vintage

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

Just Wait 'til Mom Gets Home
Just Wait ‘til Mom Gets Home By Cleve Look what you’ve done in the bathroom Toothpaste, brushes, and paper on the floor
By Cleve Taylor 5 years ago in Poets
“home”
I miss the sense of what it felt like to be home, at one point it was sitting between my mother and father, muzzled next to them,
By Isabella Vedro5 years ago in Poets
open doors
first moment on earth ..... wrapped in my nursing blanket so tight in my mothers arms safety, was all i felt to know this person holding me would love me for whatever becomes of me;
By Gerina Hill5 years ago in Poets
Mirror Images. Top Story - September 2021.
Deep within the mirror I see you captured there My every line your wisdom Your laughter, your prayer. I see what life has given you
By Marie McGrath5 years ago in Poets
I am coming home
It is time for me to come home to the place that I love. Into that car I go to travel that long way home. The roads will be long and the place that stays along the way.
By Terri Rosall5 years ago in Poets
Character Voices
I look beyond the myst and see The voices that were calling me; Loud, and gentle, whispered, and shrill, They’ve often called me at their will.
By Erica Nicolay5 years ago in Poets
Poem #3
Oh, father, my father How I yearn for your presence How I toddle in your steps No longer worthy of your presence I dwelt in your house at dawn
By Atomic Historian5 years ago in Poets
Grandma's Old Mirror
That little mirror carved out of wood, intricately designed, layers of dust, gathering on the artsy curvatures, lying, lying somewhere in the rubble of unused items in the house,
By somsubhra banerjee5 years ago in Poets
A Maid at the New Yorker Cleans Room 3327
Pigeon feathers don’t faze me. Nor numbers. Isn’t three just another name for God? Tesla’s no god, no devil either
By Lori Lamothe5 years ago in Poets
That Old Lady
As the slow-motion tramcar meandered through the busy streets, my eyes perched on the houses that keep moving behind me, in a whisker,
By somsubhra banerjee5 years ago in Poets
Rhythm, Imagery, and Metaphor
The free-verse poetry of Langston Hughes was at the forefront of a great cultural awakening known as the Harlem Renaissance. By writing in free verse he was able to put a strong emphasis on ideas without being constrained to a certain metrical form. His lucid imagery painted vivid portraits of life, while his use of metaphor let him be subversive without alienating his mainstream audience. It was the interplay of these three elements - imagery, metaphor, and rhythm - that defined the poetry of Langston Hughes. His unique take on poetry not only made him an icon but also completely altered the poetic form.
By Mack Devlin5 years ago in Poets
Romanville
My gray home, Romanville Lies where the railroads meet Long kisses and teary goodbyes on its platforms Home of the homeless
By Lola Sense5 years ago in Poets