Notebooks Poems - Poems about Notebooks

I love my school things: Crayons, ruler, and pad paper, Glue, sharpener, and eraser; Pens and pencils in a tin box That need not close with any locks. Some pocket money makes me smile-- To buy a gum to share with Kyle. Notebooks with pictures on the cover Of my idols--like Justin Bieber! Oh, wait, there’s one thing I forgot-- The...

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Like Thoreau I sought out Walden’s Pond For me, it was my grandmother’s field of soybeans Lost in the bowels of a small gray shed I fancied a cabin I stumbled on it when I was eight, an explorer, in the summer. It became mine almost immediately, and I dragged in pillows. If it had been closer to the house...

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There's a bag I like to keep, A lil' ...

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I found my son’s old notebooks Going way back to first grade. His early writing and his thoughts Are carefully displayed. He was a quiet kid and mostly Praise he did amass But there, repeated 15 times: “I will not talk in class.” I marveled as his skills improved And humor did appear As he matured and gained a bit More confidence each year. These notebooks are...

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A silly superstition enwraps and grips me, It holds me and will not loosen its vile, crushing deathgrip: It is a numerical one, this foolish superstition to which I have my subscription, For this is the numerological sorcerous fallacy to which I've subscribed: That, as I have yet published a baker's dozen of poems hereon, (Though this...

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People are always giving me notebooks Once they find out I write At christmas At birthdays At random At least two a year They sit in a stack on my shelf Hundreds of pages blank Hundreds of poems unwritten White page syndrome Magnified ten fold Intimidation radiating off them in waves I prefer to use a computer There,...

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Word upon word, sentence upon sentence Some a little absurd and others about repentance Some many of them just sitting there that sometimes I have to pry Then saying, we’ll that isn’t fair and that’s just a flat out lie But as I read more and reopen my heart I see God at their core, He’s becoming a bigger part So...

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The soul, my notebooks and I The ant lies dead in her coffin With no one at her funeral But I and my notebooks And her own soul I sat clasping My mountains of notebooks Firmly to my chest crying The size of goodbye....

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How often have I blundered at the precipice with brimming enthusiasm hollowed by doubt and want for survival? With breath arrived a passion to express beyond mere words the notion that we are never alone even when gripped by horrors wrought against fellows. Along your spiral spine I climb. Your teeth clamor knowingly with palpable fear at being dutiful to the whims of an impatient and infantile mortal. Within the...

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the first time i took a pen and wrote some words on a notebook it was for a grade. now i live it. now i breathe it. i express my feelings, feeds my soul. to publish a least one book is my goal. writing my everything. i bleed it. when i writing it takes all my worries away. i want to be admire...

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