Only the Classics
The roots from which poetry as we know it has flourished. Taking you back to the classical era, one stanza at a time.
Within the Gardens of Hell
I have laid awake beneath the weight Of nameless Gods staring upon my body. Shivering at my limbs intertwining their own.
Wyatt ManlovePublished 7 years ago in PoetsWild Woman
She is a wild woman She leaves her hair loose And sometimes twigs catch in it As she walks forest trails With eyes turned skyward
A. R. AmbrosiPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSt. Stephen
You find me inconsolable at the top of the stairs The end of a necklace in my hand We search and search and you tell me to pray to St. Stephen
Pip O'NeillPublished 7 years ago in PoetsCry of the Abyss
Heard a cry from the abyss Down, down I sought to save Farther on than rising mist Heard a wail that came in waves I carry on to that descent
Daniel ColePublished 7 years ago in PoetsLost Spring Home
Pebble dash walls, lined with cold black gutters. Blue slate floors clash with red brick walls. Bees hum around the rosemary, basil and chives whilst plant pots sit guarding in all different shapes and size.
Fred HermesPublished 7 years ago in Poets- Top Story - September 2017
The Exotic Artist
Theatricality formed through millennial evolution which is excessive as it is easily donned. Is only begotten through hospitable elements able to see this show go on in its artistic ways.
Jose GabrielPublished 7 years ago in Poets Battlefield Awakening
I’m up Standing in a field of ash Blood poured out my heart Wounded deeply I lift my sword Behold the cavalry arrived For I was a boy in a mans game
Blake Theau ThorPublished 7 years ago in PoetsRose
Leave it be, so others could admire its beauty. It's very tempting to pick, but once you have it in your possession, it'll wither away from admirable oppression.
Messiah BrownPublished 7 years ago in PoetsViola
Orsino: For women are as roses, whose fair flower Being one displayed, doth fall that very hour. Viola: And so they are: alas, that they are so;
Rose ReadePublished 7 years ago in PoetsParadise Lost
Paradise has not been lost, but found again, In time, in every sleeping second, Weathered by the grinding of sin’s teeth
Rose ReadePublished 7 years ago in PoetsStained Glass
Brushes dipped in a soul of colours a cornucopia of shaded swirls grace the canvas — the light reflects — Glistening beams of the moon
Valentyna HollowayPublished 7 years ago in PoetsI Shall Rescue Thee
Come away with me, and be mine, And I shall show you the wonders of my world We have all this life forever a time, Let me lift you into the sky with my wings unfurled
Anna PalmerPublished 7 years ago in Poets