Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Early morning, walking towards the shore Dreaming, drifting to the starry sky The sea breeze blows on the shore, as if the sea breeze is also afraid of the cold
By Ted Brown5 years ago in Poets
By then, the mountains are far away The wind and snow tapped on the door. It is the coldest day of the year The flames jumped again when the pine wood crackled
A wisp of smoke on the roof Wrapping around the sunset A bird's nest in the tree A bird's nest in a tree creates the warmth of home with its coiled feathers
By bakerdarryl5 years ago in Poets
The countryside where I grew up and lived I am destined to throw my soul on the black earth I crossed the cloudless sky
By higginsjordan5 years ago in Poets
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,
By prashant sapkota5 years ago in Poets
I held my way through Defton Wood, And on to Wandor Hall; The dancing leaf let down the light, In hovering spots to fall.
See the frightening of the dude, I think he's angry at the pet food. He finds it hard to see the queen, Overshadowed by the creepy thirteen.
By Sourav joshi 5 years ago in Poets
How happy is the autonomous fiefdom! A fiefdom is sovereign. a fiefdom is self-reliant, a fiefdom is free, however. How happy is the oppressed collectivity!
By Aava Sharma5 years ago in Poets
A bonding, however hard it tries, Will always be internal. Are you upset by how domestic it is? Does it tear you apart to see the bonding so intramural?
Here's a health to thee, Roberts, And here's a health to me; And here's to all the pretty girls From Denver to the sea!
Oh lend me thy hand in the darkness, Lead me once more to the light, Bear with my folly and weakness, Point me the way to do right.
All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes; For in their depths lies largest Paradise.
