books
Learn more about other poetry terms
Look at the world that we live in-
is society proud of our deeds?
Children are carrying weapons,
not contemplating hate bleeds.
I want to build you a library and fill it with all your favorite books
And all the reasons I still love you.
And I will never stop adding to it
That way you can wander the halls of my heart chambers forever.
You don’t miss me
And me neither Missy
Life is full of shocks and surprises
To the foodies, everything is about business
My life was a book I had left on the shelf
A story I always said I would read
Collecting dust and coffee stains
Although I don’t even like coffee
But then I met you.
And for the first time,
Quality children's books were what this man was bound to produce.He was a writer who died 30 years ago and his name was Dr. Seuss.He died in September of 1991 and was born in March of 1904.
Pain,
as bright as my neon highlighters
Statements,
bolder than the sound of my voice
Colored every which way
I trace
Over every word
So none feels left out
Because I know
the words written on a page
are symbols strewn about
destined one day to fade
and disappear without a sound
perhaps no one will read these words
If you were a book, you would be a limited edition, original, leather-bound manuscript.
The kind solely found in the back of an antique bookstore.
You were driven from my mind for a time
by attractive covers and synopses...
Then happiness faded into the lull of boredom.
My mind was filled only with tiring thoughts
It was after the worst friendship breakup of my life
When I found you along the shelves in the old high school building.
You sat there, collected dust, and sighed in waiting.
Writing.
Books.
Poetry.
These classes I take
Once each week
On Thursday Eve
Make me want
to yell an
"Eek!"
I look forward
and in the past,
but it seems as if
I am a knight in shining armor
My enemy lay in a castle built of my own thoughts
My sword, the tower of books that lay on my bedside table
My shield, a cup of tea and a funny tv show
Walking into another dimension
A world where I'm not who I should be
Not myself but filling in someone else's shoes
A place where words jump at me
And help me see in a new light
Inspiration
a whispery-sounding
word
for something so big
It can come like a
Flash - lightning turns the
shifting sands of
Thought
to glass, clear as crystal
Or softly
Books on the Shelf
(the progress of life)
Books on the shelf, books on the shelf,
I turned to the words to find myself.
The first one was gentle, and I love to this day.
Each old novel; a new lover,
Assuaging the pain of life.
Silence falls over the house, save
The rustling of yellowed pages.
I was strange/
Books and papers were my pleasure/
Unlike the kids who wanted treasure that one could not afford/
The shelves overflowed with my stories/
I want to read books over here.
I want to read books over there.
Books are great to read everywhere.
I read with my friends at the library.
I read with my sister at home.
Once I get home, I sit outside after a long day.
Everyone wants to talk to me, but I don't really have anything to say.
I like to keep to myself, because it ensures that I will not be in pain.
The Nameless Creature of Isse Tower Great
Deformed, Broken, Awaiting Life’s Fate.
The Boy Watched the Flowers Grow,
The Falling Snow,
Faces of Disgust,
I used to read a lot more,
That’s just a hardened fact.
Now what I read is simply for school,
Annotations, blue and black.
I remember loving books,
Right in front of me is a different world, a different land.
A different story, a true best friend.
A place where I can be anyone or anything.
I.
Books are considered once as my enemies
But now, I treat them as part of my inner peace
That seems to enlighten my mood when in frustration
Years ago, I picked up my first book and immediately I was immersed into a new world
Never to be seen again, as I drown in a sea of my own imagination
My eyes move across the page,
Soaking in each colorful word.
Carefully crafted living poetry
Enters my mind in a torrent.
Ancient bards with stories old
A heart laid bare, a hand to hold
A million whispers lay untold
Between your trembling hands.
The woman never gifted a voice
A kindred soul, a weighted choice
My Books
By Jadie Reasland
To take my books away,
It’s like taking away my soul.
Yet it’s also like you are
Crushing my heart,
dusty covers
star crossed lovers
paper cuts
open and shut
i go through them so fast
know the feeling won’t last
I would like to thank books
For being my refuge in this world.
When I was younger
I resented others my age
All they did was bully and cheat
My hero is invisible.
She comes out in the bright colors that cross my mind,
The beautiful stories that feed my imagination.
My role model is the reason why my trees are green,
Dear faceless words, You've given me so much.
Your voice changes with what you say,
An echo of your many names.
As a wandering traveler, you taught me to see beauty.
three years old --
mumma tells me
"dont disrespect a book
else it will not teach you all that it knows"
i listen to her
and see the book in new light
i see the inanimate object as an equal
The smell of ink and paper
The flutter of turning pages
Faraway
Lands
Magic
Things
Incredible
People
Friends.
Books put together a powerful message
You can find words that make you sound impressive
For me, a book would make my mood happy, or depressing
The book would speak to me in a conveying way
I used to know a girl
sad and bare was she
she cried all the time
and never thought
about the bright side
Hope had abandoned her
her spirit destroyed her
she never knew what to do
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books.
But that's the way we like it.
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books.
But that's the way we like it.
Thoughts bleeding
in my head.
Idea's screaming,
in my mind.
A single pen,
in my hand.
The only paper,
I could find.
Unused ink,
written words unsaid.
Inspiration,
As I make my journey
goals ahead, pushing through,
I take the time to reflect,
I take the time to make some sense
of all that I have become.
What has brought me here
A gentle shift of the body, the steady turn of a page, and the oddly addicting scent of ink and paper fills the room.
dark nights,
laying in bed,
wanting the world to just
stop.
cocooned in a blanket,
silent tears,
or maybe
big
loud
sobs.
As of late,
I have immersed myself
In the works of Ellen Hopkins.
She has taught me that poetry,
Does not need to be a rhyming couplet,
Books put together a powerful message
You can find words that make you sound impressive
You hurt me!
Surely you can imagine
That ghastly, glorious surprise --
Occam's razor sliced through faith's abdomen,
And ushered in its final demise.
Should I curse or thank you?
Dear Author,
Your book brings me joy
and this isn't just a ploy.
It is by far the best
and I am utterly impressed.
I would like to thank you
for making these characters.
I have this ideal,
This unattainable goal;
If I could make it real,
I'd finally feel whole.
These times alone I enjoy,
I mean no deceit.
But solitude I'd gladly destroy
To all the people willing to listen, willing to read:
I share with you my work, my creed
I have but a simple message that’s easy to hear
It’s easy to listen, to just lend an ear
Dear Authors,
I dream of your literature which keeps me up at night as I pore over each page, deciphering and synthesizing each phrase, detail, and word.
Dear Depression,
Another day has come and gone
with moonlit rays receding to the approaching dawn.
Why, oh why, do you make me feel all alone
even with friends coming to and fro?
The breeze flutters the inked pages softly,
A reader’s gaze follows every a word.
Nose stuck in a book, in hand a coffee,
Far off places and new worlds most unheard.
There are so many books as old as time,
That act like doors for the creative mind–
To worlds where reason never needs a rime
And in these worlds, one can find grand emprise.
Big Brother watches us, down on the ground,
Doing what we are told, not making a sound.
We listen, follow commands, its our nature,
No other lifestyle that we know.
Telescreens looking close, that's the game,
Lazy rain patters on the rooftop
Drops roll down the glass window
A room - dimly lit and cool
A tea kettle whispers slow
Through the window streams
The shelves nudge my hips as I pass.
They are jam-packed with too many books to count,
But I do. I count them all.
Their pages are rough and worn.
They hold memories of eras I long to visit.
Ambition a constant hunger
I advise you -
Beware the quiet genius
Cunning, unnervingly discerning
Don’t underestimate me
You see me sit in silence
All eyes on me
Watch me stutter, watch me slip
Watch me crumble at the pressure
Laugh and applaud
I craft masks and write acts
I first checked you out in school.
I don’t know what caught my eye
But it doesn’t matter because I was too shy
And let you pass by for the fear you were “too intellectual.”
Paper constantly gets the award for creative potential
Creating Creations with artistic purity that’s essential
Wake up! Cling to the hours of the day,
You're going to wish you had laid
Down sooner, before the sun said hello.
Pace, faster, keep from running disaster,
You're final goals you're after,
Books are my escape And if you’re reading thisI think they’re yours too And that also means You’ve dealt with the people Who ask: how? You wanna know what I always tell them?In books I find love
Legends about dragons tell of fearsome beasts,
Who were rumored to have human feasts,
However these tales are not even relatively true,
For I know a nice dragon named Lou,
Tale as old as time
Repeating again and again.
Begining in France
Then animated by a mouse.
A story about a girl like me.
It's just a small town,
One she moved to sometime ago.
Oh books that I love,with your frayed covers and tattered pagesYou take me on perilous adventuresand entice me with electrifying romances.You make me laugh at characters mischief and weep at their demise.
I am deep and dark like the night,
Ominous and mysterious
taking everything in my path.
I've taken my job into consideration
and pondered my own opportunities
to be taken or not is my decision
you think i'm buried in a book?
hah, i'm buried in my mind.
things of myth and mystery
black and white combine
a both good and evil history
if you look that's what you'l find
What am I?
To be fair, I'll give you hints.
You may think me clever.
You may think me dull.
Depends on my contents.
This is what hold within.
Within me I hold the key to enteriung new worlds.
On an island that no one knows
The seeds of sorrow a shipwreck sowed
To nip this off in the bud
Let me tell you what I love
The books of old would do just fine
To help me pass the spacious time
I was a girl who was always alone.
I was the girl who had "friends" but felt alone.
For The Library
Tulani Reeves-Miller
You have always been there for me
When I needed you most
With comforting pillow-soft pages
I turn to you when I am at my worst
An escape from everything
Away from the hatred of the world
Away from the terrors of the world
Away from the hypocrites of the world
To feel good is to feel happy
Find happiness and you shall feel peace
An escape from everything // Away from the hatred of the world // Away from the terrors of the world // Away from the hypocrites of the world // To feel good is to feel happy // Find happiness and you shall feel peace.
Oh what lovely chunks of trees you are,
How your pages fill me up
With characters and adventures
Splashing colors and vivid pictures in my mind.
The world gets farther away
I invite you to imagine a girl.
She is quiet, her house obscenely loud.
She needs calm – her house is anything but.
You’re looking for her? Check the library.
Because that’s where she is –
One day she’s a princess;
the next, a cunning detective.
At first he’s a noble knight,
soon to be a sorcerer in a distant land.
Tales of beauty, evil, love, envy
all woven into ink and paper.
When you look at her and her oversized jacket what do you see?
I see the girl that she used to be, shy and submissive to the orders of others, oh how mean they could be
The blaring alarm breaks through the daze,
And the sun shines through the window in a golden haze,
The birds are chirping in a frantic melody,
Through the days in which I feel there is no good, days in which there is no escape
days in which I cannot be in a worse mood, and my life has fallen into rather poor shape
There are books.
What makes me feel good?
Is it the feel of someone close to me?
Or is it the perfect weather or autumn?
What makes me feel good?
After a day of cruel words and disregarding looks,
i always find pleasure in reading a great book.
Trying hard not to let the bullying lead me to sadness,
All the while trying to please others it drives me to madness.
And so I opened my eyes
But could not see
The words on the page
That made me want to
Put the book down and leave
Because it was too soon
It was not time
I could not leave
Reading ellicits many worlds
For boys and girls, alike.
Open a book and you've entered a new reality,
One that's meant just for you.
Experiences never had,
Feelings never felt,
Emotions unknown.
Feels Good.
Gazing into the eyes of my lover
Ocean's heartbeat lulling me to sleep
Odd encounters ending in a smile
Drizzly skies and the smell of a book
Feels Good.
Wake up,
Bright light, stale breath, why is that candle still lit?
Sleep's grip not yet done with you,
Turn over, bend knee, unbend knee, turn back - itch.
Your pages so crisp like the dead fallen leaves
that like to go crunch with the chill Autumn breeze,
What else should I turn to whenever I'm sad.
Your fantastical worlds. Oh, they make me mad,
The rain hits the window screen.
Pages rustle with soft grace.
Dark ink messages
Whisper sounds of peace.
The lightbulb gently glowing.
Music fills the cold heart.
Body heats up slowly.
Like Charles Dickens i have great expectations for you.
you are like a novel i seek to dwell into and become lost in a never ending fantasy
a great-gasp-be-comes the only expression of gratitude like Fitzgerald when i see you.
Sparkling silence is cast over a room
before the listeners start to swoon.
This poet reads her words so smooth
bringing back her own youth.
The words she says speak
Since the moment I held you in grasp
You’ve fueled my every aspiration
And although we’ve had our ups and downs
You’ve always sat there patiently
I'll spread myself across this page.
be present a pound the stage .
maybe then my memory won't fade.
my life no longer a passing phase .
try to sketch every piece of me in to eternity
From being
a book
once sealed shut,
now open
and exposed.
With problems I fought
to be forgot,
on pages
that can't be closed.
It will be okay—
From being
a book
once sealed shut,
now open
and exposed.
With problems I fought
to be forgot,
on pages
that can't be closed.
It will be okay—
They were my escape,
My escape from a world that dissatisfied me,
My escape from a world that was dissatisfied with me,
They welcomed me with tattooed arms and bright hair,
Poems, books, words, and quotes you are the love that I have found in literature.
I sit upon the story book.
(The walls they shudder, the house it shook.)
The pages are yellow, the cover is aged.
(The window’s emblazoned-the storm is enraged.)
The story is familiar, my memories wake.
I believe in a god
But not a god that others do
I believe in a god
That makes bookstores feel mystical
That makes you catch a whiff of old books
That makes you almost swoon with nostolgia
Together we relax in each other’s company.
The stresses around us drift away.
Together we talk for hours about destiny,
riveting lives around us display.
She flips page after page, anxiously trying to reach the end;
Because there will be an end,
And it will be a happy one;
Hers? She's not so sure;
But no, she won't think of that;
Alice came with me to a far away land. At least this one wasn't filled with sand. She handed me a page from the ground. And found a trail that wound and wound. We followed it through the trees And through the clear We followed it to the hole,Tha
I’m tempted to say oxygen
Were most critical to my survival,
Like a smart-alec,
But it only keeps
Me alive,
Continuing a process
His Breath
Began.
I might claim that
Between the pages, among the ink
Among the open-eyed nights
Unfolds a world that curls and kinks
and twists in lengthy delight
Nestled in a mantle of tone
Bestowed upon the eye
Were I trapped and far away
On a land out in the sea
The most important thing to have
Would be a book, a friend indeed
Though its sentences will never change
Words never will it speak
Allow me to dive
Into a pool of black and white
Let me lie on my back
And drift; will you join me?
Tell me, how does a world
Escape Into Reality
Naïve hearts and high standards of life
Page after page and chapter after chapter
Of text and truth.
Those worlds aren’t so far fetched for a fantasy.
I heard a prayer today
By Father Pedro Arrupe
About love
Part of it read:
“Fall in Love, stay in love,
and it will decide everything.”
The adventure awaits.
Turn the page,
Feel the new experience,
The new world just
Waiting
Waiting for you.
Filled with only the best
People, in all the universes.
Hold on let me think..one thing I can't live with out? Is Knowledge.
One thing I can't go without is knowledge.
Everybody knows that knowledge is power.
If we have knowledge then the world is ours!
I.
Am.
A reader.
A starry-eyed dreamer
Who holds worlds in her hands on a daily basis
Escaping from the hum-drum to a mythical oasis.
I'm a devotee of words, a disciple.
Being stranded on an island would be unfortunate,
and any item we bring compared to the big picture may seem disproportionate.
But being logical has its perks,
and i've heard this survivalist book really works.
If just for a day my life were to change
and I would be whisked away
to an island in the sun
I would not take much, practically none.
I would not take a pen
I could live all by myself,
Yet never be alone.
Two covers and a spine,
Can make a charming home.
Wallpaper of rustling pages,
Songbirds warbling in verse,
Pages torn and frayed
The feel of paper under my fingers
I get lost in the words
The vividness, the scenery
That the author paints with words
It is weird that I am here.
Trapped.
On a beautiful island I cannot call my home.
I have no cell phone, no coffee, no friends of my own.
Deserted, I feel..alone.
Just 26 letters
Just some pieces of paper
Just some ink.
It’s not though
It’s art
It’s expression.
When I look to my fingertips,
On writing, typing, seeing
Sights in stories, the imagination,
Of the yellowing pages of stories,
Give me my books.
The ones I read when I was young, to the ones that I read now in adulthood.
Concentration and motivation.
To find what comes next.
Reading would keep me occupied for years.
You are my fix, my remedy
Your scent fills my lungs and makes my heart beat faster with excitement
The thrill of feeling your texture between my fingertips, sometimes rough,
sometimes smooth
Books are….
Books are a journey
Books are the doorway to a soul
Books breathe life into everything
that is: Everything that was
Everything that will be; There is
nothing in the world similar a book
A goddess, leads to shoes, leads to sports
Leads to drinks, leads to cars, leads to on and on and on
Words and words and words
Such wonderfully malicious beasts
When released
by those
who know
I am tired.
Tired of holding my tongue
at the thoughts
my mind shouts.
What do I want to do?
Who do I want to be?
How will I make money?
I do not know.
And I am tired.
I cling to those things
That make me feel
Alive.
Those things that let me know
I'm not so alone here.
Those songs,
Those quotes,
Those drawings,
Those books that keep my
All I need is a firm spine, uncreased by rough hands.
I need that aroma of hazelnut, noticeable only when soft fingers leaf through
What once could have grown leaves.
A book is just imagination
That lives on a page
Creating a reality
Where heroes rule the stage
I’ve met a boy with demigod powers
A thousand heroes Standing tall, A thousand heroes Together fall. From beneath the dusty, Yellowed pages Charge these warriors Of varying ages. United they stood,
We sit together, holding worn and too
real pages that smell of Egypt:
cool and crisp against our fingertips.
We hum our individual orchestras
left in the back of our minds when all we can think of is
If you looked for my name on the front of a book,
I don’t think you’d bat an eye,
For my story would be just words on a page,
All meaningless words floating by,
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough.
I’ll consider it.
The first few pages intrigued me.
I'll bring this one with me
And read it on the bus ride home.
I’m learning more and more,
The music that tears through my eardrums
beating a desperate path through my body.
Reaching, seeking down deep into my bones.
Linkin Park tumbling along my veins.
My life is a book,
Sitting on the top shelf,
Dust gathering upon the wilting pages,
Words, yet unheard,
Lines written straight,
Each flowing to the next,
The next continuing the return,
Oh, glorious
Is my relation to
Hard maple and unread pages
Oh, glory
How I love
My mother’s old dresser altered to a bookshelf
Oh, wait
Sometimes I think
I Smell remnants of
With the first turn I am reborn
Into a carrier of wars never-ending as I sit
And rock-a-bye to the things I’ve carried
In my o’ mind—
Now I see clearly the barren fields of the west
I've been searching
for a way out
of this blurred vision.
Among checkups and lenses
I watched through pink frames.
Instead I am ostracized
I stand in an empty room But I am not alone. Big Brother is watching you. I think in my own head But everyone knows my thoughts Big Brother is watching you. I whisper to myself But everyone can hear me Big Brother is watching you.
reaching into the depths of love stained pages and pulling out the most familiar character is my way of reinforcing my sense of self
If you were to harm me,
slice me open,
I think that a knife would be useless.
Instead,
rip up a thousand journals
and use the edges,
for nothing hurts more than a paper cut.
I want to forget the past
But I keep trying to make the memories last
I know I’m only hurting myself
In the silence of the black night
My eyes follow the black ink
On crisp white sheets
And I see a world of possibilities
Imaginary and alive.
Yesterday I was a Celtic warrior
Schools in session,
Welcome another year,
Almost time to go,
Yet my homework pile contiues to grow.
SLEEP, what is that?
FUN, what is that?
LUNCH, hardly get that!
I read to escape reality
Yet another builds up around me
It engulfs my being and doubts my existence on Earth
I lay across the grass, a book in my hands
A breeze spreads over me as I am transported to a different land.
Grab your tea
Snuggle in tight
Bring forth the Tributes.
Sail the sea
Take flight
Push back reality.
Turn back the cover
I am from music at volumes so highFrom the feelings of all that make you sigh
I am from hours of bright, hot lightsAnd the packing of instruments at the end of the night
Worksheets, packets, handouts too
I stare at the blocks of text, nothing too new
Helpful, resourceful, that's what they say
And I agree, but only 'till I've had my way
Dashes, arrows, comments all through
A place of students
They come for two things
Desks and internet
To relax, to study
To pick up textbooks from a cubby
A place of modernity
Glass and concrete
Microchips and metal
From all the stars in every galaxy,to the electronic melodyof every song that comes through my eardrums.From every relaxing activity
I sit down
First day, first class
New faces are all I see
I see smiling faces
Faces, all staring back at me
Comforted, that's how I feel
Routine, that's what I need
If life is like an open book,
My pages are made of glass.
As I carefully make each turn,
Time continues to pass.
A rip is like a crack,
In the story of my life.
Any kind of peril,
Every book I open is a door
a door to a new world.
A pathway to a new destiny.
A road to new friends.
A journey.
A voyage.
An experience.
I live and breathe with the characters
When she reads, it's something magical,
because for a moment,
shes there but not entirely,
her heart stays with me...
but she leaves...
One day you are going to wake up and notice that you should've tried. You are worth the fight. Stop the Negative as well as start the positive. Vast things happen when you distance yourself from the negative.
when I am feeling down, but not feeling music I get my radio then I tune it, I throw my hands in the air and wave like I just dont really care.
I anxiously await the day
My novel is confirmed to play
To invade your minds
With my tantalizing words
For my characters to wound
To uplift, to hurt.
For the hours I've spent
In silence to toil
Here I stand, book in hand.
These Women and Men behind these stacks-
do not attack. But defend.
So do not offend- me
with your lack of literacy
that you do not comprehend these Women and Men.
They come
They go
They stay
They leave
But to catch them
Now that's hard
So close you come
To forming coherency
I don't read you
Not anymore
I haven't forgotten
The joy I got
Whenever you opened
Nor the adventures
I am just too old now
But my memories are pressed in you
Tick tock,
The clock strikes one o'clock.
The sky is dark, the stars shine bright,
Everybody, but one, is asleep tonight.
7 billion people in the world as of today
Asians, Africans, Europeans, we got it each and every way
What makes us different? The color of our skin or how we look?
Another world can be found in a book,
Another world can be found if you look
Between the soft, crisp pages.
Past closed up pizza jointsPast laundromats, through the dying noisethe nights tick on like clockworkwatch the calendar as my steps unwind
Bound up in leather, like the books
And held by paper chains
A heart no longer functioning
Inside, no soul remains
They put a hat upon her head, pulled low
To hide the brand
"I like big books and I cannot lie"..
And poems that especially rhyme
My escape as a child and in time,
An escape from the "Me" I spent years trying to find.
Holding on to the words of the pages
Books are my real best friends.
I know exactly what they are thinking.
I know all the chapters of their lives.
Their characters become my family and
What really bothers me are books with silly love plots.
Does his teeth really shine or is that just the light?
Is her hair naturally "jet black" or is that what it said on the bottle?
Movies and films are much more than just fun.
films that reveal victims that are more than done.
i want to be a director that shares their dismay,
I'll show how good wins but how evil still poisions the day.
Creamy smoothness under your fingers
Curled up; cat-like
Minutes ticking by
the world surrounding you has vanished
It's only you; eyes devouring
piece by delicious piece
word by beautiful word
Wandering amongst the maze of shelves,
I hear their whispers of stories yearning to be heard from a multicolored sea,
While helping a student who
was struggling through lines of a poem
Sam was fixing the schoolhouse's roof
in exchange for jars of spiced peaches.
She was a hurricane
a tempest so true
so strong and indestructible
blowing through existence
and soaking everyone
in her way
day by day
more fell wounded
from her rage
Belle, meaning beauty from the land of France
We remember from the movie how she put Beast into a trance
But remember how her nose was always in a book,
She received taunts from the one who falsely loved her, Hook...
Letters and paper all around,
Begging, pleading for release,
My hands run down their shivering spines,
Gasping, breathing in relief,
As I free them from their prison,
Of wood and glass and dark,
It is the sound of hushed breathing. It is the rhythmic silhouette of strides, the perfectly choreographed dance. It is the way that the summer sunlight creates small crystals in the hanging spider webs.
What would I change?
I would change the way people think.
I would END prejudice, and DELETE mockery
I would make people see the positives first
Because negativity killed the cat really
See I have this thing I do;
I write.
Most people say I can’t do it forever but I don’t see why not,
See it lifts me up so high above the clouds it changes your life,
Books
Are made of up sweet-smelling ink and paper
That are so saturated with potential
They are weapons
My hands ache to weave a tapestry with silk threads of words
It's just not about the dates or the facts that follow. Reading thousands of pages. Finding the truths in all the words written hundred year old pieces of parchment. It is about all the lives that were impacted.
Writing is a passion
The need to put what I can't say on paper
It may not be the latest fashion
Words are taken for granted.
Written in books that just sit on shelves.
Children no longer want to read
but play video games.
What about the children who suffer.
depression
anxiety
Papery skeletons of age-old trees
moldering in bindings wrinkled well,
Two adventure stories in conceit.
Alas I could not read each.
One was said to hold happy deceit.
The other holds pain, sorrow, and defeat.
I look at the towering shelves that enchant me with their dust,
And their books sitting there like a superlative throne.
I find the quiet a blessing,
Because I know they won't forever be silent.
I've gone to the land of wizards and warlocks,
I've dealt with the loss of parents,
The loss of boyfriends,
and the loss of myself.
I've seen the world through a thousand eyes,
yet only 2 are mine.
wham, bam, and thank you uncle sam!
taking our brothers, our sisters: just lambs.
leaving our children on streets in the cold.
not much of an uncle, all you do is scold!
Education is not a matter of equality, for the government doesn't lie in desires of mortality . The future is deprived, because of the lack of cognition floats in our backwards spin tunnel.
Look around you
Don’t let them surround you
Open your eyes
Don’t let fear keep them shut
Turn off the TVs
They are poisoning your mind
Get off of Facebook before you run out of time
No holes in jeans
and no thin
straps on shirts. Only for
girls. Teachers believe girls
are the problems for poor
attention spans.
Clothing is the tip
of endless problems.
Touch
Connect
Feel
Hold
Horror, Fantasy, Adventure, and More
Genre for everything and everything is genre
Book Stores, Libraries, Books Nooks, and more
I asked myself, what the FUCK is education? A nine letter noun that involves complete concentration... I ended up searching the actual definition, the process of receiving or giving systematic instruction.
No government, no school
No rulers left to control the situation
Just weaponless citizens in an empty nation
The cord to the mic's been cut
Shut down the power lines
Limit the electricity
We blame others for what they can't be
But we cover ourselves in false identities
With our selective perception
We ignore those we can't see
But hide in lies and obscurity
It may be hard to believe
Held back by the suppression of the mind one can only fall behind
We are succeeded by the past and without change our generation won’t last
Time is flying by fast and our learning continues to get thrown in the trash
When I think of words
I think of numbers, or knights
Or of nights
When the sky is an inky black
the kind your fingers
Almost slip into
Like a sleeve, or oil
Each word clung
to paper thin pages with some particular tenacity
the teachers teeth
cut against soft palpable ears
The floors knew these lessons
had heard more words
could tell them more
What could the world be, if it were up to me?
A neverceasing green, full of lakes and streams?
No sad tears and no angry frowns,
No warring nations and no frightening sounds
Books yellowed with age
Passed on from generation to generation.
Pages are worn,
Pages are torn,
Pages that are full of history.
The distinct aroma of ageing paper,
Fills my nose.
My mind is blank, waiting to be awake,
There is nothing to satisfy the thirst,
No amount of knowledge will do,
Through and through, man will never know the truth,
Man is fit for this world,
If I could be anything
I would be a book
Filled with adventures
Dashing heroes
Brave heroines
Cunning villains
There are always
happy endings
and fairytale kisses
What will be when I am gone?
I think this question, thinking I’ll go on
But for all I know, I could die tomorrow
Then, would my loved ones grieve in sorrow?
Waking up to a cacophony of noise,
I arose to a familiar place.
A place so much like home but still far from it.
It was small, too small for four
Maybe five for a time.
The letters on each page spell me further into the story,
With enticing promises of quests, of both toils and glory.
Each new page weaves a world both brighter and richer
It's in the nightwhen I feel myself taking formthe midnight stars clothed in indigo velvetpressing on my flesh, my soulgiving it substance
and I am being born
At seventeen,I am reading the same stories I did at ten:Tamora Pierce, Phillip Pullman, Rick Riordan, Kristen Cashore-and the list goes on.Rented from school libraries and Sulzer regional
The power laden mind of State is clad in fear.
The people of the State mean not to intimidate,
But to declare the opportune moment to rise
And seize education on the forefront.
I was lost for an hour,
while nothing was sour.
I was a princess,
never in a mess,
I met my prince,
it wasn't a cinch.
We danced and sang,
until the midnight bang.
The hour was blissful,
My aunt would take me to the bookstoreeach time she had a miscarriage.
She would browse through each row,immersing herself in the pages and words and letters,trying to lose herself.
Everything just keeps going, but no one is aware of the heartbreak that has been set before me. At the hands of a paperback book all of my emotional stability has crumbled to dust.
Lines tell stories
Lines tell stories.
Stories that are made up of twenty-six letters
Flipping and flopping are words that we can make out of twenty-six letters
When no one is there you are there filling my life with your pages your everlasting joy when I turn each page continues ,never stopping though the ages, no bad can come from your words you give , no pain just joy to re
Yellowed pages
Faded ink
Coffee stains left behind, by another story traveler
The old man with a corduroy jacket
Patches on the sleeves, and not just the elbows
Books perch on the shelves
Worlds grow,
Budding behind unfiltered eyes,
Breaking from tradition.
Christened creativity,
In actuality,
Unrealized forms of magic.
The potential,
You can't talk back to me
I don't talk back to you
But the words you speak to me
I listen through and through
I can't look into a person's eyes
I studder when I speak
But the words you speak to me
I am leading a half-real life full of adventures and written words.
My life is as fragile and vibrant as these cut out pages but I hold my spine straight with my soul proudly printed and displayed.
Inside I can see, I can feel
Everything is beautiful, everything is perfect
I revisit the outside
The fear, the worry, the insecurity
I hate it
I dread it
Let me back inside forever,
Don’t judge a girl by her cover.
Every move she makes
And each word she says
May be the product of a
Stint of thought,
Duly considered before
Made or said.
Don’t judge her cover,
My book is long and rigid with black words
The mysteries and fantasies take me
Where everything is blue with chirping birds
And a door opens with a long bright key
Books are the source of all knowledge,
Just like that old adage.
You can read the words, but what is the meaning?
A careful balance on which we are leaning.
The heroes, the princess, the fairies galore
I am from reading the wondrous books in the world,
the brilliant authors who write them and bring them to the curious world,
like magic.
Where the books are so strong and so powerful,
they can control my feelings.
The rain was cold and nipped the skin,
The Thunder boisterous,
And the Lightning un-disciplined.
It teased the silver Guardian
While the thunder spoke in a lion’s roar
Of the approaching soul.
I belong to a world of black and white,
where even the darkest things come to light,
I belong to a world of piles of books,
where a character’s heart means more than looks,
I belong to a world where words blend,
I know a girl who
owns an entire bookshelf of
poetry books,
but never reads them
for fear of mussing the pages
or staining the paper covers
with fingerprint oils:
a hoard of Cummings and Collins
If I were an author,
I’d take you away
Put you in my publications
And make you a best seller
Or perhaps settle for a hardcover
Maybe even paperback,
Type you up on a page
I will read them in the rain
And in the dark and on a train
And in the car and in a tree
They are so good, so good you see!
Green Eggs and Ham was the 1st book for me
As Summer comes to an end,
Chilly Autumn becomes a friend,
Showing you what it has to give,
Giving you another reason to live.
The smell of Cinnamon fills the air,
And no one can seem to bare,
the surprise when
you said you had
read the same book
&
"loved it"
&
I agreed
but who knew that
all I had felt
all along
was just
love.
There are certain precautions one must take
when stalking the aisles of a book store.
It isn’t so simple as a stroll in the park
or a saunter along some moonlit path.
No. This is war. You’ve entered the most
