vintage

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

The Windmills In My Living Room
The Windmills In My Living Room Midday is unkind. The vulgar king of the celestial marbles invites his dancers to gatecrash my curtains.
By Konstantinos Andrikopoulos5 years ago in Poets
because you need to let go of something
filling jars with the crooked necks of supermarket tulips, the moon in disciplined orbit tries to sleep. teaching a cowlick to stay down is like colonizing
By Thomas Mattson5 years ago in Poets
A Room Filled with Knickknacks
You can lock every shame in my room That’s what it’s here for Abandoned and bruised And with only used Items From my past immortal heavens
By Moon Desert5 years ago in Poets
"Leda and the Swan": a poem by W B Yeats
W B Yeats’s poem “Leda and the Swan” was published in his 1928 collection “The Tower”, although the poem itself is dated 1923, the year in which he won the Nobel Prize for Literature. It is therefore a poem written at the height of his powers (he was 58 in 1923) and belongs to the period when he was exploring the occult and attempting to explain national and world events within a mystical and symbolic context.
By John Welford5 years ago in Poets
Cornwall Park
Walking through my childhood path In Cornwall Park, The sun sweeps shadows through the gravel And knots of Autumn leaves,
By Emma Sidnam5 years ago in Poets
A Wife in London: a poem by Thomas Hardy
The Poem I She sits in the tawny vapour That the City lanes have uprolled, Behind whose webby fold on fold
By John Welford5 years ago in Poets
I wish
I wish I knew I was in the good old days, before I realized I’d left them. I wish I had been wiser with the time that I was given.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden5 years ago in Poets
Memories of Childhood
Most families struggled when I was a boy But they all stuck together through thick and thin, With a sense of belonging, neighbours weren’t shy
By Eric Harvey5 years ago in Poets
Silent Witness
I came home from Ypres, knocked on the door Down beaten, dishevelled, but they knew the score, Mum cuddled me close when she heard my voice
By Eric Harvey5 years ago in Poets
The Midwife
On that cold foggy morning in fifty eight Sue jumped out of bed, she was once again late, Quickly donned uniform of white and blue
By Eric Harvey5 years ago in Poets
"Dover Beach", a poem by Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold’s (1822-88) major contribution to English literature was as a prose writer, but in his early years he wrote a considerable quantity of poetry, most of it not being particularly good. However, with “Dover Beach” he produced one of the greatest poems of the 19th century, and it deserves its place in popular acclaim.
By John Welford5 years ago in Poets
"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", by Dylan Thomas
The poem Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
By John Welford5 years ago in Poets