Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
My true colour has not yet been viewed The hues I’d choose have far too much to do With the scheme of that scene, Pictures flashing, one by one,
By Naomi Kawamura5 years ago in Poets
I like to dream everything in neon And smoke weed to keep me turned on Plug me in, and allow the electricity to flow through me
By Alexander Bontzolakes5 years ago in Poets
Pentimento (Wikipedia) "the presence or emergence of earlier images, forms, or strokes that have been changed and painted over". The word is Italian for 'repentance', from the verb pentirsi, meaning 'to repent'.
By limb5 years ago in Poets
I grew up without knowing you I felt black, dark and grey 'cause of you Years Without understanding you Why do I have to carry you?
By Soph5 years ago in Poets
I search for that elusive answer how to define myself, looking deep in my mind and soul To find the essence of what makes me uniquely me, take stock in my own personal poll.
By Janet Freedland5 years ago in Poets
I am an Artist I am a Creative My Product is My Ideas My Product doesn’t cost me a thing I am an Orchard I am a Fruit Tree
By Sandy Lynn Myshell 5 years ago in Poets
What'll it be, The Blue or the Pink? Who colored the genders, Told us what to think? She's breech, perhaps bluish, At least at the start,
By Peggy LaRee Parker 5 years ago in Poets
the first lesson in blue is of wisdom - to know things by simply feeling them. there was no word for blue in Ancient Greece
By syl5 years ago in Poets
Morphing I don’t know how or into what I just know that I am And as sure as I know primary, secondary, & tertiary colors exist I understand that there’s layers to this shift
By SV Richards5 years ago in Poets
I feel the heat from my heart as it bleeds the color red As I strum my guitar It has some tears to shed With both We stand
By Abigail Dominguez5 years ago in Poets
They say never to judge a book by its cover The contents inside are always worth exploring Society's views creep in and imagination is shown the way out
By Jasmine Norment5 years ago in Poets
PRISM OF LIFE You asked me what I was writing On a blank page It was you when my eyes adjusted To the bright White.
By DW Medoff5 years ago in Poets
