vintage

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

The Library's Aroma
Scents of past eras linger on pages; their words surpassing authors.
By J. R. Lowe4 years ago in Poets
The Eternal Dance of the Stars
In the vast expanse of the universe, Where galaxies swirl and stars disperse, There's a dance that's been ongoing for eons,
By thamee 164 years ago in Poets
Sant Garibdas Ji Maharaj
Sant Garibdas Ji Maharaj was a spiritual teacher and poet who lived in India during the 18th century. He was born in the village of Chhudani in the state of Haryana, and is considered to be one of the most important figures in the Bhakti movement. The Bhakti movement emphasized the devotion to God as the path to liberation. Garibdas Ji Maharaj's teachings focused on the importance of developing a personal relationship with God through meditation, prayer, and devotion. He also stressed the need for compassion and kindness towards all living beings, and emphasized the unity of all religions and faiths.
By DWS animation4 years ago in Poets
Oh, where have you gone
Tic tic tic, it goes slipping through my fingertips where have you gone, friend? Photo Credit
By Ruby Estelle 4 years ago in Poets
You Wore It Well
Vintage pearl necklace Talk over wine and chocolate Jazz music steers ship
By Allie Bickerton4 years ago in Poets
Forever We'll Stay, Friends Along the Way
Nature, how grand and wise, Endless beauty before our eyes, Rivers that flow, and mountains high, Such a sight, makes one sigh.
By Word Weaver 4 years ago in Poets
Pointless
why Are you running? They already won the race Might as well slow down.
By Meli Remborn4 years ago in Poets
Sleeping Cat
A lovely sweet cat, I've seen you playing around. Now, I see you sleep!
By Halden Mile4 years ago in Poets
A Quiet Evening
It is a late night. All the labors are completed. It's now time to rest.
By Halden Mile4 years ago in Poets
A very short haiku wherein no allusions to accidental parking lot construction reveal a green copper box disinterred 73 years too early from the base of an abandoned war monument...
You drilled past old scabs to shames (jacks-in-a-box crouched); unwittingly sprung.
By Frank D'Andrea4 years ago in Poets
Time
Thinking about time.- Not knowing, that time runs out.- Wanting, to go back-AK
By Adrianne Kirksey4 years ago in Poets
under
the dark underlines highlighted by another still forget their weight
By Jon Hastings4 years ago in Poets