reading
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Your brain needs a book
To have a nice look
It make you learn word
Which have been in world
There are books which are curse
Some books are made for nurse
The book which have cure
Fresh new book opens wide and swallows me whole!Taking time to acclimate I catch my breath,Focusing as scenes and characters unfoldTo instill memories of their length and breadth.
A dusty, near- forgotten tome
found in some long- neglected nook
its paper a fragile parchment
crinckled with age...
You open the cover,
peer as if into a portal-
opened,
you expect profound truths.
Each old novel; a new lover,
Assuaging the pain of life.
Silence falls over the house, save
The rustling of yellowed pages.
I want to read books over here.
I want to read books over there.
Books are great to read everywhere.
I read with my friends at the library.
I read with my sister at home.
Once I get home, I sit outside after a long day.
Everyone wants to talk to me, but I don't really have anything to say.
I like to keep to myself, because it ensures that I will not be in pain.
Home
My mother is yelling
about how she hates her life.
I can practically see her exasperated expression
as she slams pots and pans.
Head down in a book,
Hiding my braces,
Fearing they may look,
Always so abrasive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Head high like a rook,
Not afraid of their gazes,
Have them by the hook,
Someone once asked me why a reader would write.
Why, when the bookshelves have run out of space?
Why, when there is nothing new under the sun?
Going to college was never a choice, Gaining a degree for my mom could rejoice
Then grad school came into play, My career path altered a way
I.
Books are considered once as my enemies
But now, I treat them as part of my inner peace
That seems to enlighten my mood when in frustration
The smell of ink and paper
The flutter of turning pages
Faraway
Lands
Magic
Things
Incredible
People
Friends.
The art of writing cannot be done without first mastering the art of reading.
The art of writing cannot be done without first mastering the art of reading.
To have readers, one must have been and always be a reader.
To have readers, one must have been and always be a reader.
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books.
But that's the way we like it.
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books.
But that's the way we like it.
confinment
to this body, this place, this time
doomed to live this day
over and over again
a wave crashes on to shore
steady as the old grandfather clock
the path worn down to dust
I tiptoed on the patio to keep my feet warm
I unfolded my book and began to read
Just as I spotted a red leaf in the tree
It's a metaphor, you see
That one little leaf
I tucked my knees into my chest
Poetry has taught me that the more I put on my page,
The less chaos I have in my brain,
There’s a class of 900-some-odd kindergarteners-who each ate a sheet
A gentle shift of the body, the steady turn of a page, and the oddly addicting scent of ink and paper fills the room.
Dear Authors,
I dream of your literature which keeps me up at night as I pore over each page, deciphering and synthesizing each phrase, detail, and word.
Dear Authors,
I dream of your literature which keeps me up at night as I pore over each page, deciphering and synthesizing each phrase, detail, and word.
The breeze flutters the inked pages softly,
A reader’s gaze follows every a word.
Nose stuck in a book, in hand a coffee,
Far off places and new worlds most unheard.
There are so many books as old as time,
That act like doors for the creative mind–
To worlds where reason never needs a rime
And in these worlds, one can find grand emprise.
The shelves nudge my hips as I pass.
They are jam-packed with too many books to count,
But I do. I count them all.
Their pages are rough and worn.
They hold memories of eras I long to visit.
I first checked you out in school.
I don’t know what caught my eye
But it doesn’t matter because I was too shy
And let you pass by for the fear you were “too intellectual.”
You've heard a few stories,
or must've heard one
Of princess,
of prince,
Of aloft humpty dum?
Or jack who took Jilly
too far down the hill,
And lo
They remain
Oh books that I love,with your frayed covers and tattered pagesYou take me on perilous adventuresand entice me with electrifying romances.You make me laugh at characters mischief and weep at their demise.
I wake to the song of a thundering call
A summons to a world just beyond
Lost long ago in the grimoire of time
An empire forged by rune and sword
The far away lands of spires and lore
I invite you to imagine a girl.
She is quiet, her house obscenely loud.
She needs calm – her house is anything but.
You’re looking for her? Check the library.
Because that’s where she is –
It's the feeling that it gives me, like I can finally fly
it's the entire universe in each page I process.
It's the love at first sight and the wonderful journey that follows,
the ridiculous jokes that make me giggle.
One day she’s a princess;
the next, a cunning detective.
At first he’s a noble knight,
soon to be a sorcerer in a distant land.
Tales of beauty, evil, love, envy
all woven into ink and paper.
Pages rustle gently against the wind but do not stir from my thumb
Worlds of words wind their way to me and take me from my own
Now I sit in a tavern where Gareth is buying drinks for all
My love is everlasting
Like a tree that's evergreen
But it's not seen
By those who mean
To sweep it from its pedistool
The blaring alarm breaks through the daze,
And the sun shines through the window in a golden haze,
The birds are chirping in a frantic melody,
Through the days in which I feel there is no good, days in which there is no escape
days in which I cannot be in a worse mood, and my life has fallen into rather poor shape
There are books.
Sitting in class all day,
stressed out and tired.
I'm not ready to do homework,
instead I go for a book.
I need a escape from reality,
just for a little bit.
Worlds of the past,
There's no greater feeling than getting
lost
in a book.
While
I read, I am transported to another world.
Reading
is an escape from the stresses of my everyday life. It
is
Reading ellicits many worlds
For boys and girls, alike.
Open a book and you've entered a new reality,
One that's meant just for you.
Experiences never had,
Feelings never felt,
Emotions unknown.
When all else is wrong
A good book is unfailingly right.
I read
and I reread
and then I reread some more.
My favorite book will never let me down,
while my favorite people may.
I french kiss the morning,
And open my eyes,
The sun is smiling; the clouds are high,
I jump out of bed, and grab my book,
Then search in earnest for a quiet nook,
I finish my story and hike the trail,
With heavy feet, I treadForcing myself to my bedI lay on my backBreath in and outAttempting not to focus on what I lack
When I was a little girl,
I would pray.
With my eyes wide open and my head tilted back in wonder,
Struggling to soak up every ounce of happiness and sunshine I could
A dry mouth and sweaty hands
Eager eyes glued to mine
While I found my line.
The words were written down in black
Doublespaced, in case I lost track
Fear in my head
But in my heart,
I once was a little girl
Who one day picked up a pen,
A notebook,
And never looked back
I became fascinated with words
That sang and danced
And told unique stories
I sit upon the story book.
(The walls they shudder, the house it shook.)
The pages are yellow, the cover is aged.
(The window’s emblazoned-the storm is enraged.)
The story is familiar, my memories wake.
She flips page after page, anxiously trying to reach the end;
Because there will be an end,
And it will be a happy one;
Hers? She's not so sure;
But no, she won't think of that;
Allow me to dive
Into a pool of black and white
Let me lie on my back
And drift; will you join me?
Tell me, how does a world
the girl sits in her fluffy bedroom chair
curled up
blanket-covered
a book in front of her
and she is crying, because
her favorite character died
or someone told the truth and it hurt
Without them, i am
Only shapeless emotions, unable to
Relay my thoughts,
Direct my ideas and
Share my passions.
Writing them collects the
Overflowing ideas, connects them.
Give me my books.
The ones I read when I was young, to the ones that I read now in adulthood.
Concentration and motivation.
To find what comes next.
Reading would keep me occupied for years.
A thousand heroes Standing tall, A thousand heroes Together fall. From beneath the dusty, Yellowed pages Charge these warriors Of varying ages. United they stood,
It’s always fun when something totally consumes you.
When your mind goes blank and feeling lost becomes fun.
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough.
I’ll consider it.
The first few pages intrigued me.
I'll bring this one with me
And read it on the bus ride home.
I’m learning more and more,
You may strip me to the bone and examine my every part
Go ahead and remove my soul
While I pray to GOD that I will let go
Of all my insecurities
And my bad qualities
And a broken back that will not stop me.
I feel so alive in my chimerical head,Lying here in my past, not yet left for dead.I’ve gone places near in a cartographer’s words,But light years away, ‘twixt fire-winged birds.
The rustic life, pastoral scenes, the basis of idyllic dreams the simple ways of nature come, its harmony in total sum. These country settings, warm and real,
I smile in hope they will stop staring.
I smile in hope that they will see the beauty I see when I look in the mirror.
I smile in hope to make someone's day.
My old friend,
with laugh lines of crinkles
lovingly speaks to me.
With his aged yellow paper
and strange musty scent
that likes to linger just, for my benefit.
The pattern of the clocks...each tick cuts through empty thoughts.Blood pumps through little veinsThat lay neatly upon solid bone.Hours at a time
Every book I open is a door
a door to a new world.
A pathway to a new destiny.
A road to new friends.
A journey.
A voyage.
An experience.
I live and breathe with the characters
When she reads, it's something magical,
because for a moment,
shes there but not entirely,
her heart stays with me...
but she leaves...
Well I can tell you this much. My happy is real.
I am a happy person. Even though I don't let it show.
I can make it seem like I am having fun. Even if I'm hollow inside.
Every house holds a story
like the binding of a book
Every house holds a story
Tick tock,
The clock strikes one o'clock.
The sky is dark, the stars shine bright,
Everybody, but one, is asleep tonight.
Far away over roaring seas, or mountains of mystery,
war rages through countless pages, both fiction and history.
Beneath the cover reality fades and colors emerge in place.
Past closed up pizza jointsPast laundromats, through the dying noisethe nights tick on like clockworkwatch the calendar as my steps unwind
Creamy smoothness under your fingers
Curled up; cat-like
Minutes ticking by
the world surrounding you has vanished
It's only you; eyes devouring
piece by delicious piece
word by beautiful word
That warm smellFresh coffee from the brewer to my rightCoffee made the cold air thickerRounded out the nick that came with each inhaleI turned the page in my book
Wandering amongst the maze of shelves,
I hear their whispers of stories yearning to be heard from a multicolored sea,
It's just not about the dates or the facts that follow. Reading thousands of pages. Finding the truths in all the words written hundred year old pieces of parchment. It is about all the lives that were impacted.
I am what I am
An unopened book,
Withholding surprises.
Patient in revealing secrets.
I am what I am
A fictional hero.
Durable courage,
Balanced with sympathy
Words are taken for granted.
Written in books that just sit on shelves.
Children no longer want to read
but play video games.
What about the children who suffer.
depression
anxiety
A child of a certain age when reading is a pain
Is asked, “Well, Jane what did you learn today?”
Without a thought in her brain nor reaction in the chain
She’ll say, “Um, not much,” just like always.
Dear Me,
The world cannot change you
Although it has tried
Stereotypes wont cage you
nor the thoughts in your mind
When shores become rocky
And storms head your way
Keep your head up
I can take a trip anywhere in the universe at anytime I choose and I never have to call a travel agent:
I can run with the bulls of Spain
dance with King Louis XIV, and Louis XVI
Once upon a time I read a book
That one book turned into two
two turned into four, into eight.
Each book was like a journey
through an alternate universe
through a post-apocalyptic society
I hear the slightest sound in the middle of the night. Both my heart and my breath have ceased for the moment.I am completely motionless.There goes another noise.This time, it is more distinct.
I love reading. I really do.
When I was a kid, I used to curl up on my bed with a three hundred page book.
And then I'd wake up in the morning and the book would be gone, finished.
Stretching your own skin.
Laying on your side.
Turning pages on an ebook.
Reading about the baby.
Reading your way into motherhood.
Passing by the years go by.
Wondering where innocence has gone.
This poem was inspired by Rosemarie Uquico's poem "Date A Girl Who Reads."
No holes in jeans
and no thin
straps on shirts. Only for
girls. Teachers believe girls
are the problems for poor
attention spans.
Clothing is the tip
of endless problems.
My one true love was a letterAnd for tears upon which I stood,It grew up through pieces of plasticsearching through years of daysfor woodFor grass, for fir, for wood, for flightEffortlessly
i watch you the way a caged bird watches the sky and when i think of you i see those blue eyes
(they are my sky)
and they look into mine and, oh god, i'm pretty sure you can read me like a book because i've got my heart
Dear lord could it be,
here I am for all to see.
In front of the class paying my dues,
speaking aloud to all of you.
I was quite scared and oh so lost,
when my teacher said we'd be here with a cost.
If you don't read, you don't know me.
If you haven't lived a thousand lives
Haven't sighed a thousand sighs
Watched a thousand people die
You can't know me
If you don't read, you don't know me.
“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming,” That’s what I tell my son.A dream can make a day less dreary and keep an old soul young
Reading is wonderful 'thing'
The incessant flow of only twenty-6 letters
once you read this, or anything
your mind has experienced someone else's thoughts
These thoughts cannot be changed
My mind wanders to the peeling paint
To the bleeding stars in the night sky
My eyes scan the bland nothingness
My lips murmur to the silence
There's soft music in the darkness
An entire concert in my ear
I am leading a half-real life full of adventures and written words.
My life is as fragile and vibrant as these cut out pages but I hold my spine straight with my soul proudly printed and displayed.
A couple of smoothe dry pages moved by the soft hands that control ages,of thought and the process, protest of an incapable body,not yet devoloped but getting there,enveloped a sudden hidden share,of a mess.
I will read them in the rain
And in the dark and on a train
And in the car and in a tree
They are so good, so good you see!
Green Eggs and Ham was the 1st book for me
Click like if you spend hours click-clacking through psudo-inspirational quotes that have been made into FaceBook photos,
Plastered over meaningless backdrops,
tagged up for likes and shares no one really cares about.
the surprise when
you said you had
read the same book
&
"loved it"
&
I agreed
but who knew that
all I had felt
all along
was just
love.
The best fairy tales all start the same, with once upon a time.
They ebb and flow. They twist and turn and sometimes even rhyme.
But maybe what makes them so special is not the stories themselves,
There are certain precautions one must take
when stalking the aisles of a book store.
It isn’t so simple as a stroll in the park
or a saunter along some moonlit path.
No. This is war. You’ve entered the most
