Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
An old grandfather clock chimes, the late hours of night, but i pay no attention to how many times. An empty bottle of wine is nearly full of ashes overflowing, a few butts still smoldering.
By Kevin Klabon5 years ago in Poets
THE GREAT MARCH. Whiteness blinds my sight So white, it hurts my eyes
By Giovanni Profeta5 years ago in Poets
cool crisp dry eight pm end of summer air feels smells tastes like the climate of my childhood and the cul de sac where summers
By Russell Cordner5 years ago in Poets
It is the place that holds me safe and sound Where mind finds peace and heart is wholly fed And no worries, shame, nor terror do hound
By McKenna Castleberry5 years ago in Poets
London Scoffs & Ancient Lands - Written By Cassandra Bochsler Chelsea Personally I’ve always lived in… A home that felt warm
By Cassandra Bochsler 5 years ago in Poets
Walking back slowly to my kingdom I grab the knob gently and turn it with grace. It receives my entrance and brightens my face.
By Tamika Morrison Okeleke5 years ago in Poets
Home We are two 50-year old women Relearning How to roller skate On my mother’s Smooth, concrete driveway, Giggling like ten year old girls
By Devon Deming5 years ago in Poets
That sentimental moment when time stopped completely, Lastly returned to the home I once loved so dearly. Memories flooding with that certain smell in the air,
By Imola Q5 years ago in Poets
There is a place that whispers, hidden edges in the din, Unseen by eyes focused tightly, squinting on patterns bleak, oppressive, looming,
By Kristy Ockunzzi-Kmit5 years ago in Poets
A word of comfort, or loving touch is given, And I am met by hugs as I come in. I feel the joy so swiftly warm my heart, That in a wave, it floods my every part.
By Erica Nicolay5 years ago in Poets
Caught in this joy—it overpowers me, Lifted from chains, I’ve been set free. Like iron fetters falling from the freed, They’ve been thrown off, cast into the sea.
Two twisted, broken things lay on his bed. He sat there pitifully, and cried, “They’re dead!” I could not understand what made him cry.
