vintage

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

Connecting the dot
You cannot see the road ahead, The path that waits, unknown, unsaid, The dots will only make their shape When time has passed, and fate’s escape
By The Big Bad about a year ago in Poets
THOUGHTS
Was it Summer or Indian Summer? Doesn't really matter. The weather was steamy and hot. As a small child, the woman's demographics were unknown to me.
By Babs Iversonabout a year ago in Poets
Stream of Consciousness
Float, float, float your boat, quietly down the stream, Carefully, carefully, carefully we don't want to sink! Deep, dark, stark is the vicious undertow
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Poets
I was so full of love that I could barely eat
Adorned by the atrocity, bemoaned by the call In the dire stance of existence, the elusiveness of stillness in its mirth had its stall.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets
A Journey of Curiosity Through the Wineglass
As my feet press upon the ancient ground, Centuries of history come alive around. The pathos of Tudor's glass held By lead strips, the Stuart’s grandeur.
By Moon Desertabout a year ago in Poets
Hedonism
You’re my hedonism Your kisses have saved me From my isthmus of sorrow You indulge my whims And I hang on your words Forever tied together
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Father
I used to imagine your face I used to look for you in every place I used to wonder what you were doing But then I realized it was all a waste
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Mind Holding
The kettle sat Long forgotten On the stove, Grime sitting on Once beautiful chrome, A lone scream Echoing down empty hall
By Katrina Thornleyabout a year ago in Poets
Sunrise Symphony
Where am I? Still half-asleep, I fumble, My fingers searching for the snooze, For the silence, for the peace.
By RKabout a year ago in Poets
Hoops of Destiny: The Unseen Legacy
The gym echoed with the rhythmic bounce of a basketball as Elle Thompson dribbled tirelessly across the polished hardwood floor. His eyes, focused and intense, followed the ball with a precision that spoke of years spent mastering the sport. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the distant sounds of a city beyond the gym's walls were mere background noise to Elle’s single-minded pursuit.
By Eladeo Mallettabout a year ago in Poets
Lay the eyes open
When you wake up in the morning and if the sun doesn't shine that doesn't make the morning night Just because it is bright
By Karun about a year ago in Poets
I'm with my thoughts
They saw me sitting alone. They began to judge me. They assumed I was lonely. They believed I needed someone to talk to.
By Gloria Penelopeabout a year ago in Poets