Heart Books Poems | Examples
These Heart Books poems are examples of Books poems about Heart. These are the best examples of Books Heart poems written by international poets.
I love old book stores.
The smell and look of old books,
sets my heart a pumping.
At home I have my favorite stops,
checking out each shelf carefully.
When I travel,
I look up stores before I leave home.
My list can be short or long,
with a book or two or three following me home.
This summer I found an old book,
a book jumped into my shopping cart saying,
please take me home.
I have been reading on and off for weeks,
last night I got to the end.
I could not wait to see what was going to happen,
The Last Page Was missing.
I
Want to
Be engulfed
By the ending
Of this unknown tale;
To never know how it
Will play out, I'll live in bliss.
Trembling, I still patiently crave
What is neither saddening nor pleasing;
It is cathartic, and overwhelming.
Take the strands given to you; tightly,
Weave and tie that heart together.
Don't tell a lie until I
Can understand the truth,
And embrace the tale
Who's ending will
Never be
Told to
Me.
Vernal Equinox
This is a day for picking up
that cast-aside poetry book
about dreams deferred, its clarity
a balm to your chafing heart.
This is a day for cabernet or single
malt scotch, as you sit, dressed in
flannel PJs beside a crackling fire.
Let the day-long rain clean windows
wash streets, coax roots, feed seeds,
kiss buds keen to burst into blossoms.
Let Winter’s protracted discontent pass
and Spring give birth to hope.
I have a casket that tells tales of war
Letters wrote by my late father-in-law
That he sent home to his wife and young son
Those he had missed since the horrors begun.
He was a poet, a pastime we shared
I put his poems into a book, him unaware
It was a gift for his birthday, ninety three
He opened it, loved it, deeply moved was he.
He said it was his best present ever
Those words are etched on my heart forever
It was a pleasure to do and to gift
The time it took was truly worth it.
Now I hold the book since he sadly passed
A treasure of remembrance of the past
An insight into a soldier’s thoughts
When he was living through conflicts of war.
Are we on the same page
In the big black book of life
What would your words say
Would they cause relief or strife
Are you an onyx optimist heart
With views worn on white sleeve
Rather are you pink pessimistic shark
Waiting to take a bite of cocoa me
Can we grow towards a center
Perhaps merging in our violet view
Could cooperation create splinter
Embedding in thick skin like bad news
What is it about the opal opposites
Do they indigo in the soul attract
Can we build truce with rock and stick
And merge in a communal lime laugh
I admire your passion and dedication
You’ve a right to have such a stance
Join me in a cranberry celebration
Where unique ideas rise and dance
The pens are capped, the ink is still,
A different world demands my will.
The rhythmic beat of a rhyming line
Must yield to codes and a strict design.
Between the pages of anatomy,
I'll miss the pull of poetry-
The way a stanza feels like home,
The freedom in a wandering poem.
But ICD-10 and billing guides
Are where my focus now resides.
Though Tampa's stage is far away,
The heart still marks this April day.
A quiet desk, a steady light,
Through every long and studious night,
I trade my metaphors for skill,
Climbing up this final hill.
So if my voice should drift away,
Know I'm counting down the days
Until the exam is passed and done,
And the battle for the cap is won.
The poems will wait, the ink will stay,
Until I've earned my April 26th.
My young self at twenty, bright eyes aglow,
Chasing dreams to move uphill, where streams flow,
Burning midnight candles, with books as guide,
Study twined with sports, a heart open wide,
Helping souls in need, learning from the sage,
Respect for elders, treasured at each stage,
Faith blended with hope, bold strokes on my page.
Alone, not lonely
A book by my side, rousing
Soul’s one and only
Mind and heart calmly browsing
My thoughts gently carousing
Candle lights the room,
Her heart beats a soft rhythm,
Longing fills the air,
She flits through a poem book
To find sweet words for her love.
111 Contest Picture Prompt 1-22-26 Eve Roper
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Up Past Her Bedtime
Midnight magic floats
Through a warm candlelit nook
Little heart takes notes
Of butterfly tales in books
Lost in soft starlit chapbooks
That flutter in your soul when you run your fingers over that unique book cover.
Opening the book, that signature scent flows off the pages, musky just like the library from your memories.
Craving that escape from reality, patiently waiting to be taken prisoner by each character.
You fall so hard; each character is perfection.
That sweet emotional whiplash.
Whiplash of first love and first heartbreak.
The ending comes too suddenly, returning to reality, now your heart is grieving.
You close the book gently and place it on the shelf where it was once.
scrap book
leaves out of the
tree that fell right
in between two friends' first meet
pressed between her heart and
arms - scrapbook
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Visions of a Vignette 2
Sponsor: Nette Onclaude
22/05/25
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The books, two floors high,
levitating toward my upper limbs.
Not costly. Worth every penny.
Spread out by the tablefuls.
Grateful for this claustrophobic,
pyrophobic atmosphere.
Pages fingered, on bindings linger -
what’s the subject…who’s the author?
Snatch up before the next in line. Don’t
get left behind. At the end of the line with bags, boxes,
wagons, carts, kids. Hand full of dollars spent
sans burns, scars; no heart attacks.
Smiles upon smiles find
their way back to the packed parking lot.
At home, a lovely spread of books.
Snow White was astounded at their love for her
Seven little munchkins, whose hearts were pure.
She had not felt this kind of love for many years
Together they had alleviated her stepmother fears.
They were marvelously helpful dwarfs who loved her so.
With them around, she felt beloved, her heart all aglow.
In a dusty bin, albums lie stacked, old and worn,
Yellowed with age, a few tattered pages hold pictures of a newborn.
Another bears autographs, a favourite band’s ink now faded,
With a young girl’s crush and tears, memories created.
Years of life captured through childhood and beyond,
Each image, a fragment echo of lives once vibrant, creating a bond.
Stories of laughter and love now unfold,
In fading photographs, only shadows remain untold.
Reminders of yesteryear we hold tight before they disappear,
A collection of memories, faces fading, but to the heart the feeling is still dear and near.