art

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

Elevator Pitch
Button pushed Waiting impatiently For the doors to open Green arrow flashes Bell chimes Doors part Eyes glare at me
By KA Stefana 3 years ago in Poets
Dancing Distraction
Dancing around the room until my head is spinning, Is the music going to stop? I'm supposed to be working? Singing along, the lyrics are alluring,
By Carol Ann Townend3 years ago in Poets
Eternal Pawprints
In twilight's fading woofs of day, A tale unfolds, my paw's dismay. A faithful friend, now pawed and weak, A woof who longed his bark to speak.
By Miguel Ramirez3 years ago in Poets
Morning meditation
Dawn of a new day It starts with the sun Summoning warmth to all of the cracks in the pavement Trembling fingers of light
By Lovin3 years ago in Poets
Tunnel Dust
Dark Dingy Dank The underground Avoid the tunnel dust As the train Roles into the station Passengers scurry
By KA Stefana 3 years ago in Poets
Acrostic Distractions
1st Distraction) Disastrously Insistent on Such Terrible Retention-- Allowing Consciousness To Insist On Nothing
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
A Semi-Sonnet
When the lotus-brain was glutted on blood with roots steeped in mud-- thunder laced the rain which ran down the main
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
A Blank Sonnet
A (mostly) unrhymed sonnet framing the Renaissance mentality of blaming the god of love for one's poisonous infatuation. whoever wants to see how a little god surmounts me
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
FANTASY AND BEYOND ;A JOURNEY INTO THE UNKNOWN
Once upon a time, in a world beyond our own, there lived a young woman named Lyra. She was a skilled warrior, a fierce protector of her people, and she had a secret - she was a Magikin, a person with the power to control the elements. Specifically, Lyra had the power of air, and she could summon winds and create powerful gusts that could knock down even the strongest opponents.
By Ahmed Mughal3 years ago in Poets
A Story Can Be Told
There is magic in our minds, In spaces, places, faraway forests, villages, valleys, and streams; There is magic in a field, where the sweet grass grows, animals feed, and where the sun beams down its glorious rays.
By Carol Ann Townend3 years ago in Poets
No Pain No Gain
I’ll watch on with glee as you try to control me laugh as you’re thrown on the ground tossed around I am the champion
By J. Jay3 years ago in Poets
the system stressed
intellectual astronauts and hedged have-nots left pinching and squeezing pennies from economics that work exactly as designed, psycho-babblingly crafted complexity to disguise how simple it all could be. and if it were anything else that outlived it's use, it would be shot with a quickness, according to uh, 'merican tradition: overkill, like the indigenous and law enforcement; elementary schools and movie theaters; the slave trade and eminent domain; ignorance and white privilege; talk about us and them. violently bound, forceful and civilly homogenous. karen and the bible belt want what's best for everyone, but fuck mental health, the immigrants, the welfare state, communists and snowflakes, and the inmates in our prisons? time will not only tell, it also shows. it demonstrates and dictates all at once. every dilated lifecycle we might ever know will always only be a thing that grows with-on it. our world is a vampire, but the universe is a barnacle, and i am an all-seeing sponge. deep stem extraction, fabled and haphazard- marching closer to where i think i will find god before death. and before i know it i am back where i started, as if i never left but a lifetime had passed since i was at home anywhere. even if you know the truth it still sounds good to feel it, and even if you can't see it all the time you know it's there, that nobody is special. not even the meek. it's just a numbers game when the bubble pops, dressed rehearsal apocalypse. don't blame me- i don't even work here, conscientiously abject.
By ⸘jason alan‽3 years ago in Poets