We will rise from the ashes

We’re not doing just one anthology… We’re building a series. Starting now, every single month, we will be hosting a brand new anthology inside The Art of Poetry. That means: 📚 More opportunities to get published🔥 More chances to grow as a writer. 🖋️ More moments where your voice is seen and heard This isn’t something you wait around for anymore. This is something you can be part of—every month. Different themes. Different energy. Same mission… Turning poets into published authors. And yeah… I’ll say it again because it matters: 👉 Join the Art of Poetry today… become a published author tomorrow. We’re just getting started. Let’s build something people can’t ignore.

I wrote this in September as my first attempt at a childrens poem... "Build Your Own Fun" Oh dear! Oh dear! Come over near, I have a story you'd love to hear. A tale of two girls, strong and bold, surviving the storm, the blistering cold. One with locks of golden brown, the other always wearing a crown. They shovel and pile the snow all around, singing and dancing, making a glorious sound. The brown haired girl, older and bolder, her little sister saw her as a soldier. One who could fight this cold from outside, so that they were no longer left to hide. On this very cold November day, they dug and built their worries away. Determined to construct their fort of safety, then gather warmly inside to eat something tasty. When the world is ever so hard to handle, and it's too cold to wear your favorite sandals, don't give up on the hope for some fun, as it can be had, even without the sun. So, no matter what the world gives to you, don't let it leave you feeling blue. For within you is the power to be glad, even on the hard days when you're feeling quite sad. ©️ Amy Lynn 9/3/25

"What Is Poetry" To express oneself, truly and completely, no longer hiding away your emotions discreetly. To reveal yourself and your quiet vulnerability, to find oneself and create some stability. To release the terror, the fear, the guilt, to not allow your hard earned hope to wilt. To remember times long past, good and bad, to reflect on your emotions, happy and sad. To describe a world you feel different within, to forgive yourself and let go of those past sins. For me, to write poetry isn't as much an art, as it is a new and brightly lit fresh start. To healing and conquering all of life's battles, It is my horse, freshly brushed and ready for saddle. It is my voice when I can't speak the words, when I feel unseen, or mistakenly unheard. So hear me out through my true release, if you wish to know me, of this, I beg, please. ©️ Amy Lynn 1/16/26

"Once" I once was an evil queen, donning gowns adorned with jewels, living a life of fame and fortune, under noone else's rule. I spent my days filled with food and spirits, quite immense revelry, the nights were a blur of pleasure and lust, truly intense devilry. I once was a mere peasant, donning tattered fabric scraps, running to and from the distant towne square, getting in my laps. I spent my time hustling for every last bit of food and drop of wine, then hurry back to my humble abode, ready to relax and to dine. I once was a giddy jester, donning bright colors to ever please my majesty, she would whoop and holler, laugh and cry, then call me a lowly travesty. My life was solely run by my sinful Queens ridiculous requests, under the moonlight I would be free of her as she quietly rests. I once was a dark executioner, donning simple robes made to last, I would play out any punishment that my royalty had so cast. My eyes were filled with blood and tears, memories of the gallows, attempting to quiet the screams and cries, my thoughts never shallow. I once was a dueling knight, donning shiny, mail ridden armor, protecting all of my community, from the leaders to the farmers. I rode my horse and carried my sword, always on the ready, my courage and strength, honor and pride, ever so steady. I once was a little girl, donning dresses of blue and yellow flowers, I would get lost in my thoughts, day dreaming of my magical powers. Often I would play out each part of the cast above from medieval times, then read my books of poetry, soaking in the well crafted rhymes. Now I am a woman all grown up, donning whatever I so choose, the magical wonder of the youth, my imagination I did not lose. My hours are completly full, permeated with a mixture of positivity and pain, I've battled much, loved and lost, through writing I've broken life's chains. ©️ Amy Lynn 4/15/26