vintage

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

What’s in a Name?
Don’t worry You’re not to blame For I have gone by many a name Three last names Just my first Just my last Sometimes a man, sometimes a woman
By Atomic Historian6 months ago in Poets
Aquarius
Thighs quaking Knees shaking Carrying my jar of clay everyday Arms locked in desperation Imperceptible fatigue as my ribs dig into my spleen
By Atomic Historian6 months ago in Poets
The Search
I’ve searched for you in the ocean I’ve searched for you in the skies I’ve searched for you in other’s eyes I’ve searched for you all our lives
By Atomic Historian6 months ago in Poets
My Grandfather’s House
My Grandfather’s House My grandfather’s house stood strong in stone a place where love was always known the garden hummed with bees at play
By Marie381Uk 6 months ago in Poets
The Language of Falling Leaves
🍂 Introduction: When Nature Teaches Us to Begin Again Every season carries its own poetry, but autumn speaks in a language unlike any other. The falling leaves are not just signs of endings—they are whispers of renewal, reminders that change, though sometimes painful, is necessary for growth.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Poets
POEM - The Unrepentant
I. The Stone Heart He walks where shadows coil like serpents, thick, Through streets that whisper warnings, slick with rain.
By Jacky Kapadia6 months ago in Poets
The First Anchor
Lead—responsibility without constant reward is a challenge accepted at birth. The pillars, tasked with breaking and rebuilding each curse of life with bare hands.
By Marcus Hill6 months ago in Poets
She walks in beauty, like the night…
She walks in beauty, like the night… The street is empty, but she carries the weight of a thousand silent eyes. The kind of beauty you don’t notice all at once,
By अkriति Chaड़k6 months ago in Poets
If life doesn't kill me nostalgia will. AI-Generated.
He sits in the corner of the heart, like a shadow that never leaves its owner. He comes uninvited, in sudden moments of silence, amidst the hustle of work and the noise of life. He is not a passing guest, but a permanent tenant in the apartment of memory, paying his rent with hidden tears and sorrowful smiles. He needs no words; his eyes know everything in the heart before its owner does.
By Manal6 months ago in Poets
You Weren't Wearing Blue
You weren’t wearing blue when we said goodbye. It was raining, or threatening to, The kind of sky that presses down, Like guilt, or a name you never wanted.
By Aspen Noble6 months ago in Poets
A madman
A man that would be ready to give up his soul and his beating heart, believing that mine is worth more is a madman. A heart of a woman that is pure is worth dying for. A soul of a woman that is in need for care and love is worth living for. A sacrifice that can be called a matter of honour is when a loved one sacrificed themselves long before you even knew what a unconditional love means.
By Sleeping Pills 7 months ago in Poets
SUMMER SOLSTICE
Drove the famous Alaska Highway. Road twisting and turning, done without a latte. The route didn't go through Nebraska.
By Babs Iverson7 months ago in Poets