#vintage
I used to enjoy
Writing with and collecting
Vintage fountain pens.
~ Poetictouch
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 6:28 PM UTC
Is been so long
Since you and I
Witnessed the spark
In each others eyes
So long now
Since I've felt your embrace
I can hardly recall
The way that you taste
Take me back
A year or so
Before we decided
To be so old
Now a days
We're like vintage brass
I love the stuff dearly
But it ain't gettin ***
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
your daddy says this world has no place for people like us, but—
what if we watched gray-rain smoke gather where your fingers meet mine and what if when we kiss, my teeth stain tobacco-brown and sharp just for you to taste? i don’t care how many sally’s and susan’s there are in line waitin’ to get a look at you, ‘cause i know you’ve been mine since before the first brick fell from that wall in ‘69. i’ve known since before they called us those words — you know what i’m talking about, sweetheart. i’ve known ever since you bought me that ice cream down at the parlour *(all on me, doll, you said, with that **** grin)* but took the white-cream vanilla straight out my mouth in the alley two blocks down. baby, i don’t need two hundred people dancing or white suits or a cake to know that i’d blow a ring from my very last marlboro and wed you, if you’d say yes.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 5:56 PM UTC
I
remember
our
falling
My
glasses
near sighted
semi blind.
Your aroma swayed my lips
and
swallowed my mind
excellent wine
from
a
different time
.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 1:12 PM UTC
I miss the euphony of birds at dusk’s soft kiss,
Their songs once crowned the Sun in fleeting bliss.
Memory stirs — a street scene veiled in light,
A bygone day reborn in twilight’s bite.
The winding road concluded at the tree’s embrace,
Where stood the Red Box, keeper of time’s trace.
Forged by decree, a carmine sentinel still,
Now fallen silent on the village hill.
In boyhood’s wanderings down that humble street,
I’d pause and wonder what secrets it might keep.
I’d peer within when the Postman came to claim —
Envelopes slipped like whispers with no name.
At dusk, that vision pierced me with its pain —
A relic ruined by wind and rust and rain.
Creepers wound their wreaths around its frame,
While lizards skittered, flies laid siege in vain.
One day, they’ll mark it — a relic of our place,
A story sealed in rust and creeping lace.
Yet when I think of that red box grown old,
A boy’s soft longing in my chest takes hold.
Time races on — we too shall find release,
And wish that Red Box might just rust in peace.
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 12:49 AM UTC
If these walls could talk,
many stories will unfold,
From the past, present and future,
Is history being told!!
Just look around and just see,
The Vintage, and the quality,
of how long things have lasted,
To this day, is well kept beautifully!!
A House that's of the old,
a lineage, from way back when,
for many generations have come and gone,
that has so much history within!!
If these walls could talk,
they would tell you,
about your ancestral, historical past,
It is now passed down to your era,
So, that your Ancestry will Last!!
B.R.
Date: 5/10/2025
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 1:35 PM UTC
I'm gonna get me a record player,
So I can throw on jazz vinyls,
Classical symphonies, modernistic musics, raptastic tracks-ish.
So I can hear those low notes blow,
Those high notes reach, whistle, then pop,
So I can listen to all 'em tunes,
That got me thinking about you non-stop.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
the river overflows down to the sea,
a wintry song to tame the reveled night,
and born of love the stars blaze ever bright,
with soft-ringed beams that sigh like poetry.
dark woven hour, how you inspire me,
the midnight gleams with pools of paean light,
the drowsy moon is shining filmy-white,
the woodlands shrink and dream of sanctuary.
arise on arching wings, oh, song once sung,
oh, water sprite, oh, lily of the vale,
you pine for love, the forest weaves a spell,
unearthly voice of honey throat and tongue
i hear you whisper, sing your wild, wild tale,
then bid the world goodbye and sweet farewell.
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 3:32 PM UTC
California Kids
I’ll call you up on Saturday
And invite you over.
Take the 101, 110 and 1;
(Sounds like an equation!)
And you’re there.
Just use your GPS..
There’ll be a party at my house,
Daft Punk playing on the Echo.
It’ll be epic, Echoic!
With some vintage’ tunes,
Crankin’ the Beach Boys,
Watching surfers
Shredding out-the-back,
Past prowling sharks in the shallows.
Lets go to the dunes and maybe kiss.
I know that you miss me,
So don’t ask me why
And when you come,
I won’t ask
“What are you doing here?”
We’ll eat fish tacos,
Guacamole, Pico de Gallo
And drink margaritas
While we debate French new wave,
I’ll praise Truffaut while you
Tell me that Scorsese is the man.
When we get drunk enough
I will suggest a walk
Along the iridescent surf.
You should say yes because
I’m safe now that I drive electric,
That I turned vegan
(sorry about the fish)
and wear cruelty-free clothes.
I don’t grill snapper anymore
And take my shoes off inside the door.
Maybe we’ll make it to Tower 28,
Lay down and watch the full moon
Like Jim Morrison did to write.
I’ll tell you I’m glad you’re alive—
I’m no poet, but you know that.
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 3:52 PM UTC
While I return and slow down
to the classics;
the film analog cameras,
vinyl records,
typewriters,
silent movies,
worn-out pocketbooks,
and other novelties
of the old world charm...
I also enjoy the convenience
of the contemporary;
my phone's one-click camera,
spotify premium,
notes app,
netflix,
kindle,
and other niceties
that the here and now has to offer...
And while I rev back
to the retro and vintage,
I also race forward
to the excitement and danger
brought about by the internet,
of chatting with a familiar stranger.
of exchanging laughters in electronic.
of feeling emotions from a vague, distant, technical, difficult source.
Oh, the thrill and tragedy of technology!
May 7, 2022
May 7, 2022 at 8:22 AM UTC
💫She's AN OLD SOUL WITH YOUNG EYES, A VINTAGE HEART, AND A BEAUTIFUL MIND ,AND WITH LOT'S OF LOVE,....💫
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 1:30 PM UTC
I was an infant soul.
He came to me in my dreams
as a lullaby only I could sing.
And he watched as I swiftly
rocked myself into a romance
only him and I could sway to.
Sandoval
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 1:46 PM UTC
long drive through summer nights
a ghostly salty smell nearby
a Polaroid of orion that your fingers trace
tears falling like a cascade on an uneven face
crinkles by your eyes are long gone
and your smile is only a memory stored
and you threw away your ring when you left the city
encaptured into a chrysalis of anonymity
new town, new place, unknown destination
sacrificed the name which your parents called you with proud once
in a state where your business is no one else's pain
and you're so grateful there's no familiar face
that's what's about running away
away from the hurt that left you astray
astray from the path that's your family's way
way into a place away from friends' solace
esther darling, I'm glad to see
your incandescent eyes in a serene epiphany
despite of the mediocrity
esther darling, this place was meant only for you to be.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 7:45 PM UTC
Every time you read a poem,
it would be different than previous.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and add warmth into raw words of obvious.
A poem is a mystery to everyone,
filled with pain and desires.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and arrange the words before they expire.
A poem can make lifeless person feel alive,
but make the mind a horrific place.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and let words flow in their own space.
A poem could be difficult to understand,
because it possesses calm and clash.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and avoid words to turn into ash.
If poems would be written on the skin,
everything would bleed and shed.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and instead of vintage words turn red.
-Aishwarya Kulkarni
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 12:24 AM UTC
#*Big and black
The umbrellas
Knew not of any other size
And colours
A rainy day
Decades ago
I reckon
Men on foot
And bicycles, black
Peddling the tar road
Soaking wet
Their attire
Native, pure white
Monochrome
The photograph*#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 1:32 PM UTC
She
looked for
love in
closed lips;
being deaf
to all the
rest calling
out
her name.
Sandoval
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 4:22 AM UTC
I think back to our first moments together.
Sneaking eyes under flower crowns and balloons.
Looking across crowds of people for you subconsciously,
noticing you noticing me noticing you.
To look back on that time tinges everything with a vintage haze,
like viewing the history before something monumental.
Each person holding their breath and each step bringing us closer
to everything.
I want to go back to the first time I asked myself "what if it's us?";
the first time I truly saw you for everything that you could grow to mean to me.
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 8:12 PM UTC
Love me in black or white.
I'm sorry sir,
but grey is not
compatible with my heart..
Sandoval
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 4:36 PM UTC
Books as old as time, casing as brown as my eyes
the taste of bliss and amour
a deep thud once placed on the library table
the smell of grass and that faint vanilla scent
wise and rare, beat-up and old looking
as I awoke and flung into a kingdom full of quotes.
the habit that's like a disease, for which there is no cure,
as I frown, I smile, I cry, deep within me is what I feel. a burst of emotions a vintage book could bring.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 8:36 AM UTC
She has a vintage soul,
Full of rusty and dusty memories,
With the antique eyes
That seen some terrible events,
Her beauty reflects
the Victorian epoch,
Her wisdom is such sterling that
Vanquish the wisdom of Socrates,
But the fate and destiny
Leads her in the 21st century,
She feels like an alien
Who lives in a stranger place
But for her comfort in this world,
She has her books and a coffee mug.
–Humaira
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
And if music were love, would my name
be the only letters you’d sing to the sky?
Sandoval
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 1:47 AM UTC
As he watched her walk past,
I asked,
"Did you used to date?"
He shook his head,
And said,
"No we never dated,
But I have clothes still at her house.
And her mattress remembers the shape of my body.
No we never dated,
But her old toothbrush rests in the second drawer.
And my mother misses her when she goes to their favorite store.
She refuses to look at me when I'm out with you.
And when you are gone, I know she will come.
But no,
We never dated."
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
I am devoured by the existence of
vintage and old fashioned crafts.
The old scents and faded letters
that will bring back a decade of dates
until I throw myself back in the history.
I savored the aroma of an old book
until I became one of its pages
While the classic cd and mixed tapes
will play a nostalgic feeling.
I am allowing myself
to be allured by the history
with its treasured memories
that will haunt you in your youth.
Years have past
but we are still here,
we are still alive
despite of the countless departures.
Relish the taste of life while it lasts
and while you are still able.
Live, love.
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 9:32 AM UTC