Bookshelf Poems - Poems about Bookshelf

Biographies of different kinds Orwell with Atwood, intertwined Old books, new books, a thousand rhymes Keeping their words, holding those lines Singing caged birds, sit whistling chimes Histories, mysteries, marking time Every volume, fixed on my mind Lexicons, for a world we can't find Fact versus fiction, yours and mine. ...

Continue reading...

When that storm arrived, the entire congregation in genuflection knelt before Her poetic prayers, they saw themselves shining, eventually, in Her reflection scandalously quiet like perculating thunder, their minds cracking open, their whole chicken little sky falling closer ever inward whipping sharp luminescent veins, a lightening of sorts, on the unheated marked all, woke a different kind of Light pulsing...

Continue reading...

Bookshelf was bragging a little bit Plants love my shelves! End table had a hissy fit. observed by three elves. Why do you brag like this? She angrily said. Irritated because her orchid plant was terribly dead. Bookshelf had a bit of a secret too. Plants that loved him were the ones that do…. Like living in the shadows, no sunlight hue. He did...

Continue reading...

Custodian of nostalgic memories, I cannot help but glance at it everyday, for it holds in its fold nearly forgotten stories, that in the distant past used to make my heart sway, now awaiting the urge within my soul to recreate and so relive the charm of mystical echoes, that here and now I may again celebrate highs of yesteryears as...

Continue reading...

woah! look at that bookshelf, it's split into three sections, how convenient, there's a politics section, a sports section, and a fiction section, some of the books look quite interesting, I'd steer clear of the Hillary Clinton book though, she can go die in a hole, (maybe that's a bit harsh. I don't personally know her after all.)...

Continue reading...

Like spider silk woven into human form. gliding in the air as it moves and beckons. grasping the metal of an old light pole. Head turning and seeming to look at me. I ask, if you ever came back to us again, how annoyed would you be at the traffic? Would you enjoy our precious cellphones, or perhaps you'd find them an...

Continue reading...

Deep inside you will never find. The darkest moments inside your mind. Like a thousand books of emotions. A mind full of love pain happy sad potions. As we Try to talk before you walk. But as we grow it is all erased just like chalk. The tears the hurt the pain. All attached to you like a mental...

Continue reading...

The ancient cracking bookcase stuttered Books trembled upon the shelves, Then scattering across the rug bound floor Where they took up new residence. Those left in the bookshelf started to rock back and forth hoping to join the colonials on the floor....

Continue reading...

The authors blink only when looked at, they recall for you a story, perhaps a tale half-read. One book lifted, pages fly between thoughts, a few scrapes of knowledge peck and preen again. Phrases return demanding still to be displayed though rarely used. There are mystic scriptures that hover between fiction and non-fiction. I imagine temple beasts still guarding them. I overreach, shake this collected tree of knowledge. Books fall, some...

Continue reading...

It all started with Rowling and Gandhi but you wanted more. Remember when Paulo Coelho joined in and brought Milton along with him. Wasn't that a party. You started craving attention and soon this family added Orwell, Kafka, Dostoyevsky and Plato. It all started with a water chestnut wooden emptiness. But there were no bounds...

Continue reading...

ode to my book shelfs filled with unread books My house is filled with books thousands of books old books mostly lots of musty classic books lots of poetry books lots of how to do it books lots of history books lots of thrillers, SF books so many books and they are my friends, these books calling me to read my books as if I had...

Continue reading...

The poets are the quills of God. The quills write down the masterpieces that cause chills along the spine, goosebumps, tears of the pleasure in godly rhymes that feed into the treasure of poetry. The quills write down as well the platitudes, the clichés that, to tell the truth, are different on spelling only. The countless graphomaniacs and the lonely true poets who,...

Continue reading...

a home for stories blankets of dust on some the likes of Carroll, Poe, and Hemingway all within reach of twelve year old me whose feet were planted squarely whose mind was planted elsewhere in my room just down the hall from the loving demons of our past these travels along literary highways by fingers that struggled with the logic behind cleaning...

Continue reading...

When my parents returned from England They brought me a leather bound copy of the Hobbit Now it sits proudly on my bookshelf What a fantastic story! Full of hobbits, dwarves, goblins wizards, orcs . giant spiders, elves and Beornings Imagination is...

Continue reading...

So many friends live side by side Here on my bookshelf Sweet stature and pride To help me conquer self. Over the years a growing pile Loitering patiently Anxious to prime fine style Swiftly and most surely. My mental diet of food for thought Is a daily intake Authored by minds that plot Feelings and thinking breaks. So many clever minds live here In pages that reveal Finesse and...

Continue reading...