A beautiful new world of lifelong learners!
Healthcare for all,
Children reading books,
Lifelong exploration
At university,
Or online!
Healing those in need.
Learning the way! (Whoa!)
We're doing all we can to make life better,
Such as writing Congress a letter.
We strive to do what's honest and right,
Giving kids scholarships to improve their lives!
(Hey!)
Everyone needs free access to learning,
Hardcover books and ebooks for knowing
What we need to do, help each other,
Is provide basic needs.
An educated populace together
In this big, blue, beautiful world! (Whoa!)
Medicine and healthcare for all.
Help your brother: help your sister.
In a world where everyone's learning.
Achieving.
Living.
Loving.
Healthy food feeds bright minds!
Healthy people love learnin'!
Generosity and kindness abound
In the USA! (Whoa!)
(Hey!) (Whoa!)
More than just word pages
It’s a read for all ages
Lessons learned and experiences gained
Theory through the journey
Adventure beyond compare
Truth and mysteries foreseen
Sentences overflow
You come to know
Like Flood Gates let out
Stories near and far
Beyond one’s own belief
You will learn to understand
Through the atmosphere of the mind
It doesn’t matter soft or hardcover
You will begin to discover
Look and observe
One step higher in intellect
Awareness takes effect
Illusions full of illustrations you wouldn’t expect
The beginning to the end
Never is a pretend
Testimonial open up
Open book straight line
Words and sentences and much more combined
Read out and let knowledge push on.
The newborn baby looks with its wide eyes
When the dear mother moves away, it cries.
The mom's aura fills smiles and makes it well.
"Love weaves a mysterious magic spell."
When the child babbles, the father gets thrilled.
Cuddles it in his safe hands and gets chilled.
When the child toddles, the dad makes a yell.
"Love weaves a mysterious magic spell."
Grew heroic as a freedom lover
wants to come out of parents' hardcover
Passionate dreams in which he wish to dwell
"Love weaves a mysterious magic spell."
Wins his love and becomes Mister Perfect
Leads his family with all self respect
Turns to His agape love and bids farewell
"Love weaves a mysterious magic spell."
LOVE WEAVES A MYSTERIOUS MAGIC SPELL
Open up the Veuve Clicquot
Only the best will do
I don't like faux anything
When it comes to you
Real Irish sweater
Real hardcover book
Real thoughts in letter
Real Martin Brooke
Real chateau, Lake Annecy
Only the best will do
I don't do faux anything
When it comes to you
The book - an abridged dictionary.
Hardcover, thick and weighty.
I open the cover, discover
a library record,
the book had not been checked out
or in for decades. 1974 is stamped clearly.
Under a pile of old paperbacks – hidden
until now.
I must have stolen it.
Who the hell would steal a dictionary!
Then it comes to me –
a young man hungry for words,
that’s who.
He destroys the house when we are gone.
We don't care.
We love him.
Today he destroyed a hardcover book and a set of headphones
My husband tried to use a harsh voice, but he could not carry it off.
Buddy is our giant pony dog, and we bend over upside down to allow him
To be the most wonderful doggy he can be
He is a puppy, doing his best.
Delighting us in every way
It is up to us to love him, because he gives us the gift of love daily
Anglo-Saxon rulers were interned in the Orford castle.
Its polygonal edges secure the town's harbor from dazzle.
Many tallies of feral men caught in fisher webs hassle.
In 1826, Joseph Turner intended a hardcover poetry book.
On his trip to England's East Coast, he was led to the fort look.
Turner drew it with a pencil tracing.
He used a deep stain on a blue rag to add raging.
Orford's fort was veiled by red twilight in a verse hard coating.
Written: February 04, 2022
http://collection.imamuseum.org/artwork/49383/
A Strand (1069) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
This new year
I tuck you away
Like a sweater I no longer wear
You whose squiggly ink
occupy hardcover journals
I cherishingly placed
on a wooden bookshelf
You I've outgrown
You a place I no longer go to
You who are fading with time
Leaving only faint lines in my psyche
From where I draft new ideas
You the ghost of last year's thoughts
Every Night You Come Home Smelling
Like her tenderness, when i ask i become the
Guilty and you the innocent "okay am sorry
Let's drop" and with a cheeky smile you head to our room .
Ancestral ghosts appear to me every night
"he is lying"they assert , i hear them but i
Do not listen .nay i know they are telling the
Untruth, they were not there when you asked me out.
This feels unreal i do not believe the newspaper
That they are selling me , i won't even think of
Buying it , but the cover page seems so real
The front page is made of a hardest hardcover
But still i won't buy it , i don't have time for such.
Even the wind has the tendency of lying to me
These days,No! ! I can't take this anymore love
Tell them yourself to stop since my voice is thin
All of you stop lying. The ways of the untruths
Is not right stop or you will kill someone,
You weren't there when we first met
You do not know us
There must be a good Justification for the
tenderness smell of her
But unloyalty is not one of that i trust him
My doubts level can never reach my love and trust
Level so once again shut up
People are like books.
Some are big, some are small.
Some come in a set, and some
Are standalone.
Some are new.
Others: used.
Some hardcover, and some soft.
Some, we know we will never read again
Yet we keep them for the memory.
Some we are sad to let go of,
But know there’s always another waiting out there to be read.
The one thing that never changes,
Is that they are all books.
When spines of hardcover are marked with ink
upon their pages, old cedar drifts on
through brownish sheaths wrapped in pulp, distinct
with plots and main characters long forgone.
And my thoughts journey unto realms untold
entering regions from another time,
along a nook, books perch on shelves grown cold
yet, I linger on quotes, both raw and sublime.
The lamplight from the room glistens inside
to spark turn of scenes, a climax, an end,
while endless gasps roll on night’s ebbing tide
until the heroes’ plight I now befriend.
Near the door, Grandma calls a bit louder
in her library, we somewhat allow
flicks of reading, laughing; and just out there
meal is served . I leave this haven, for now.
--------
In The Library Contest, Isaiah Zerbst
8/12/2015
a lot scribbled on
last page of past diary
next one hardcover
January wind
Dodging electric wires web…
Kite sprang in to sky
There is my beloved, sitting under the Sun,
Tenderly is how the wind, embraces her waist,
Bitter because he cannot carry her away.
There is my beloved, sitting under the Sun,
The sea is calling her, swiftly striking the shore,
she will not go with him, just hearing his hearsay.
There is my beloved, sitting under the Sun,
She keeps her face behind a green hardcover book
avoiding the caressing of an intrepid sunray.
There is my beloved, sitting under the Sun,
If the moon had a face, wouldn’t she also be shy
hiding on her bosom the smile I admire today?
My Lady of the Aisles walks so headily between the texts.
Her switch is but a libracation,
Within the words laid down and spread before Us.Such passion there was found in reams. A first edition, pressing, hardcover of what we dare not say.She came at once that very moment as I came to understand.The same turgid truth of mine inside her as we felt the Joy of Next.
A single strand of sunlight dappled gold.
Straining points of tautnesss ,such wicked thoughts kept abreast of learned intercourse amongst these torrid tomes.
My Lady of the Aisles turns each page of Mine with barely a concern.Of these throes of rows and rows in each of Us discovered things . We found on higher shelves.
She reads Me like a dirty book while I take the time to read her full; completely.To such a climax; there are no words to tell the truth.Of what the shushings all about.
Books...
hardcover, paperback:
inspiring, alluring, fulfilling.
Buy one at your book store, or get one at your public library:
fascinating, thrilling, educating.
New, old...
pages.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.