Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Blue. Blue has always understood the dark. Known the deep. Just enough, to caress me on those days. On the ones that I just don’t have enough courage to get out of bed.
By Sarah Danard 5 years ago in Poets
Could there have been a better time to go about this, this wonderfully aching first love? Or should I have kept my eyes down, asphyxiated my desires to open up to all that is awaiting me in my potentially colorful life…
By Eunice Kim5 years ago in Poets
I was born ready to escape my shoes, to disappear from closets, ceilings, and walls that enclose humans in rooms A need to feel free within me, to get outside, to look up at Blue
By April Barosky5 years ago in Poets
Blue the feeling when the sky is grey Blue the eyes of your first bestfriend Blue a feeling that can last all day Blue the times your trying not to offend
By kyle johns5 years ago in Poets
The Rainbow, glowed brightly, when it appeared, in the sky. Like a beautiful arc, of a colourful smile. To hang in the air, for a brief time,
By Graeme Waddell5 years ago in Poets
heaven has got white tiles in enclaves wrapped in hills like home carpets banking up to empty space orbs and spheres and swimming pools
By Jack Haworth5 years ago in Poets
the earth keeps rotating on its axis. i’m finding more ways to complain about the colour, or the lack of colour swimming around my sobriety.
By Joe Straynge Favalaro5 years ago in Poets
I am the colour of the infinite sea, Infinite colours, a fractal like me. My moods sway and change, So multicolour the array.
By Suzan Corbe5 years ago in Poets
these swatches of cobblestone, monotone the dank grey squalor, be my home I’m partially a scholar, mixed with 2/5ths patron
By Hani Malcolm5 years ago in Poets
Filled with contempt, small fists and stomped feet The last colour there that the boys left for me My little heart knew to accept was defeat
By Mouk.5 years ago in Poets
Is it the slow creep of rose madder that seeps along the horizon to add her song to the voices in my head at the start of day?
By Debra Rogers5 years ago in Poets
What is a glorious color the shadows tarnish, leaving me stains turned Gray. Red is my love, the mud, and blood of my family.
By Maria S. Moore5 years ago in Poets
