art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
In The Eyes Of Pink Shine
It is from the distance of the pink skies I see that it’s the same Mika evening glow. As from the tropic view in the distance over there I can bring her over to the morning in a year. I care about her everywhere. It’s a day of a year in an abundance of prayer. She is clear in the color of the nights air.
By Paul Noel Cimino4 years ago in Poets
Bougainvillea
These are the thorny stems of a bougainvillea that formerly grew in the front garden. I helped dad cut it down last week, finally bringing an end to an era of treading on its barbs. On those occasions, it would be a fine morning, like today, and the thorns would catch my soft feet unaware, sometimes burying themselves down to the stem. The cold dew, the fresh morning air, the first warm rays of the sun and the pain shooting up my ankle were all parts of the same beast. Why did that evil thing grow there for so long? What evil person planted it there? No one had any answers. it just grew.
By Rolled Oats4 years ago in Poets
Fleeting
Fleeting The swirling madness
By Guenneth Speldrong4 years ago in Poets
