Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
Babinski? Ho! Do I know him? Why ask such questions on a whim? He’s never angry, never cruel… Of course, he only had a duel.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Poets
1977 Three days on, three days off Three nights on, three nights off Each shift twelve hours Christmas included The life of a firefighter
By Lynn Henschel4 years ago in Poets
Brother’s in the army, They took the cows away, And Mother’s working on the farm, But Willie’s here to stay. It gets so lonesome quiet like
“All the ground was wet and cold, And those that traveled were young and old. Of all who came, there was one so bold... One so bold,
You whisper in every ill-prepared ear, “Summer’s over--winter’s here.” You wisp and swirls a mass of thick vapor, Round your victims with dry limbs outstretched--
What is home? The nose knows Of weekend morning coffee wafting up the stairs Mom making French toast all for me My brother, "eggs with yellow in the middle"
By Karli Law4 years ago in Poets
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 4 years ago in Poets
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 Vedro4 years ago in Poets
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 Hill4 years ago in Poets
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 McGrath4 years ago in Poets
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 Rosall4 years ago in Poets
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.
