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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

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

Details | Books Poem | |

Tanka 1 about Smudged Roses

From between pages the forgotten petal falls on an empty shelf settled dust is today's mud where the priest smells a smudged rose
Inspired by Chris'tanka contest ~Now, for the contest :)

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. 

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" ~

Details | Books Poem | |


There's nothing better than words
So infatuated I'm Dylan insane
Watching movies is getting wet
Reading books is feeling rain
A thesaurus was my first love 
Same girl, but how she could dress 
You had a word for every feeling
Stole my heart I must confess
Money can get you to places
But it can't take you back in time
But with words I can time travel
Have memories that aren't even mine
Words are the pure picture
From the soul they're conceived 
They're a mirror to the inside
Unless their kidnapped to deceive 
Words can work their magic
Prayed for some and dropped a knee
She responded with a single one
Thanks to words she married me
I've truly lived a sweet life
Never fretted over the little things
As long as I've got love and lyrics
This world of words.. How she sings
Oh, how she sings!

Contest: Pendleton's "For The Love Of Words"
Date: 9-29-14
Poet: LyricMan

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

Details | Books Poem | |

Reading Simic

I tried balancing a bowl of hot oatmeal on my lap and reading his poems in my tired and
worn, green chair.  

On the back cover of a collection, a reviewer wrote “Simic may end a poem with a kiss 
or a bludgeon. “ 
The reader will never know. 

Blackjack Fresno Johnny sent me a big box of books of Simic’s poems. The books were  sent
in a cardboard box inside of another cardboard box, thoughtfully packed. The address label
To Tom Pitre, Poet. 
It is my first affirmation as a poet.

I am always surprised when I read his work.  Sometimes I think I have my finger on his
secrets, and then it slips away when I read another one.  They are simple. He can write
about an earthworm in the mud, and you will be enchanted.

Details | Books Poem | |


"Which one of you books would like to be read?" 
she creepily said, as she titled her head.

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.

Details | Books Poem | |


I can hear him coming
Several times a day
Jim's a bathroom junkie
I'm his favorite hide away

The first thing he does
Is flip on light and fan
Avoiding unpleasant vapors
Its all part of the plan

He sits on the porcelain pony
And gently closes his eyes
Imagines he's James T. Kirk
On the starship Enterprise 

In here, Jim is King
He rests upon the throne
Royalty with no subjects
He rules this Kingdom alone

But there's no threat of being bored
He could stay in here all day
With all the books and the magazines
And a mirror where he flexes away

It's all about the options
In this place of unique charm
Because the truth be known
More times than not, it's a false alarm

It's discovered the "Boss" is missing
I know they'll find him soon
It doesn't take rocket science to know
He's here again.. in Jim's Bathroom.

Contest: Tickle My Funny Bone
Sponsor: Francine Roberts

Details | Books Poem | |

The Magic Of A Book- Senryu Nonet Whitney Senryu

The Magic Of A Book~ (Senryu/Nonet/Whitney/Senryu) Books are great to read They inspire minds just to learn Explore other worlds Hold Them and Read pages They'll bring for you Something nice and new You can read all you want Books in diverse subjects are For whatever mood you are in So go ahead pick a book have fun Knowledgeable They're wonderful Have pictures Enchanting hearts Read for hours Give us wisdom Every book is eye opener They transform the soul Improving all the time mind Sit and read a book Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2009 February.07.2015

Details | Books Poem | |


springtime of a life

found in her journal...

pressed flowers

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

Details | Books Poem | |

Hero Lover

Hero Lover

Broken for a time it seems she takes a long hard look.
Looking for loves answers in the covers of a book.
She finds the one she must have read one hundred times before.
This time it holds the secrets when she reads it just once more.

Tenderly she reaches up and takes it from its shelf.
Candle light alone at night is how she mends herself.
She reads about the hero who then becomes a lover.
She won’t put it down until she reaches the back cover.

Softly she will close it then as the hurt wells up inside.
Turning loose the cleansing tears she can no longer hide.
Dreams and expectations somehow have turned to pain.
She’ll be okay tomorrow but for now tears fall like rain.

The beauty in her brokenness is something she can’t see.
Tortured by the things that are that aren’t what they should be.
She wants a love like in that book and the message that it’s sending.
She wants a lover just like that whose love is never ending.

She’ll wake up in the morning with that same hurt still inside her.
With one hand on that book that’s still laying right beside her.
She knows that she will cry again but to her it’s a reminder.
That somewhere there’s a hero and he’s trying hard to find her

Edwin C Hofert

Details | Books Poem | |

Illuminating knowledge

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

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

Details | Books Poem | |


Implausibly, I took a friend to Fanfare 

Books then nudged him through its doorway.

This was strange, since he wasn't really there.

Still, he kept me company. Morning rays

blessed, old bricks then revered a worn wood

floor. My companion targeted photography

so I watched him hunt for what he could

'til art caught my eye, nearly blinded me.

Though I was alone, the moment was shared.

This, the paradox of poets, this odd bond.

We crave solitude, yet solitude wears

on the very thing that lets words compile.  

We met up in poetry. He dogged some Wilde

while I bagged a thin volume of Baudelaire.  

* For my Friend, Caleb.

Details | Books Poem | |


Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners

wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze

on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers 

and 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, a wonderful man, a devoted husband,
a loving and dedicated father. We know him here
as a poet who encourages, shares of himself freely,
and gives such solid advice. 

He is a poet who does not waste words, 
nor mince them. but he does send them out,
like lifeboats, when he spots chums in need.

Think the world of you, David.

I kidnapped David with a time machine.
The Word on the Street is a bookfair which
was held in Victoria park but is now held
downtown. SIGH. It was much nicer in the park,
early September. The squirrels would natter
from the trees, geese would fly by, low, aiming
for the pond


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.

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

Details | Books Poem | |

Wisdom can't be taught

Wisdom can’t be taught

I used to read the whole day long
I read so many book
My house was filled with literature
And everywhere you’d look
These books were there in mountains
That’s all I yearned to do
Fill my head with useless words
And all non-fiction too.

Psychology, Philosophy, 
Mythology, I would read
I’d read the stuff by holy men
It seemed to fill a need
I filled my mind with so much stuff
And then one day I thought
What be the use of all of this
The truth it can’t be taught.

And so I gave my books away
And I learned to meditate
I learned to look within my self
I loved it, it was great
I learned the things I need to know
Without those ancient books
Cause in the end the truth will come
By taking just one look.

So now I have no need to read
I feel the peace in me
As I walk with nature each new day
And feel the harmony
And all the answers come to me
All questions be for naught
One only has to stop the mind
For wisdom can’t be taught.

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.

Details | Books Poem | |

Forever Special

             Forever Special
   If words can contain my thoughts,
Then I will write thousands of words
   If books can hold my thoughts,
Then I will by now have a room full of books
   If speech-talks can depict my thoughts,
Then I will have to ask for expansion of my brain

For I don’t think my words are enough
I don’t think my books are sufficient enough
I don’t think my speech-talks are enough
I doubt my words, books, speech and talks 
Can really show how I feel about you

   If I could make the Heavens come down
Just to explicitly express my gratitude 
   If I could make the Sun stand still_
Just to tell you how special and a prima you are
   If Mountains could be turned upside down
So that I can reveal to you 
The hidden and deep feelings of the explicit luv
You have graced my feet with_
But alas!
My fantasies are just fantasies
But I promise to always have you at heart
You will forever be special in my lame eyes

Details | Books Poem | |


When the exams comes,
The mats copy turns into sums.
We have to leave everything,
Also our little dear chums.
There are terrible nights that vary,
only books & books are everywhere.
All the books are alive,
Shouting, you don't have any spare time.

In the examination hall,
the question paper is very tall.
But the time is not enough,
to write answer of all.

And when the exams are all over at last,
I want to reach home a little bit fast.
To enjoy and enjoy a lot,
forgetting all the painful days of the past.
I thought I would play & only play,
and to open the books no one say.

And when I reached home,
My mother presented biscuits decorating a tray.
The next two days I did enjoy,
But then my mother said.
don't you have to study you lazy boy!!
Always playing with one or another toy.

That day I knew that days of enjoyment are very few ,
And between enjoyment study always grows !!

Details | Books Poem | |

Car Crash

A dark room with a small wooden desk, no lamp
A thick pad of paper and a typewriter, never used
Like a museum exhibit, though they aren’t allowed to gather dust
And dead flies and moths, a pack of playing cards
I never learnt to play, but still they’ve turned yellow with age
The shelves full of books, thumbed and read a million times
The pages fall out sometimes onto the slanted shelf, broken
The cascade of over-used books falling into each other
A literary car crash 

The carpet burnt by years of clumsiness, dark and worn
The ceiling stained by years of nicotine, the cigarette smoker
Looking on at a world frozen, the books are the only living things
Read a million times and thumbed to death, the dirty pages blending into each other
The faces and the timeless, frozen authors and poets, trapped here forever
In the corner, a lonely television set, never used and not even plugged in
The lonesome keyboard, beaten a million times, my voice recorded
The German tongue, screamed above piano murder, the manslaughter of my violin
A cultural car crash

The curtains, white to ivory to ashen, unopened in an age
Time to let the world come in through the never-before-seen window
I sit upon the bed and watch the silhouettes gather, their vagabond army 
Creeping over everything with their tired and dirty little hands
The books I’ve read to death, the literary suicide, gathering in a spot of light
Like flocking birds fleeing for the winter, their matted feathers and scabbed legs
They can’t fly anywhere, trapped here, my favourite victims, dead within the covers,
Like broken pigeons trapped within damning cages. I close the door and leave
The untouched car crash