Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
Before CCTV, We Had Edna and gran Before the cameras, codes and drones We had old Edna, two doors down and Gran She saw it all from lace-trimmed zones
By Marie381Uk 6 months ago in Poets
Traveling gypsy, quite tipsy… on creative juice. Goofy truce, instruments strum, voices hum. Baggy pants swish; an odd potluck rests in familiar porcelain dishes.
By Rowan Finley 6 months ago in Poets
Just because my cover is weathered and torn And my pages are a little worn Don’t look at me and scorn For I’ve been a thousand places
By Atomic Historian6 months ago in Poets
“Let Me Entertain You” "I'm a burning effigy of everything I used to be. You're my rock of empathy, My Dear."
By Chris Z6 months ago in Poets
Some days feel like your brain has packed its bags and gone on vacation without telling you. You wake up, and from that moment on, everything feels off. That is exactly the kind of day we are talking about here a comedy of small mistakes, forgotten chores, and snack cravings, all mixed together into one messy but very real experience.
By Shahzaib6 months ago in Poets
There are Days... Yes, Many Days Indeed... Where I Think about Disappearing. What if I just... Stopped? The Days where the Pressure begins to Break Down the Walls...
By Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, DFM, DHM, DAS (hc)6 months ago in Poets
I remember... In the childhood room with posters and pictures The two of us sat; A loom kit in our hands. * She didn't know
By Lucious6 months ago in Poets
An untethered soul strolls through the wind No end Nowhere to begin Sinking and swimming with the tide Finding any place that will abide their vibe
When I say I miss you, I wish you knew what I meant. It doesn't mean that I simply notice your absence. It means I'm freefalling in the hole you left inside my chest.
By Daniel K6 months ago in Poets
In a meadow kissed by morning light, A blossom stands in silent might, Its petals brushed with amethyst hue, Cradling gold in drops of dew.
By Fazal Malik6 months ago in Poets
In morning’s hush, where whispers weave, A blossom stands with threads of eve. Petals painted—fire and gold, A tale of dawn in silence told.
Perched above the winding blue, Where morning paints the world anew, The eagle stands in solemn grace, A monarch with a timeless face.
