Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
Faded days of youth flicker like a silent movie Memories weakened from replays, over and over Sanguine, happy times — wild swimming
By Rosy Gee4 years ago in Poets
It must be morning The darkness must’ve fled For I was dreaming dreams But now they’ve disappeared A victim of the light
By L5 years ago in Poets
I stepped from out the open door Into my hallway, dark and long, Then down the way of the pitch staircase, Lantern in hand, I hummed a song.
By Erica Nicolay5 years ago in Poets
I am going to do this as a double Haibun which is a prose poem followed by a Haiku My prose poem is just descriptive prose , so here goes , Oh and a Haiku doesn't have to rhyme.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 5 years ago in Poets
I am not a poet My brain does not work in rhyme Very rarely am I inspired to write a poem So many do it so much better than I
By Hadayai Majeed aka Dora Spencer5 years ago in Poets
Looking over the horizon Glide toward a destination linked up like Verizon Finding true shape in focus threw view That set the tone for so many to pursue
By Blake Robert5 years ago in Poets
Revisiting Memories of my first home once, Not suppressed, But no longer prominent Within my hippocampus, Bring me sepia summers
By Kelsey Clement5 years ago in Poets
For a long time my home was haunted. My bones, I mean, were haunted. Inside of my bones drips the story of my great grandfather, a ghost of a man I never met.
By Darby5 years ago in Poets
There’s a fine line between surrender and submersion while gliding through the bluest of skies. The elevation from sea level to the empty space above the clouds slips with the slow descent into the green valley between the slate grey and blue mountains, confusing the experience of being high.
By Jenna W.5 years ago in Poets
Two Years Old: Bliss and confusion Five Years Old: The wonder of a Lilliputian Ten Years Old: A cheery illusion Fifteen Years Old: Apathetic seclusion
By Stu Haack5 years ago in Poets
Home, a four letter word just the same as my name. Home is a love that won't change. Technically home is a description and an emotion.
By John K5 years ago in Poets
Particles of fairy dust The sun sparkle that catches the glint of mischevious Hinted in his eyes The shawdowed mystical
By Melissa Eaves5 years ago in Poets
