Learn more about other poetry terms

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.  
Those tear stained pages. Those words. Those characters. That home.
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.
A spiral of roots       calms a             tortured soul—    one whose mind is clouded with              worry
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
Yellowed paper Broken corners and ripped cover I’m glad it’s only a book
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.
A collection of Haikus for the Everything Is Aw
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.
Philosophy is awesome, yes
My life has it's ups. And downs. And it's starting to turn around.  
My life has it's ups. And downs. And it's starting to turn around.  
Of ripped and tattered binding,
    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 slowly transpose from Flesh and Blood to Page and Pen.
I look up, my hea
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.
What am I underneath it all? I am afraid, of new, of alone, of failure.
  Have you ever smelt magic On the pages of books?
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.
"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens"  
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
Nameless; a naked leathe
The dark The room The candle, I held it   So I looked I listened I stood, in awe
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
      To read words, Is to take in a brand new world
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,
People see me as a loud and talkative person
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
I almost envy those who don't see what is so great about reading.
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.
The tan cover is in tatters, Nearly detached from The spine in many places.  
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.
reading taking it in freedom from everything a world where nothing can hurt you release
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, 
the rus'ling pages whisper their secrets to me i am enlightened
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
Subscribe to reading