Books Poems | Examples of Books Poetry

Everywhere I get to No matter where it is There are stories Some are told loudly Screamed from the mountaintop Some are whispered Barely spoken and barely heard A few are lost to time Never told or talked about Every one of them is worth knowing And being shared when it is possible The good thing is if you do share one It will never be...

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. for my convenance leopard ...

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So little time— Yet so much left undone! On the pages of life still remain Sketches of dreams left to run. So many promises lost in the mist, So many hopes quietly withdrew— Countless paths remain untraveled, So many sights left out of view. What still remains— To behold the world with wide-open eyes, To truly live...

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So little time— Yet so much left undone! On the pages of life still remain Sketches of dreams left to run. So many promises lost in the mist, So many hopes quietly withdrew— Countless paths remain untraveled, So many sights left out of view. What still remains— To behold the world with wide-open eyes, To truly live...

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Goodnight Moon a children's book by Margaret Wise Brown the subject of my poem and my latest stamp purchase was also a book that I read to my son when he was little not thirty-three, like he is now forgive my forgetting the details the book is no longer on my shelf but in the story it's bedtime for a little rabbit who says goodnight...

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life is a book in the beginning you hold it in your hands new, fresh, unblemished it is only potential who knows what dreams it holds? at the end you look back at a story, cherished you hate to put it down it's sad to realize it's over it was wonderful, but... so different from the story you imagined when you picked it up...

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chiffon ruffles of peach and blue delicate and delectable adorned with sequins and pearls worn by a gentlewoman from France her taste is exquisite, chic and posh adorned in this creation she gave Cinderella a bit of competition...

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mysteries are all over the internet these stories have been popular for decades I rarely watch a mystery show twice I never read a mystery novel a second time after knowing who did it and how they did it, what would be the point?...

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Another chapter in my life over much too soon when there's so much more to live it's just not opportune but is Anonymous the author or would it be myself possibly writing this tale so true could it be an autobiography and yet I won't be put on hold my one and only guarantee tho' late won't be overdue when it's check out time for me for...

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These are English translations of Urdu poems by Jaun Elia with themes of solitude, loneliness, alienation, love, life, death and loss. When you come, you will find me lost, for in my solitude there are dreams, nothing else. You desire to decorate my room, but in my room there are books, nothing else. These tyrannical books have done me a...

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scrap book leaves out of the tree that fell right in between two friends' first meet pressed between her heart and arms - scrapbook --- Visions of a Vignette 2 Sponsor: Nette Onclaude 22/05/25 ---...

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In all the books of history written with ink of blood and dried tears, There is no war that was not hatched in the shadow of palaces of power, Governments alone, like birds of prey sharpening their claws in silence, Independent of the hearts of people, for whom war is always poison. How many generations have marched on dusty...

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Goldilocks and the three bears, The story is a classic. But one idea came to mind, What if she was made of plastic? With lips so swollen And cheeks so bloated She was red and shiny And was very coated. The bears that came saw the porridge, They searched and found Goldilocks. Screaming and fearful,...

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-The Chalk Beneath My Fingernails- I walk a path where roads dissolve, Where rivers rise and hopes revolve, Through jungle mist and dusty lanes, With every step, I carry names— Of children born with hollow bowls, But eyes that shine like tempered coals. The schoolhouse leans against the sky, Its roof a patchwork, spirits high. The walls may crack, the floor may creak, But voices...

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Sitting on a long deck At a trailer In South Georgia Wind in the Pine Trees Reading Nathaniel Hawthorne My stomach is empty except for this longing and guilt A murder of Crows loudly soar through Creasing the boughs of the Pines It is only Them and I And Love that I left Love that I lost A hollow serenity settles in I pull at the Scarlet Letter Blazing on my chest Hester exposed As...

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