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Best Books Poems

Below are the all-time best Books poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of books poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Books Poems

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Great Books -The Life's Refrain Style by Petersen Potter, Dorian
Books Are Powerful - Jan's Triple Strata style by Petersen Potter, Dorian
Books Are Really Awesome - The Hotan style by Petersen Potter, Dorian
So Many Books by Raburn, Kristie
Good Books by Alhemaidy, Abdullah
People are like Books by Fazzino, Alexa
My Love for Books by Stevenson, Taylor
In Books by Wings, Broken
Walled by Religions, Painted by Books by Makama, Funom
Old books by heart, homeless

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The Best Books Poems

Details | Books Poem | |

Simple Words For Simple People

If I had a pretentious brain which acts faster than my heart Maybe then,I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse Maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words I would scrutunize each and every coma dot and exclamationmark believing I know best But I would never let that happen I'd rather stay at bay Writing firstly with my mind and not my heart leads only to an asylium within the being of myself Poetry is my voice,my shadow The sacred shrine of great escape Each stored emotion processed within a yesterday Poetry is the inner of my existence breathing softly,bleeding deeply exploding in death,love passion and romance In every verse a whisper a thought that I would scribe of a silent cry expressed Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by me Tread your footstep on my ink and spit saliva in my face But maybe in a today a broken -hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world Maybe a prisoner,a tramp an insane soul or outcast would pick these scattered scribbles and gather them as whole Maybe through each criss-crossed puzzle finds a narrow passage which leads his faith to home Maybe a little child whose blissful giggles depends on little words would turn the dusty pages of silly rhymes I penned Rhymes which know the moons stars,faries,and the magic land Rhymes which know each fantasy and how to be a friend And maybe He would smile Maybe He would laugh Maybe He would dream Maybe He would grow up to write the most eloquent sonnet there has ever been Or maybe He would grow up to write simple words just like me about daises or dandelions and expressions to be free

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

Details | Books Poem | |

A Nook and a Storybook

Oh, give me a nook and a storybook
there at my mother’s knee.
Or tucked in bed, a pillow at my head
as father reads to me.

To hear nursery rhymes - wonderful times
when Mother used my name
inside a rhyme. Oh, for childhood sublime!
Old age is not the same!

Of Cinderella and a cute fella
I used to listen to.
Romantic the tale where all ended well,
and love they said was true.

But I’d  graduate from my childlike state.
Alone I soon would read
less beautiful things, in which a prince brings
no rose; instead, a weed.

Oh, to return to before I could learn
of life’s realities!
Where endings were good I’d go if I could
reliving memories.

In that nook I’d be, my mother with me
where books I’d  learned to love.
That would be enough because it’s the stuff
fairy tales are made of!

April 26, 2016 for the "What I Would Give For A Nook And A Storybook"Poetry Contest of Eve Roper

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Details | Books Poem | |

Tanka 1 about Smudged Roses

Now published at

Inspired by Chris'tanka contest ~Now, for the contest :)

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

Details | Books Poem | |

Giggles and Splashes

I had waited for you seemingly forever
So long did it take before you were to come into my life
But in so many ways you had always been there

Your hair so white more than once people 
Said that you glowed
Your eyes blue gray 
Soft but piercing. 

In the spring we’d plant flowers and you quite the digger
Would never tire of ‘replanting’ oh the control God blessed 
Me with that summer

On the porch we would swing and sing until my throat would be sore
And still Id manage one more
Lavender Blue, You Are My Sunshine, Red River Valley
I can still hear the wee small voice

In the summer under the big maple the front walk
Would flood and we’d run back and forth barefooted and splashing
Your face, pure joy, your eyes animated, your smile so wide
And those cheeks I could tweak them right now
Is there any better sound than giggles and splashes

Autumn we would take long walks and picnics down in the woods
And sit on a fallen tree. We’d find ants and worms and spiders and rescue the most
Precious of treasures. Feathers, milkweed fuzz, acorns, so much
Bounty for the taking. We’d bring them home and glue them
On paper or cardboard or make touch books

Winter oh please let’s have snow for winter. Snowmen
And snow forts, snow balls and mmmm snow cream. 
I remember the look on your face at your first bite as
If you had just made magic. 

We read books by the fire, books and more books
Then you would touch my lips and ask me to 
Read one with my mouth, which meant to make
Up one just for you.

You have been blessed with intelligence
You have an uncanny ability to fix things 
You’ve never seen before
Your sense of humor can put me away
Until I beg you to stop
You have a sense of logic beyond your years
You will sit on the floor for hours and build block towers for babies
Most importantly my son
You have been blessed for an unquenchable thirst for God’s own heart

At eighteen our time together will be changing but sitting here
I remember the words from a book we used to sing to each other

“I’ll love you forever 
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living 
My baby you’ll be"

To Noah

Copyright © Laurie Ginn | Year Posted 2009

Details | Books Poem | |

Rebel in the Library

In the library, at last I am freed
from others’ wishes for what I should read.
Book after book I most gladly peruse
with all these free hours I now get to use
finding books that I love; not just books that I need!

The books about science which teachers all feed
our minds with are making my eyes start to bleed!
I think I would even prefer reading news
                                                          in the library.

How much more enthralling are aisles that lead
to books of pure fiction! I will not heed
strict teachers, for romance and drama I choose.
Just see, I’ve already picked novels that ooze
suspense! Yes, indeed, I’m doing the deed
                                                           In the library.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |


While resting in my nook, breaths grip
As lampshade marks edges of leaves;
That  I wander into the scene
On pages afloat, a tale weaves .
Listening to my restless sighs,
The hero wins a maiden fair
Under the  rim of  jeweled clouds…
Yet  one dark villain lurks, beware!

Though moonlight hides its varnished face
My eyes  pursue this  raging quest;
And though caught in flamed paradise
Late hour ushers a sleep’s request .
Tucking the book, whispers I hear
Unto rivers of my vivid dream,
Awaiting for morn to touch its ray
To finish lines from a tale, supreme.

Contest: "What I Would Give For A Nook And A Storybook"
Sponsor: Eve Roper

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Books Poem | |

"My, Beautiful *Star Light" ~

Seraphic, turbid waves in turgid waters; turning

Amid my spindrift Soul wherein loves tumult rages....

Crashing through this pulsing heart that knowingly craves her ~

Aneath these turquoise tides, which tear burnt pages?!

Washed upon the shore to feed the pyramids pyre

Torn from destined books carving ancient time....

Spirits chanting dreams while dancing in the fire

Captured by the flames of oranges burning; loves sublime ~

Sunrise, now gathering blue horizons to kiss the wrested nights

Waning heavens waving a million reflections left, glittering deep inside....

Astringent embers touching tranquility while as floating through the rougish sky

Seraphic, turbid waves in turgid waters still, only to subside!?

Torn from destined books carving ancient time; this 

My own Aphrodite.... 


...."My, Beautiful *Star Light" ~

Copyright © John Rhinem | Year Posted 2011

Details | Books Poem | |

All That I Am

You know me as a poet and writer of poems rhythmic,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
Telling a story using figurative language to share,
     My life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
     Few beyond this safe harbour have read my poems,
     I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
     My poems are my treasures that I keep hidden,
                              Fathomless the pain.
        My view on life is somewhat sadly fatalism,
          What will be will be, it is already written by God.
There are many facets to me that I share with few,
Classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
Chopin, the poet of the piano, Mozart, oh the lyrical charmer.

And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on,
     I am fascinated in the architecture in my city.
     Often I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
     Admiring gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
     And I love the Victorian building where I reside,
                              With my two cats.
        A small garden created with a love for nature,
          A tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers;
Other things you may not imagine about me are many,
Adore vintage jewellery and clothes and antique anything,
A collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
Is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
How death haunts me, I take a job in nursing to help people die,
                                And God weeps.

July 30, 2015


For the contest, All That You Are, sponsor, Charlotte Puddifoot

7th Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |


Does the past really matter?
 Does it set you free? 
I’m absorbed in the sin,
That is surrounding him and me. 

Lost in the curiosity,
Cold to the touch. 
Drenched in the poison,
With my dignity in his clutch.

Feeling like I was cheated;
I chose the evil instead of light.
I traded in the sunshine,
For what lurks in the night. 

I disobeyed his orders,
I gave up security to be unsure.
I went against the warnings,
Gave into darkness instead of remaining pure.

Once my bed was made of soft grass,
But now it is made of stone.
Was plump from all of the luscious fruit,
Now I’m starving to the bone. 

My curse is one of circumstance.
The punishment a crime,
I’m stuck inside this dampened cave,
For the rest of time. 
My world came crashing down,
The grief has not subsided.
My heart broke completely,
When my sons collided. 

My misery a token,
From the abandonment I earned.
Upon the time spent in sorrow,
There was a lesson to be learned.

Have I found the moral?
Only in time we shall see,
For all I did was eat an apple-
From the Knowledge tree. 

Copyright © Alyssa Waters | Year Posted 2013

Details | Books Poem | |

My Library

My neck crooked backward,
I stand between the stacks
feeling the weight of centuries, 
the distilled wisdom of minds
who graced the earth with golden words,
words that pace the pages -
vellum, parchment, fine and common papers;
words, cordoned in lines, confined,
yet powerful tools to set one free, 
a roamer far from home,
across universes,
beyond time's reach.

The light filters through high windows
downward to where I peer with squinted eyes
teasing out a jewel - 
a title, an author, an adventure, a friend.

The air is charged,
the static of adventure,
heartfelt journeys of a hundred thousand writers,
their souls etched upon the pages
for ones such as I to stumble upon decades,
centuries later,
dream maps
thought castles,
imaginative quests.

Quietness reigns.
The elements of books -
leather, cloth, paper and ink -
infuse a rich elixir,
a mind expanding potion,
companion to best wine and oldest friendships

© Faye Lanham Gibson, August 11, 2015

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |

the promised land

I look forward to that rising tide
The current has never been so low 
That we sail in style so calm
Rest deepens without panic 
The tweets sweeter than never 
The sun brighter than ever 

Mr sailor how did you stir on course? 
Because i still see us within the radar 
The arrow precisely points our destination 
It has disproved our dissolution 
And reproved our evaluation 

Could we have crossed over the red sea 
Because what i see now seems magical 
Falcons hover randomly above with joy they sing 
I thought it was a myth what they told us 
If we keep course, we'll get to that promised land
We'll bath in milk,roost in honey and bask under the hot supplies

This i saw so real
So sad it's only a dream.

Copyright © victor nwakanma | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |

The Brilliant Spring

Crazy wind whispers 
Into the ears of ‘champa’
A light scented Indian flower
Trees are full of them now
Your love in each and every bough

The breeze is cool 
Because it is spring
Because it is south wind
Because everywhere is hue
Because it is warm with you

Blue hills and green plains
My room at sixes and sevens
Red bellied wood peckers drumming
Rhythm in feet nimble
Your twinkling eyes with dimple

Our roads are tremendously red
Ashok Palash and Gulmohar
They call it flame-of-the-forest
Love in red supreme
With you in extravagant dream

Books in eloquently colorful blurb
Beauty steps in every curve
Invitation in every nerve
The spring below and spring above
Your healing love 

Goes away alas the days
Of dance in soul in warm sun rays
Goes away your ocean gaze
Life in a twilight haze
Your beautiful craze

Ah if I could have turned the clock
Holding your hand in a Gulmohar walk
Only our hands and feet would talk
Around the clock  arm in arm
In your beauty and charm

Alas that is not to be a thing
Our time is as short as the spring

March 18, 2016
Butea Monosperma or Palash is a species of Butea native to tropical and sub-tropical parts of India and Asia.
Saraca asoca ( the ashoka tree, literally ‘sorrowless’), belongs to the Caesalpinioideae subfamily  of legume family, of Indian sub continent.
Gulmohar  or Delonix Regia, grown in many tropical parts of the world, called FLAMBOYANT in English, is a striking sight for its vivid red/vermilion/orange/yellow flowers and bright green foliage...Wikipedia

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Books Poem | |


On the land of miracles,
Took place a miracle,
Missile man of our country was born.
People's president he was known,
APJ Abdul kalam was his identity.
Paving a path for young generation,
In the field of science and technology.
He inspired young minds.
He is no more on this earth,
But his soul hasn't left his motherland.
Freedom, strength and development
Were his dreams.
The day he was born,
He dedicated the day to learners.
The spark in his eyes,
The smile on his face,
And the confidence in his attitude,
Inspires me and every indian.
I am proud to be an indian.

Copyright © AHALYA NAIR | Year Posted 2016

Details | Books Poem | |

Sense and Sensibility Speak

He was debonair, full of flare
charm exuded here and there
but she was so unaware
and she let her heart to dare
poured out love and all her care
But he another love did share

There he stood, there he bled
he knew that she longed to wed
all this filled his heart with dread
for she loved the youth instead
This young rival he must shred
Take her to his heart and bed

Walked in rain then took a spill
Jilted, wilted soon fell ill
to live life she lost the will
Passion gone, there was no thrill
but her heart he longed to fill
His love was the magic pill

The she knew love has no age
his hand turned a brand new page
Now that in love she was sage
Rescued from falsehood's cage
Passion danced upon their stage
No one could their joy to gauge

Jade Celeste

This is the story of Marianne and Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. You should watch the version that has Kate Winslet play the part of Marianne. Emma Thompson is her sister. Marianne is in love with the young John Willoughbye, who is dashing and charming. She is passionately in love with him, but her heart is broken when he gets engaged to someone else. Colonel Brandon, played by Alan Rickman, is an older man who is passionately in love with her but doesn't express it to her in ways she expects. However, when she falls ill, he is the one by her side. He nurses her slowly back to health and wins her love. :) This story is written by Jane Austen. Oh how I love the classics. Sometimes it is the steady, deep, unassuming love that is truly lasting. 

I've written a poem on this theme with a different twist: Scent and Sensuality. ;) I

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |

Midnight In The Library

Around midnight, in the library I found myself drawn,
to these shelves haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
as a rare, late October storm brews beyond the pane,
bringing life back to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker.

To these shelves, haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
my fingers grasp a book from under the dust and webs,
bringing life back, to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker,
it's well-worn, leather spine just waiting to chill my own.

My fingers grasp a book, from under the dust and webs,
while autumn winds rustle leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
it's well-worn leather spine, just waiting, to chill my own,
my head, sinking further back into the velvet-lined chair.

While autumn winds rustle, leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
candlelight flickers dimly across the tattered old pages,
my head sinking further, back into the velvet-lined chair,
where the ghosts of Irving and Dickens will not let me sleep.

Candlelight flickers dimly, across the tattered, old pages,
I, unable to recline, with the shadows thrown by the fire,
where the ghosts, of Irving and Dickens, will not let me sleep,
residents of the dark welcome, and wait to be revisited.

I, unable to recline with the shadows, thrown by the fire,
as a rare, late October storm brews, beyond the pane,
residents of the dark, welcome and wait, to be revisited,
around midnight, in the library, I found myself... drawn.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |


Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners
wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze
on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers,
chapbooks. My friend, a true gent, stays
his ground. Maybe, it is the press of page;
Its forthright weave petitions for slants,
favors unique fonts, yet gilds no edge,
sees no need for illustration, just verdant
language. I did not intend to read
over his shoulder. He grins good-naturedly,
tweed makes an allowance. Each line, poetry,
he praises and I still my chatter. We feed
on gems, unrushed, but their brilliance spurs
a verbose woman and a man of his word.

*For David

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Books Poem | |

Roy and the Land of Books

In the land where children play. A boy named Roy would sleep all day. No matter what his friends all said. The boy would not get out of bed. For he was very bored with toys. The ones for little girls and boys. He said that they were all the same. The cars and trucks and every game. But then one day Roy got a book. He figured he would take a look. And when he opened up the cover. Of books he soon became a lover. He read the book from front to back. He read about a boy named Jack. And all about a silver train. And then about a place called Spain. He read about each moon and star. And just how far away they are He learned of ancient histories. And many science mysteries. Soon he had a big collection. Of which the boy had great affection. His favorite thing to do was read. He learned to do it with great speed. One afternoon a friend came by. And asked if he could also try. To read a book instead of play. Immediately, Roy said, ‘You may.’ Soon his books were being read. By Sue and John and little Ted. That’s how the land of toys became. The land of books instead of games.
For Francine Roberts' Children in Rhyme contest, by Samia Arroyo

Copyright © Samia Ali Arroyo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Books Poem | |

Opened Book

You lifted me from the shelf
Looked at my cover
Made a judgment on what was inside
Decided to spend some time

You explored my thoughts
Flipped through my pages
Bent my corners
Underlined my words
Dampened my paper with your tears
Pondered me
Laughed along my lines

I felt loved
I heard you sigh
Oh how I enjoyed our time together
The smell of your coffee
The rhythmic sound of your breathing
The feel of your hand caressing my pages

You closed my protective cover
Placed me on your coffee table
Close at hand
I gladly wait 
To spend more time
With you my friend.

I have always thought the books I have read have felt like friends.
I have a hard time discarding books, I am even more loyal with friends.
Being here at the soup has blessed me with many new friends, I thank
you all for removing me from the shelf and taking time to read my pages.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

Details | Books Poem | |

Strange Bathfellows

A spider traipsed onto my knee
While I was reading in the bath
Though most might jump and scream and flee,
I just gave a little laugh

A baby Daddy Long-Legs!
(Though really, 'twas just a son)
I shooed him back onto his web,
And continued reading on...

*title is a spin on "Strange Bedfellows" ;)

*Lessons in life are funny contest entry

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Books Poem | |

The Feed


(From Lestat, my vampire chronicles poems) Silently the night again by me creeps in... Evoking all these confusing feelings I need to conceal Thoughts and dreams filled of doom, all of sudden begin To change me into this hideous creature I cannot din This thirst for new blood is in me now reveal Silently the night by me creeps in... I live on human blood and that's my curse, my sin Lurking in the shadows to get my next meal Thoughts and dreams filled of doom all of sudden begin All my life dreams had just fade in... Now I'd become this monster I come to repeal Silently the night again by me creeps in... Going for a kill every night again and again Knowing things all the time I cannot reveal Thoughts and dreams filled of doom of sudden begin... I,Louis,doing what I have to, to survive in My life had been sealed with things I have to conceal Silently the night again by me creeps in... Thoughts and dreams filled of doom all of sudden begin... Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 aka ladylove copyright2005 November,30,2014

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2014

Details | Books Poem | |


springtime of a life

found in her journal...

pressed flowers

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |


It is many years since I visited you and Grand mama The second I walked through the library door Memories of my childhood came flooding back to me I remember climbing up on the polished library steps You stood behind me to make sure I didn’t fall One day I wobbled on the top step and you held my hand I loved seeing the jewel coloured leather bindings With the delicate tooling etched with gold You would tell me the names of all your favourite authors We would repeat them in a rhyme Trying to go all the way through the alphabet I can still smell the aroma of your tobacco Locked deep in the pages of these dusty tomes We would spend many hours together My thirst for knowledge was fuelled by your enthusiasm We would pour over the atlas and the giant globe You would tell me stories of all the great explorers Oh how I wanted to travel the world like you had done in your youth In my mind I ventured to distant lands Recreating the scenes you so vividly described Recently my dream to travel finally came true Finally I have returned from my grand tour Now I am here to share my adventures with you Contest- In the Library – Sponsor Isaiah Zerbst 08~3~15

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |

Illuminating knowledge

Touch Turn page Golden words Inviting you Read
Penned 25 March 2015

Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS | Year Posted 2015

Details | Books Poem | |

I Saw A Fly

I saw a fly
land and lie
on a page
of my book.
Did he come
to picture look?
Or, read with me
from my book?
I turned the page
and off he flew.
Maybe when you
read your book,
he will come
and take a look.

Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014

Details | Books Poem | |

One Day

 Every hour , every minute , every second of the day, my heart's filled with pain,
I need to know when you'll be back, tomorrow ? today?
It's like there's a dark cloud following be around soaking me with rain,
All I can do right now is pray.

The distance between us is driving me insane,
There's a puzzle of questions forming in my brain,
Missing the moments we were together,
I should've known , somehow , you'd run away.

Fake smile on the outside,
Fire burning on the inside,
chaos going on in my head,
Can't sleep , can't go to bed.

Whenever a soul mentions your name,
my heart skips a beat,
My mouth shut , not able to speak,
depression taking over me,
wishing you're right here.

I miss you , at the thought of you I shed a tear,
I need you , to make me feel safe and forget my fears.

You might be taken away,
but the next time I see you, I'll make sure you'll stay,
Maybe not today or tomorrow , One day.

Copyright © Aisha Alansari | Year Posted 2014