vintage

Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.

Mirrors of Mist
Misty Mirror Man Shaving this morning I espied in my mirror an unfamiliar face Mimicking my every expression, occupying a similar space
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Poets
Bum crack at the (Albury) Base
When sickness takes a hold of you and health is not the best. The hospital can be the spot to help get well and rest. But sterile walls can get you down – a dreary sort of place.
By Dane Fuller3 years ago in Poets
Run Home For Life
We lose people as we go. It's because of this that we grow. But we’re never ready to say goodbye. So instead, we say - till we see you next time!
By Arriel3 years ago in Poets
Beautiful fields
The fields of my hometown are not as charming as gardens, but they are king in the nearby city. Its picturesque scenery, as if a pure girl, bring people can never erase the impression.
By leyr Guerra3 years ago in Poets
The Birth
I feel my soul before I come to know it. A scintilla of light attuned to the vibrations of previously perceived emptiness. I am unaware of the friction that originated this spark, however, the comfort surrounds me as a mother's amauti engulfs her child that if I should truly seek this causation of origin I would arrive in it's understanding with an ovation of wisdom. A dance lasting forever, and never...
By Steçi3 years ago in Poets
After spending the morning in a daze, I said to myself that it is necessary to waste half a day like this
A kind of unspeakable gentle sadness surged up It takes strong faith to accomplish something. It also needs fierce prayers.
By Mcadam Ramos3 years ago in Poets
Over-dressed
Wearing something cold for the winter Summer couldn’t come too soon and the linen is smooth, Cigarette stains on the shirts of the kids that were cool smell the fumes that they flick of the roof
By Luke Stevens3 years ago in Poets
25 Minutes on the Far Side of the Moon
You, the thirteenth Apollo, pen presumptive, head for the lunar orb to write of what is written on her pale face. Bits break away until you are naught but a stub. Regardless, you tumble through inhospitable tracts. Regardless, you aim for the oft-lauded landscape.
By D. Thea Baldrick4 years ago in Poets
The Parade
Noiseless confetti blowing over dirty bare toes where joyful chaos recently was; an invisible wall between here and back there
By Tammy Castleman4 years ago in Poets
Star Demolition
The stars are lined with wishes that pop off one by one like cheap firecrackers. They terrify the young Fates who jump away, forgetting they were
By Ari Gold4 years ago in Poets
Ode to Getting Old
Ode to Getting Old By: Jonathan Hinternish Getting old it sucks you see. You cannot think. You cannot see.
By Jonathan Hinternish4 years ago in Poets
Something Small
A simple blue glass container With a top that looks like a feather It's triangular and fits in the palm of your hand And dust filling the ridges that will never leave
By Kodi4 years ago in Poets