Long Books Poems
Long Books Poems. Below are the most popular long Books by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Books poems by poem length and keyword.
The music is low, as the pages unfold
A dusty worn novel, on bent-spinal shores
These classic old books, are my treasures of gold
A narrative story, with mystery's core
Latitude England, heavy with multitudes
of somber descriptions, and fictional lore
Chapters reread, opened with gratitude
Moldy with knowledge, elegant diction
Read once again, revises new attitudes
Timeless depictions are viewed with conviction
I find new adventures while reading each phrase
Loving old heroines, claims my addiction
My own place to spend time and ponder the maze
and to find some conclusion, left in a daze
___________________________________________________
For "A Vice You Love" contest
Sponsor Rob Carmack
Bazaar and fair for worn-out books,
An old-time air of yellowed looks.
Random and odd like haunted hints,
Once sold and bought from dreary mint.
Covers now shout in lazy pace,
Fancy finds bout in display space.
Flavours once known lie in sad pile,
Pique fancy's own words in old style.
Feel paper print of thoughts distilled,
Charm in old mint of journeys tilled.
By this old mall sense busy plots,
Stray footsteps call on book sale lot.
A treasure hunt to seek bargains,
Knowledge greets grunts of curious strains.
Leon Enriquez
04 January 2016
Singapore
Don't Be a Nazi
Flee the yoke of woke
and unlearn the hate inside,
and be a human
reaching out with love to share.
Tell the universe, “I care!”
***
Note:
As an infant, Adolf Hitler (1889–1945) was baptized in the Roman Catholic Church and avowed his sacrament of Confirmation in accordance with the Catechism of the Catholic Church at the age of fifteen in 1904. Though history books and the Catholic Church intentionally or unintentionally blur and misrepresent the truth with biased, opinionated arguments, Adolf Hitler never officially renounced his Catholic faith, nor was he excommunicated from the Roman Catholic Church.
Adolf Hitler served as the leader (führer) of the “National Socialist German Workers’ Party (Nazi Party)” from 1921 to 1945 and Chancellor (1933) and Führer (1934) of Germany until his suicidal death in 1945.
Adolf Hitler, “Tell a lie loud enough and long enough and people will believe it.”
The preposterous fictions many
profess to be unvarnished truth
warp the very fabric of our universe --
cause those long dead to walk among us
through the spectral midnights in our minds.
The bone dust of those past millennia
films our eyes, coats our shelves
of sacred primers, those missals
unquestionable in their catechistic
authority -- so we become
the acolytes of those controllers
who have themselves always been
instructed, conditioned, and suppressed
by generations of such teachers --
through example, reward, or punishment.
Think! Open up your mind!
The truly free do not fear to question
and to decide the truth or falsity
of any proposition, any statement
or assertion and to declare
what they have concluded to be true.
Or false.
Dad you told me that life was like chapters,
had that, got it- but I think we live books !
Sad, but also lovely to think this way,
mad, crazy- we have within us notebooks !
Essays written on eternal pages,
malaise and happiness for us to find !
Gaze at, or re-live that moment again,
maze - is what I call the books in my mind !
_____________________
June 8, 2021
Poetry/Lento/Essays on Eternal Pages
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1361-985-08
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Lento - 8 lines
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 07/04/2021
Second Place
Sandee kicks off her blue slippers, and pulls up her feet.
Cozy and warm, inside, where snow cannot reach the heat.
Mouse Swallower is in window, with back to the glass.
Skunk Boy is firmly attached to her round corpulent ass.
Oops. Sorry if this offends, but I always tell it like it is.
It’s a curse of the family. Sandee is my sister, the whiz.
She devours books, especially romance novels at night.
I imagine if a real man showed up, she’d chase him off with her right.
Yes, she is mighty, my sister, who looks cozy in this winter scene.
You cannot tell it by looking, but she can be biting and mean.
To humans especially, for she never met one that she liked.
The children at school would be shocked that she once upon a time biked.
She is prissy and snooty, and only has love for these two cats and books.
If you double cross her, you’ll get her wrath, it starts with horrifying looks.
Sandee looks so cozy and loving, with Mouse Swallower and Skunk Boy.
She is my sister, and believe me, you’d better not rile her or in any way toy.
But she is so unassuming, so sweet, sitting there with her hot chocolate cup.
I am telling you, Sir, she will turn you into a groveling, crying sobbing pup.
The last one she chased off was a really nice guy name of Amsterdam Bill.
She is better of course, if she has taken her lithium pill….
What a great title for how I feel!
Was never chained to be a potato peel.
After eighteen, I learned to follow my own stars.
I acted, was in movies and naughty Pangie met writers, actors
and even famed musicians in bars.
No, not two bit wanna-be writers or actors at all!
Those in real movies, published writers and all!
They were regular friends and visitors at my small house.
Don't think for a minute, I am a bookish mouse.
Decades of a wild life, nothing boring, not ever.
Boredom and I do not get along, 'tis not my pleasure.
Hey, I don't kneel to any poet here!
And neither should you, sing of only your soul's cheer!
Be you, no matter what.
If others do not like that, well, tut- tut.
I love writing at zany four a.m.
It seems the world and I get down perfectly, then!
It's the most exuberant time of my
day.
I want to run outside in the cold and shout, ole!
I think I was blessed, the minute I was born.
Some hate that and look at me with green, jealous scorn!
Two authors used me as characters in their books.
Boy, that's exciting, so stop giving me second looks.
I don't try to impress you with words or forms.
Couplets for me, are so norm!
I love real people not filled with baloney.
Poets like that are not my cronies.
I cannot type as most of geniuses do.
So all my poems are one finger-dos!
Yes, and my long-winded comments, too.
Sorry, but can't just say a word or two.
Where am I going, what's the rush?
I tell it like it is....so very much.
So that's only partly who I am.
I still am growing, hoping to be a better human!
I'd like to see more openness.
Tis my crystal dream in this poetical forest.
11-29-2020
4:30 am
Title of poem...credited to.Max Highstein..album "GRATITUNE".
That is how it is spelled ..not a typo.
The end of the year is the dawn of a new one.
The sadness and the yesterdays are all gone.
We have in front of us: a new era, a new horizon;
We are hoping and dreaming of a better season.
The moon seems to be brighter at midnight.
The migrant birds are flying very low tonight.
They are chirping, screaming, moaning and singing;
The children are happy, jumping, sauntering and playing.
We set new goals, short deadlines and crazy wishes.
We invite friends over to enjoy novel drinks and dishes,
And we listen to old songs, which never go out of style.
The globe will not stop turning and the wonderful sun
Will not cease shining. A new season always brings new fun.
We need to relax, be more realistic, laugh more and smile.
Copyright © December 2012, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
This feels too much like deja vu,
the days and nights of a biblioklept.
It’s what the book-bosomed must do,
taking in every chapter as you slept.
Being such an omnilegent person
it’s hard to run across something fresh.
Reading’s such pure introverted fun,
with each word I want gooseflesh.
I wander to each town bouquiniste
on the lookout for a page turner.
I’m hungry for a clever plot twist,
that story that’s an acid burner.
There is no place I would rather be
then inhaling the scent of this paper.
Serene and content in a lectory
escaping into a wild fictional caper.
I love to go running through my head
inside a space where I have no phobia.
While in reality I am filled with dread
suffering from debilitating abibliophobia.
Man and his dog
He awoke under the bed it had been his birthday
drinking champagne, eating Danish pastry, and smoking Havana cigars
He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge took out
a beer, which he thirstily drank while wondering why
everything was so quiet
The maid had been in when he slept and everything was in order; when did the guests leave, or had he partied with his teddy bear, being lonely since his dog died
Looking out of the window he saw many cars, they had
no drivers and some had open doors as abandoned in haste, but what had happened?
In a bakery/cafe he had a sandwich of cheese and tomatoes, he made it himself since the lady who owned
the cafe was not there.
It dawned on him he was alone in the world, everything
was his he didn't need to share his good fortune with anyone, except for the cur outside who ran away and barked when seeing him
He tried the Rolls Royce that belonged to the mayor, yes
the ride was smooth, distracted by thoughts, he hit a lamp-post, but never mind there were other cars around
At an expensive restaurant where he once had dined, he made and made himself a hamburger with hot fries
drunk with the most expensive red wine possible.
The dog that had growled at him looked at him through the window, wagging tail, it knew he was the only one left to feed it
Months went by, life was getting a bit onerous, just him
and the dog following him around, getting fat from his overfeeding.
He stopped shaving and shower and wore the same pants
since the day was endless anyway why bother with personal hygiene when there was no pressure to conform
Deeply depressed, he jumped from the top floor flat of
a tall building to end it all.
No such luck! He descended, slowly broke down, and cried freely as the dog was the only witness to his sadness
Doomed to live forever, he laid down under the bed
but before falling into Nirvana's arms, he got up again someone had to feed the dog.