vintage

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

A. R. Ambrosi2 years ago
Media
I remember the shine of compact discs Using them as makeup mirrors Applying lipstick with giggling friends While another CD Blasted out music from the stereo I remember the warning "Do not touch the l...
R
Rachael 2 years ago
The Brown Ceramic Mug
Quietly sitting on an old wooden chair, I hear the hum of the machine heating the water in the brown ceramic mug. Darkness creeps through the window blanketing the small room as I rise to retrieve the...
Cierra Merryman2 years ago
Fairytales
As children, we are told stories, Of monsters and dragons, And evil witches trying to kill good people, Stories of prince charming, Coming to rescue the princess in distress, When we get older we tend...
Joshua Scott2 years ago
Mother Says
Another day at school and I am ready to retreat As the bell rings, I grab my things and head on down the street I stop by a soda shop nearby and get myself a pop I make my way outside, I see a bench a...
A. R. Ambrosi2 years 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 Shaw2 years 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 Reade2 years 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 M2 years 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 Wilkinson2 years 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 Wilkinson2 years 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...
Starlight Wolfe2 years 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 Wilkinson2 years 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 Wilkinson2 years 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 Wilkinson2 years 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...
Jesi Sin2 years 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 Wilkinson2 years 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...