Bookshop Poems - Poems about Bookshop

The glossy acrylic smell of new editions is cordite to my nose, an explosive mixture of - need to know. I finger trawl over dust covers mindreading unread masterpieces. Movies ransacked many of these novels, hearsay and word of mouth account for aisles of open secrets and commonly revealed revelations. I should obtain a dozen or so acclaimed sagas, display them on a prominent shelf – because,...

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People peering. Printed pastiches....

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millions of words all neatly filed silently shouting please try me , open my covers escape to my worlds i’m so small and neat you should buy me here i could browse linger ‘til i drowse under their awesome power. but I wonder if at night when they switch off the lights and the town begins to slumber, do all those...

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Ranks of glossy printed editions squeezed into a concertina of space. The acrylic smell of new books is cordite to my nose. Then in softer contrast, the musky ambiance of the old and well-thumbed, a well used dust on dust-covers. A tactile nosegay of leather-bound classics. Fact or fiction, all are revelations revealed. The appeal of the alphabetically ordered, arrayed in an athenium of only passing inquiry. Movies have...

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Of bookshops I recall at least a few. They dwell inside my mind, for with my past they may have got torn down – those spots I knew back in my state. I doubt that they could last with competition from the internet. If they’ve survived, they’re relics now like me - those remnants clinging to the good old days! There...

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BANISH ME TO THE BOOKSHOP Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower. Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours! First editions recline behind smudge-proof glass. Lock-and-key lick of lips, but I can’t afford the brass ring, the covet of unopened leather, so I’d dance through each unshielded shelf, illuminated romance, the touch...

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Mystique of mouthful aisle eats intrepid footsteps Bespoke brick shelf scrapers muffle internet tweets Eyes provide sole light source, borers of exploration Closed cover modesty encroaches on curiousity Timorous piled rectangles least represent symmetry Shifted to stained beige paged, folded back scars Markers of importance boast creased corners torn In enthused infusing, informed more with each turn Tattered stacks of...

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neatly bound, so neatly aligned, glistening blue, in perfect rows, labelled in gilded gold letters, wisdom packed many printed books, from left to right a thousand years, travel time, flick history pages, cookery across in next aisle, vegan diets or gourmet meals, climb the stairs, if fiction you like, crime, romance, dreams or adventure, varnished panels, shelves glisten clean intellects seek fodder anew! some stand to gaze...

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As I walk down the busy street, ...

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Try leave behind "Book Of The Week" And head upstairs where floorboards creak. Where people tilt their heads to look At every spine on every book. Where murderers and secret lovers Plot and scheme between the covers. Where transport from another age Transports you to another page. Where old detective books reside Each with their price pencilled inside. Where books based on geometry Share space with...

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The ‘classics’ section is not small. Ranks of tightly printed editions squeeze a concertina of time. The glossy acrylic smell of new books is cordite to my nose, I dodge a graphic array of explosive masterpieces. Movies have usurped many of these books Wikipedia factoids précis lengthy sagas, Hearsay, and word of mouth account for whole aisles of masterpieces. There are just a few left, books...

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I enter, the smell hits me, Old oak floors and shelves, Walking into a labyrinth Into which I can delve. I can lose myself for hours, In each work of art. From cover sleeve to pages, They really cheer my heart. Travel books can take me To lands across the sea, Awakening my senses, Really inspiring me. I browse the self help books, The ones on life and...

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