vintage

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

In the Photo
In the photo, suspended in time, the cellophane yellows and peels in my hands as it is turned over and over. The date and description on the back,
By A Gonyer7 years ago in Poets
Silent Screen
The faculty of perception is manipulated when Voice’s tremors echoed by a passage wrote by men. It is only here the city lights grow contrasted to see
By Blaise Terese7 years ago in Poets
Let the Winged Fancy Roam...
At times, it is very difficult to appreciate life and all its possibilities because, let’s face it, it can be hard. Often our old enemy "time" gets in the way and we suddenly realise we are years older and no happier. However, the poetry of John Keats reminds us to always treat our moments, however small they are, with the highest quality.
By Eleanor Thirlway8 years ago in Poets
Persephone
Pomegranate juice running down her chin Ebony eyelashes growing wet with tears Realizing She has been deceived Even as the bright, bittersweet tang
By Violet P. Davies8 years ago in Poets
The Bar Piano Man
He wakes up around 2:30 on a weekday, Five PM on a Saturday. If he has to, he gets up to take a piss If not, he stays in bed a while longer
By Dyl Elner8 years ago in Poets
Mess
"I am a mess” I say, more sure of it than before I was 22 And less sure of why. “I am a mess” I say, unapologetically, not seeking councel
By B Day8 years ago in Poets
The Calf
The Calf I’d spotted her early on a Saturday morn She just kinder got my attention She weren’t nothing special, jest another newborn
By CW Miles8 years ago in Poets
My Christmas Carol
I wonder if I were to be visited by 3 Ghosts... What would be the lesson that I would learn most ? Would I change my ways just like Old Ebenezer ?
By Steven Baldry8 years ago in Poets
Upon A Sinking Ship
So be it far from me to dwell on matters such as death, to rue the day I cast off the shackles of life and plunge into those icy blue depths. Perhaps it shall be quick, though I doubt that to be so, for the death which I’ve reaped is far more than I could ever sow. In this fit of ash and chaos that surrounds me, I can’t help but feel the plucking urge to run, but before my time is through, I shall order who ever remains, to fire our ships last remaining gun.
By Mike Day8 years ago in Poets
Boogeymen in My Closets
Boogeymen In My Closets: I. Now I lay me down to sleep Beneath my bed I dare not peek. Under the covers my head to take
By Robyn Welborne8 years ago in Poets
World of Silence...
“Can you think of a world where there is silence everywhere? No outcry, no laughter… No noise at all… All that reigns is deadly silence!!”
By Ria Dutta8 years ago in Poets
Death is Death
There’s only two kinds of people: Those who do this [ ] with Their controller when Super Mario has to jump And dead people.
By David Hoskins8 years ago in Poets