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Summer eveningA Poem by Vanessa TweneboahVisual response poem of the painting Summer evening by Childe Hassam, 1886. |
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The Moon, The Sun, The EarthA Poem by CrimsonHintsI breathe in the celestial plains. I walk on rings enveloped in gold and cast upon clouds.I am pulled from the air, molded in dirt, spun in water and .. |
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Truly Hear MeA Poem by TyTruly Hear Me |
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Warmly DarkA Poem by VoidlessGrassy fields and dimmed colors Populated by deer and flora Wind letting grass dance and Tress blindly following its lead Mountains breaking the.. |
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A Winter WalkA Poem by J. A. PerkinsA poem about winter |
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Life's TheoryA Poem by G. WritingSeeing the world as I grow in my human form. Experiencing life for what it is. Starting my journey for what it is destined to be. |
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Marsh Marigold's ReflectionsA Poem by E.P. RoblesAh, lo! the moistened surface holds such limpid bubbles!And pale, deep gold does cover made-up flower beds;green faded dresses of little girls are wil.. |
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SO ANCIENT AS BECOMES FOSSIL POETRYA Poem by E.P. RoblesThe phrase "So ancient as becomes fossil poetry" seems to imply that the work of great poets from the past has become fossilized, preserved for future.. |
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DYING IN BEDA Poem by E.P. RoblesThis poem explores themes of passion, death, and the blurred lines between pain and pleasure. |
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WHO ROBBED THESE TENDER WORDSA Poem by E.P. Robles"Who Robbed These Tender Words" is a introspective poem that reflects on the silent theft of the speaker's deepest emotions and experiences. |
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Strong HeartA Poem by E.P. RoblesThis poem delves into the poet's perspective as he embraces the darker aspects of human nature and find inspiration in the flaws and vices of others. |
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A CIRCUS CALLED SPRINGTIMEA Poem by E.P. RoblesMy heart thawing. |
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CALAMUS SCRIBAE VELOCITER SCRIBENTIS (ode of Forgo..A Poem by E.P. RoblesThis is poetry. |
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A HUNDRED POEMS - XXXIVA Poem by E.P. RoblesIt is poetry. |
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LONG ANGELUS IS SILENTA Poem by E.P. Robles? |
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ONOMATOPOEIC WORDSA Poem by E.P. RoblesSee note for reviewers |
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The CorpseA Poem by E.P. RoblesTHERE as still and quiet as dead. Sleeping...? Yes. The walls had grown used to the scene. The dreams tired of the same actors with different .. |
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