art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Old. Great, great, great, Grandpa old.
A couple of years ago I was tagged by a friend to post one black and white photo each day for a week and then tag another friend to post one per day and so on and so on. You know, email chain mail. Partly because this chain mail challenge didn't require that I tell people that their left earlobe would fall off or their nose hairs would grow to a foot long or some other vile thing would happen if they didn't follow through, but mostly because I love old things and a B&W photo challenge sounded like fun, I took the dare.
By Victoria LaPointe6 years ago in Poets
In All Is Quiet City
Coming, and going all street day. I can sleep with your warm forever ways. Forever love, together love warm ways and, coming on a warm and fine winter, winter of a new decade. I thank you. Can’t let you down, to not lie, the fire in a song just ask me how it is to revive the burning. Can’t give you up, what’s been going on? A deserted city street in paradise, going home the great hot lava. Over the rainbow bluebirds fly, and she is far behind me. Too die in this wonderful city, and she is the color. Babys cry what do we know of the hotel street blue? Out in the distances, fire escape is under you. Great to be interpreted by you, and there is a, peace still; covered by you still.
By Paul Noel Cimino6 years ago in Poets
A Stone Soul Perception
In my mind there is a knowledge that reminds me the beauty of intention. Sometimes I escape to a passion outside my mind. I know that a place is in my mind. Inside of me there is a place with no sorrow, or sad tomorrow. In my mind there is no time when I am alone. I think of it Devine, as the words go around my head, the things she said. I remember to look upon the words of love, beauty without sadness. It is a feeling that is left with a thought. And that it takes me over, caught up in sorrow, lost in my soul.
By Paul Noel Cimino6 years ago in Poets
