art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Artistic Mind
Hey, ever had a dream that just doesn’t seem to go away. like gum that got caught in your hair and you have to cut it out but a few days later you realize it’s still there. then you laugh at your silly-ness and shake your head. You see we’re all a bit silly in our own funny ways, like a fish out of water as it flops around as if trying to walk, it’s silly. But anyways, we all have dreams that just don’t go away. I remember at the age of 6 and 7 I wanted to be a Dunkin Donuts employee just because my dad loved the place so much, i thought that making coffee and grabbing donuts was such a successful idea. Truth be told that’s just silly. I realize now I have many dreams that jump back and forth at each other like they’re wrestling in my head to fight for the upper hand with their own dream becoming reality. Now that’s up to me as I put my pencil or paintbrush to a rendered tree surface letting my mind flow through my nerve endings from my brain to my hand where colors and images will appear right before my pupils. Here and soon my minds in front of me and that idea has won the battle that goes on inside my mind as if it were training for days on end like an olympic swimmer who swims for hours to win that gold medal. But then, soon the miracles of an electronic structure that holds mirrors and lights inside it to project an image in the form of thousands of particles called pixels that portray pictionary proportions of color and contrast that contradict the real image that is seen. Now mind you, soon that image is photoshopped to perfection for the appealing of others because we don’t like to see the real thing anymore. But who am I to say that taking an image and merging it into something new with just a few swipes of a pen I’d say that’s pretty fantastic.
By Zoe Mullen8 years ago in Poets
Existence
Imagine a world without me... A world where my smile was faded, my eyes were grey as an old woman's hair, where my body was floating like a feather when it falls from a beautiful bird... imagine me without freedom, with my broken wings trying to fly back to the highest mountains, a day when it misses the sun, a night when It has lost the moon, an amazing garden that ended up losing the most precious flowers, where the bees got vanished and leaves dried when autumn arrived. Imagine a world where my heart was locked and frozen inside, where my soul was trapped in a maze full of sadness and my mind was cloistered for years, now.... imagine a world where I exist, your world... imagine me in your reality, in your life! Imagine me... Alive!
By Sónia Mendez Fullmoon8 years ago in Poets
Get Better
I've been told the only way to get better at writing is to write. How can I write though when the words escape me? Fluttering away before I can place pen to paper. Before I can grab a napkin and scribble out the words of untold truths. How can I write? When my best ideas are nothing but shadows on the wall, placed by the full moon and blurry eyes. When the stories and feelings only come to me in dreams and then as soon as I awaken they fade away as the night does at dawn. How can I improve? When the only word I can use to describe a hallway is dim. Dim like the author attempting to create a bland world completely void of color or inspiration. When each word becomes an agonizing torture for not only the hand of the author but the brain of the reader. Yet, still, here I am trudging along. Pushing word after word as if my brain is nothing but a factory of toys destined to be sold for nothing less than pennies a pop. When in reality the ink used to write these words are more valuable than the words themselves. Perhaps, I am nothing but a hapless fool doomed to forever view myself as an untalented hack or maybe someday some light will be shed on the words and thoughts I've strung together and I will at last feel as though I have made a slight improvement. Time will tell. Until then, how will I write my next piece?
By Christopher Foster8 years ago in Poets
