art

Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.

Valkarie
Gold feather daggers dart past my head. "I will grant you one final chance to retreat," she says. I ponder this. Sure,
By Scott Weatherby7 years ago in Poets
Temporarily Present
Dedicated to the people at Woke Radio, and my college self I’m sad “This feeling of being alone won’t go away, because I don’t want it to.”
By Douglas Mackliff7 years ago in Poets
Again
Again: It’s funny to find myself here, Again. Where the wind meets the waves. Where the salt water licks my sun drenched sweat stained scalp.
By Joke Marfsky7 years ago in Poets
Thing
Deep in a black hole where stars no longer shine bright A pit of constant darkness with no sign of light Where silence engulfs the spaceship with an eerie grace
By Bazal Morani7 years ago in Poets
Nightmare/ Forest Maze
Careful what you tell others as secrets are afloat If you mention the forest creatures they will come and slit your throat
By Bazal Morani7 years ago in Poets
Eliot Fisk Plays "Memories of Alhambra"
“Memories of Alhambra” he calls it, And already I know I’m in trouble. Woody Allen’s doppelganger Dances impossibly deft fingers
By Summer Koester7 years ago in Poets
My Wolf
He's in there somewhere I must find him. Men in orange scattered along the hill With weapons ready to kill. I am panting with panic
By Krysta Mangubat7 years ago in Poets
Theo and Luke's PawPaw
Here I am sitting outside do you see the gun on the ground? Behind me to the left is the sand box I built the swing set and put together the bench
By Richard Bowen7 years ago in Poets
To the Soldier Beneath Her Skin
My solitude feels welcome after nights spent caving to demons, most past, some there to linger and never die. One day, I will learn to live around them. I will grow an orchard around my wounds and plant roses in the scarred land. I will forgive those who dug into this earth with scythes and greedy hand. I shall watch green overcome ruin. But I will not forget.
By Eden Row7 years ago in Poets
Sunset
Why is it when I look at the setting sun, all I can ever do is smile? No matter how awful the day has been, How many trials and tribulations I’ve suffered
By Ciel Bleu7 years ago in Poets
Lord
Thank you for thinking of me. I didn't expect it. Thank you for the tasty gifts. They are really big. Spicy gifts, wrapped in ancient sauce.
By Maria Ayala7 years ago in Poets
Healing
The journey to self-healing can be tough like nails that were hammered into a concrete wall. Norms you adjusted to? You must leave behind and never practice again.
By savage writer7 years ago in Poets