Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
I am the great mother, giver of all fertility. I am the source of life through love making life is created. I am the goddess of sexuality
By Danielle Mosley4 years ago in Poets
Try to imagine what might have happened If Bonnie and Clyde had escaped again Given a chance to turn their lives around Taking advantage of hard-fought freedom.
By Yvonne Lovejoy4 years ago in Poets
You moved by the rhythm, The rhythm I've created, I crawled by the movement of a beam, The beam you have shredded, Can you feel the heat from the palm of the Cajuputi tree?
By istdennisa4 years ago in Poets
In my mind, a kingdom is; So many joys there, I discover. That it surpasses all other pleasures That which the earth provides or grows in kind:
By Chaitanya Babu4 years ago in Poets
A good glass of wine, to end the night. That's what I call, a really good time. A good glass of wine, to end the day--
By Laurel Mayfield4 years ago in Poets
No more tearing down Time to build up Premonitions become tangible Past life was entirely corrupt No more trading punches with the heart of darkness
By Eddie Heath4 years ago in Poets
Armed not with that ravenous appetite Of bloodlust, of us, us. The humming leading to glorified murder – but a camera.
By Abigail Sire 4 years ago in Poets
I speak to myself - Also in the same medium Of marker paper - The phone ringing in the background And a blender machine (that was broken for a month)
Tunes, melodies, lullabies, soft and sweet. Fill the air when that time of year is near. White snow falls cover the ground like a sheet;
By Ashtyn Rae4 years ago in Poets
For some, a soldier's weapon it is And many, a soft coated balancing skin When the music dances, the ballerina chooses her flow
By Noorain Hassan4 years ago in Poets
Yea verily... Thou art incendiary The sole proclivity Take as gospel whenst I speak My desires are unique. . Withal an ocean distantly
By Tinka Boudit She/Her4 years ago in Poets
It was in reaching for the cake spoon that divisions between the remembrances began a recipe I was not considering. Were there hundreds of cups of flour measured over time for Mama
By The Dani Writer4 years ago in Poets
