Quote By Author "Dear Writer, Have a blessed day
writing away your beautiful writes to all of the readers."
A writer chooses their words with glory,
their words will tell a story.
Sometimes it will be sad,
many times it will make you glad.
Books and poems come in different sizes,
paperbacks can have cheaper prices.
Reading the words can be beautiful or fun,
especially sitting under the sun.
My hat is off to the writer,
writing must make you feel like a bullfighter.
Finding the right words is not always easy,
other times it can be breezy.
Thank You to the reader,
you are our very best cheerleader.
Bliss
browsing paperbacks
Goodwill
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.
I’ve read too many
Words – adjectives and adverbs
Poetry and prose
Both delicious with color
And captivating with feeling
Like music, they have charmed me
My mind absorbs their excuses
Benefiting from their reasons
Justifications that count
Me one of the spellbound
One of the awestruck
One trapped by names
Styles and expressions
Terms and verses
Disputes within the passages
I have read them
Devoured them with a hunger
That is almost a living thing
Forcing me to wolf them down
Like the glutton I am
Out of the bowels of the apartment come
the trivia of the past.
Old receipts pushed to the backs of drawers,
faintly accusatory,
records of money and passions spent;
Yellowed paperbacks made unseen
when new ones double-parked on the bookshelves;
Clothes swallowed by omnivorous closets,
CDs in cracked cases tugged into shadows,
gadgets, trinkets, and
other mummified delights
re-emerging dustily into the light
from the tidy rubble of a home.
Not like photos, those records of big things
making up the official, abridged version of a life,
these are the messy memorabilia,
leftovers from small doses of happiness,
each a reminder of
a moment in time when we were lifted
from the rut of days, and
cheered,
solaced,
or moved.
Now all assigned to the “OUT” pile,
to be shed
before the movers come.
The book - an abridged dictionary.
I open the cover, discover
a library record,
the book had not been
checked out or checked in.
1974 is stamped clearly on the page.
I found it under a hill of stored paperbacks.
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.
Once a bookworm from Timbuktu
Devoured every book he went through
He was quiet scary
Ate every book in the library
First editions, hardcovers and paperbacks too
The Bookworm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Newmann
3/8/19
Paperbacks tell the tales
Of those lost in time
They occupy your intellect
You slowly waste your mind
Like television and internet
There are worse ways to unwind
Judgement comes from all around
Plentiful rumours are abound
Dig deeper into the manuscript
You'll never hear a sound
Hours turn to years
The voices come now calling
Their messages become clear
Simple times are one thing
That thing you've come to fear
Holding you back
From things you see in nightmares
From the shadows they attack
The story now reality
Never know the facts
This world begins to slip away
How's to spend your final days
Shaking hands get a grip
Lost in your own mental play
You'll figure it out
You'll figure it out
Disconnect no time to reflect
While pins and needles climb your neck
Veins collapse and the memories crash
No Phoenix to rise from the ash
Stole your soul your self control
At least now you know
What's inside the rabbit hole
You ask to know my history
What part of me is best
What were these medals given for
All worn upon my breast.
This one is for bravery
This one is for injury
This one is for gunnery
This one's for artillery.
This one is for nibs and quills
This one is for paperbacks
This one's for the daffodils
This one's for my screws and tacks.
This one's for the ice cream van
This one's for it's tires
This one's for the garbage can
This one's crimped with pliers.
This one is for candy canes
This one is for showers
This one's for losses and gains
And this for magic powers.
This is for a dog that bites
This one's for the bloody mist
This last one is for who recites
Then slays the hearer of this list.
The jumping jellies in wellies are singing like la la la
Space suited shells are quite adept at leaning through cubby holes and travelling for a long time. A long time is a lengthy length leaning. But not leaking for leaking is akin to leering and leering belong to lecherous old whales in suits sat on many benches in rows. Rows reaching raiding retching rumps. And rump steaks are mashed to a pulp by a size six hundred shoe having a hop down a stairway. Never mind the beeswax ear drums and kettle fish dance for ot is merely a movie shown here on a screen. A flat screen is often displayed on a suitcase isn't it? Wow how often the occurring jam configured jar invites the ham to a sandwich party. Quite often. But a table top clap is a riot of absolutism that abolishes apple pips. Eradication eating eggplants. Oooh mystic moo tune. Great. Dance then. Hahaha the sponges are riding the paperbacks. Hahah swan dip in the cup. Xxxxx colonisation z z z z at nineteen herrings hearing harpsichordists' to fourteen financially dynamic dynamited digital dogs. Z so why wobble wobble with curd then z z z z z z zbhvq at platform five six seven. Z
Piles upon piles of dust and mold
Gather in a large closet up in the attic,
Where junk of memorabilia resides
Untouched for years as I scan the heap
Of treasures accumulated: a prom's corsage
At 17, shelves of dresses, high-heels that
Tell me now I have grown four sizes larger!
Paperbacks circa 1980, eaten by bugs
from a Literature nerd in grade school...
Journals theater souvenirs looking like
Fossilized antiques from medieval ages,
Along with broken Parker pens and oil
Tubes defying a frustrated artist,
With drawers of lace, beads, threads
As glue guns ( in yellow) stick on interior- design
Folders: then to reach out for music records;
Dollars saved in a jar as a novice in advertising:
Oh the thongs , underwear kept in cedar boxes--
A vision of dates with sleek metro princes,
Discoing on till they turn into wimpy frogs...
How chlorine scent jams my nostrils as I clear
The unwanted pile-- mounds of pile that
Stain my dingy face my hair a rocker's mop.
Die as I flood you with ammonia !
Not the keepsakes...but those stinking fungi!
3/2/2017
Unwanted Guest Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
PAPERBACKS AND COKE
Two partners in crime, my love affairs…
Bookmarked pages dumped on my soft bed
An urge to roam among fays and lords,
With visions of despair or triumph
Knowing insomnia is the nemesis;
While Advil cannot comfort night’s plea
A hubris …firing my imagination.
While leafing through chapters, I find relief
From another quirk; an ally so sweet…
Oh,cold fixes of Coke Zero quench
This need to satisfy all day’s thirst,
Eluding water therapy…how bland
How tasteless when hero and villain
Begin a venture of mighty feat;
Jittery, hand reaches for the next soda
As my brain excrete adrenaline…
With paperbacks and Coke at 3 am,
I conquer twilight’s watch, quite drained!
But life is short, my love affairs agree;
Did I include the M&M’s cravings?
For rob carmack, A Vice You Love
11/21/2015
The book sale happens once a year;
I stock up when I go.
The choices wait in boxes,
Alphabetically, by row.
I search for larger paperbacks
(The ones considered "trade"),
Although they cost as much
As all the hardbacks there displayed.
My son says, "Get a Kindle"
But I love a book in hand,
A feeling that I know that many
Others understand.
Today they had the book sale
And I carted off my treasures,
So now I have the reads I need
For many summer pleasures.
14th of February a day dedicated to love for centuries
A day shared across nations and countries
For so long this day held no significance
For what seemed like forever until you came along and made a difference
You became the roses I wished I would receive
You became the Chocolate kisses I would move mountains to retrieve
You became every love letter I hoped would be for me
You became the message in a bottle while I was lost at sea
I believe it was for love like ours that a man gave up his life
If we lived in the 1970’s I would plead the mater for love to pronounce you my wife
A love so rare and ravishing it should be written in the paperbacks of Ballantine
14th of February a day I devote to you, be my forever Valentine
will it pass this way again?
nobody knows because the community
library
has to many paperbacks and the clouds
to many sins.
will twain swirl in the rain?
will steinbeck hit the deck?
will it pass?
will a folk singer from the north play the
harmonica
piss into a gutter and give some simple
remedy?
Now there is baptist marmalade in the
sun.
Now there is rye bread in the oven,
but in a cafe on main street
there is still.....
black coffee.
white porcelain cups.
thick calloused fingers.
all the regulars gathered there just like
every other day.
an old tv flickers over the counter just off
to the left of a
warped mirror that has labor union and
mason stickers
from the early 90s on it.
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