art

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

Butcher
I’ve become a butcher of words Bloody cadavers that scream in pain Then pass out for hours Half-dead, half-alive I used to believe I was actually a surgeon, words that laid out a symphony in laser-precision
By Melissa Ingoldsby2 months ago in Poets
Where Our Hearts
I start with the way your presence settles me, a warmth that finds its way into my breath, quiet but sure, like you’ve been part of my orbit
By Printique Studios2 months ago in Poets
When Time Has Tasted You
If you call an orange apple, will its juice not stain your chin? Names don’t change the nature— truth still testifies within.
By A.K. Treadwell 2 months ago in Poets
Skulls under the growth . Runner-Up in Roots and Branches Challenge. Top Story - December 2025.
You see a tree? I get the idea, my grandparents are the trunk, my parents branches, me a stick My kids the leaves I get the concept
By Sam Spinelli2 months ago in Poets
Vicious Dance
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight I must dance, there’s no time, no space to waste I can’t stop, I won’t stop until the day I’m great
By Linétte 2 months ago in Poets
Magic on Strings
V ibrations echoing from core memories I ntonations writing a symphony of inclinations O leander pages, conduit stirring cadenzas through artist to ear
By K.B. Silver 2 months ago in Poets
Where Every Flaw
I start with the truth of you, the way your presence settles into me like a familiar rhythm I never quite learned but somehow always knew.
By Printique Studios2 months ago in Poets
Making History
History is filled with unremarkable people doing remarkable things And when I say unremarkable I don't mean it in an offensive way, what I mean is these people came from very humble, even oppressive beginnings, nothing about them screamed they would change the world or make an impact
By Donny Foley2 months ago in Poets
The Candle That Waited Too Long
The Candle That Waited Too Long I saw the candle burning in a room where shadows refused to bend, its wax melting into shapes I could not name,
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Timeless Man
Silent movement of lips makes you Endure Endless questions of fact. Black, White, Empty hat, End cane, Without an owner.
By Christopher Hales2 months ago in Poets
The Quiet That Finally Held Me Right
There are kinds of quiet that feel like endings, and kinds that feel like beginnings. For most of my life, I only knew the first kind. The kind that settles after an argument or lingers in a house where people love each other but don’t always know how to say it. The kind that follows me into rooms even when I’m smiling. I grew used to filling it with noise, with movement, with pretending I wasn’t afraid of it.
By Jhon smith2 months ago in Poets
When Love
It starts with a rush beneath my ribs, a startled kind of joy I can’t quite hide, like my heartbeat forgot its usual rhythm
By Printique Studios2 months ago in Poets