Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
Beneath a sky where fire meets peace, The crimson sun begins to cease, Its bleeding light on waters still, A hush upon the island hill.
By Fazal Malik7 months ago in Poets
He found the stream one early morning where sunlight pooled beneath the trees and bent to drink but caught a face so beautiful he couldn't breathe
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
I do not always speak the things that coil and churn beneath my smile the war just to exist, to breathe without a price affixed to every breath.
By Cadma7 months ago in Poets
Upon a pedestal carved in grace, Where shadows dance and stars embrace, A wand of power, old and wise, Stirs silence with enchanted sighs.
In twilight’s hush, upon worn wood, An ancient tome in silence stood. Its pages curled with whispered age, Yet danced like spirits on a stage.
In a velvet night where silence hums, A magician stands — the showman comes. With eyes like still and stormless seas, He bends the stars with practiced ease.
In the hush of a moonlit sigh, so deep, Where stars above and waters sleep, A single rose begins to weep— Its petals hold a dream to keep.
In the hush of dusk, a figure stands, A whisper carved by unseen hands. No face, no name—just shape and shade, A soul where silent storms cascade.
There lies an old secret in flowers so still, No face to be seen, yet hearts they thrill. The bouquet she held with fingers so mild,
Some poets write for applause. Andrea Gibson wrote so people would survive. This is my tribute to them and my personal response as someone who once whispered pain into pages
By Jawad Ali7 months ago in Poets
She lifts the flowers to the sky, so wide, As if her heart with them would glide. A scarf of peace, a robe of grace, No sorrow dwells upon her face.
In silence born, in silence fall, A whisper rolling down the wall Of cheeks that once held pride so high— Now drenched beneath a weeping sky.
