art

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

Say It...Out Loud
I love it and I hate it, it's a constant fight, and sometimes I'll still choose it on an indecisive movie night. The glittering skin, red-eyed glares,
By Madison "Maddy" Newton3 years ago in Poets
Expression
What am I doing, But expressing A thought? • I can promise you one thing And that's that I'm Not • Saying much of anything
By Ryan Giese3 years ago in Poets
A Writer's Cage
Staring at an empty page... As I slowly build a silent rage... My fists clenched tight... Oh what to write... Trapped inside a writer's cage...
By Dylan 3 years ago in Poets
The Music
This is the truth, try not to confuse it I feel at peace, when I turn on my music Something in the song I forgot what was wrong
By Dylan 3 years ago in Poets
The Pianist
The pianist is playing his keys With dreams of sailing the seas To put on a show For all who will go Life is all but a dream
By Dylan 3 years ago in Poets
an undefined mind
writing is the only form of madness that renders me sane --- Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer and tattoo artist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.
By Stevi-Lee Alver3 years ago in Poets
Breaking Taboos: A Love Story
As your love for me begins to bloom, My heart finds a place to consume, We'll leave behind taboos of old, And let our passion take a hold.
By Elijah Ebinum3 years ago in Poets
Life is frosting?
Sometimes life is exhausting We use up our time without knowledge of what it is costing The struggle is real To tell you how I feel
By Dylan 3 years ago in Poets
Winter Feast
The table was laid with a feast Of food from a thousand miles East. But winter was hot, And nobody thought Of how every train-car was greased.
By Billy G. James 3 years ago in Poets
Beloved Beauty
Behold, beyond, beauty Breathless, blissful, bold Boundless, bright, beguiling Benevolent, bliss, beholden - Beneath, bewildered, burning
By Elysia Dawn3 years ago in Poets
The Hardworking Priest
I once met a simple young priest Who also worked five jobs at least. When I asked why, He started to cry, And told me how prices increased.
By Billy G. James 3 years ago in Poets
Dune
Cinnamon sands breathe an ocean, tame but wild and echoing within my skin I am a reflection of your longing, A palace of copper stolen from the mouths of silent archetypes I burn from your touch though I do not feel your distance, I move at your kiss, though it is felt in the sight of sound I overwhelm through the power of my forces of nature; I am like lightning moving in summer Though I am gentle. I will never blind you with the stutter of my flesh.
By Elysia Dawn3 years ago in Poets