vintage

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

A. R. Ambrosi8 days ago
Windows 95
There are endless reflections Of my former selves Versions of truth Like previous versions Of an operating system That no one likes to think about What was once cutting edge Is now outdated Embarrassi...
VS
Victoria Shaw13 days ago
An Unlikely Pilgrim
From the Princess’s Prologue Alone in her travels throughout the night Was a lass whose skin so pure and light Born of royal blood when snow lay fresh Same day her father been laid to rest Untouched b...
Rose Reade19 days ago
Paradise Lost
Paradise has not been lost, but found again, In time, in every sleeping second, Weathered by the grinding of sin’s teeth We are exiled, to paradise. I have seen the inch of skin that reeks at me Betwe...
K Ma month ago
Place for You
(German perspective) There's a place for you, But I refuse to believe I can forgive you For your disgusting atrocities. Wicked storms arise to strike the masses The cost of doing nothing causes Superi...
Jamie Wilkinsona month ago
Sonata
Eulogy to a player piano played only by mice. Strings twang untuned as little ones scurry from A to B flat. The dusky sonata of wood-chip cherubs with wormy tails. Nestled between keys dotted with dro...
Jamie Wilkinsona month ago
Blouse
Her blouse is livid with loose ends of string intertwined like feasting garden-worms. That pompous scuffed tortoise-shell button swinging from a sagging polyester lapel. That feathered coffee stain fr...
Rose Wolfea month ago
Rebirth
In the edges of darkness, a fire blazes. A masking color of orange consuming the skies. Black clouds blot out the moon and stars. It spreads farther and farther, collapsing wood and bushes, consuming ...
Jamie Wilkinsona month ago
Papyrus
The withered planes of aged papyrus read like shallow pools of cryptic braille. Alleviating the curiosity of tentative fingertips, bringing history to budding flesh. Oil paintings with grease-splotch ...
King's Honour
It was his birth right, what was rightfully his, it seems His spot on the throne his father once sat upon It took more than a birth right to make him King though It was his strength, his courage It to...
Jamie Wilkinsona month ago
Home
Walls coloured custard with faded silk stripes, edges eaten into threads by starving insects. Crying from dank, rot-punctured ceilings, the deafening drips of porous pipes. Billowing drapes of drowsy ...
Jamie Wilkinsona month ago
Ruins
The colossal pillars of chipped marble Stand together like jilted lovers, Sharing secrets in stiffness, And crumbling. Standing here, With fractures of glory, And the great richness of loss, We may fi...
Oliver Rinda month ago
The Painter
She cradled the brush twixt her fore and thumb Where she graphed a waltz on a woven cloth; A headland conjured with verdurous swaths O’erlooked the ocean that miles plumbed. The painter’s hand that eb...
Jesi Sina month ago
Flame
The flames that burn inside my heart, Are the same as the fires that dwell in hell. Burning me from inside out. It hurts so bad, It burns so hot. Why can't this hate stop? The flames lick my hatred, S...
Jamie Wilkinsona month ago
Tea Time
Tea bags still soaking in chipped porcelain, pecking at cracks, and caressing stains that linger in molars. Finely ground specs, those murky lovers swim in slow circles, synchronized spirals that sing...
Why I Love Lord Byron
Let me start this off by saying I am a person who doesn’t like poetry all that much. Sure, at this point in my life, I can be mature and respect poetry as a sophisticated craft of literature, but back...
Rachel Lescha month ago
Women In Early British Poetry
It is often said that a good story is timeless, but the best literature can also provide an insight into the time and place in which it was created, specifically its values and attitudes. The period s...
Michael Gallegosa month ago
In the Way of Shakespeare
What weakness is there, Such of flesh and man, Binding both mind and meat, To drag senses mad. To drive sad a heart, And leave regret as repose. Of truth, the world lays bare, Many a perfect feast, To...
Daniel Wade2 months ago
Colossi
When the winding sheet of history coils Stiffly around handrail and chimney stack, I’ll be reminded it’s no longer enough To write poetry, to build monuments From toothed stanzas to the splintering eg...