Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I don't want to ever lose this feeling this inspiration this delighting feeling when writing. The worshiped words expressing
By Melina Giorgalletou7 years ago in Poets
I’m no poet, I figured that out a while ago now. I can mush words together and Make weird noises with my lips. But they don’t make sense.
By Stephanie Moscone7 years ago in Poets
He no longer heard it, Hiding his ears Into big bulky headphones, Inside those headphones, Music played too loud Too deaf to take turn the music off,
By Elias Hernandez7 years ago in Poets
Apple cider warm and sweet. I feel it in my heart. Childlike in its appley taste. Cinnamon the passionate spice. Both new and old in its seasonal way.
By Annie Nonimous7 years ago in Poets
The Beautiful Mess of who I am Why did my life end up this way Why did so many things fail Why did I worry about the stupid things why did I find a never-ending battle why did I stay for so long
By Sheena Ann7 years ago in Poets
It seems that whenever I pick up a pen I can only write about sins. I do know, and this I can tell you, These words are not going to be fun to read.
By Marla M7 years ago in Poets
Wide awake as the first train passes with diesel engine roaring its good morning I contemplate another stormy winters day and how many cluster headaches will visit my brain today!
By Aunidan Christi KPGS7 years ago in Poets
Muscle memory and bone used to pick Up cumbersome objects makes work so smart. Despite the thing being thin or just thick,
By Skyler Saunders7 years ago in Poets
Is bellum bella? Does it possess traits That aestheticians would deem as the good? Is war the harsh hygiene of the sore straits,
Witnesses a murder of the unknown. Sent to take a lie detector test. When being hooked up the man notices the heart begin to race at levels close to a heart attack.
By C. Ford7 years ago in Poets
The inner workings of the brain must stand As more profound than the whole universe. The mind is all that must seek to demand
Silver hair, silver hair It’s Christmas time at The Villages Ring-a-ling, I can’t hear a thing Soon it will be Christmas Day
By Jason A7 years ago in Poets
