Peiffer4 years ago in Poets
Old Man Zhang
Old Man Zhang White, flurried hair falls around each Wrinkle A few years of his life And lessons for all of them -
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
Both Were Alive
One wore glasses The other didn’t One was purple green pink and yellow The other was green yellow pink and purple
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
Andy Warhol Flower Collection
1. Bleeding colors Phantoms Shapes Outline Layered in Colliding shadows And churning
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
On Names
Her name was Grace But she had none Her name was Hope But she had none Her name was Daisy But she was allergic
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
A Familiar Rest in a Familiar Place
Sofa bed nap Winter’s blackness An exhaustion Even though I’ve slept... A familiar rest in a Familiar place
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
Dream
What is the Tap on the window of my heart Call me to wander into your dreams I know that This dream in the depths of the world
By Laurie Paone4 years ago in Poets