Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nicole Apr 2021
He was known for a puzzling idée fixe
for literature in an array of topics;
Not a citizen of particular themes.
Given to a pursuit of this literary ENTERPRISE,
he would hermit away and ravenously read,
which left him with a pale VISAGE.
He'd dealt with comments of its PERNICIOUS effects,
putting a BLEMISH on his social standing.
Yet, it didn't DAMPEN his spirit.
He didn't shy from upgrading to a learned man.
A mixture of books granted him entrance to
TRAVERSE an ever transforming road,
for which weather had no dampener on.
He was a SENTRY of his own mind,  
following the ASTRAL bodies in the night sky,
to channel knowledge into dreams.
Wrote this for a poetry contest last year. Had to include the words: dampen, blemish, pernicious, traverse, sentry, visage, astral, enterprise The poem won 3rd place.
Ell R Apr 2021
He had hair the colour of lemons
Beautiful, bright yellow
Jesus, Mary and Joseph
He'd exclaim
Saukerl.
I loved him

Rescuer of books
Jumping into the ice cold water
A kiss, saumensch?
He'd ask
Arschloch.
I love him

A limp body
Dusty, cold, broken
Wake up
Denial; a kiss he couldn't feel
I will always love him

My book saved me
But who would read it now?
Mama.
Papa.
Rudy.
Gone.
I wrote this from The Book Thief character Liesel's point of view... sorry haven't posted in a while :(
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't pretend the innocence when you know that evidence:]



you know I'm a forest a wild sent rule crucial

scars abandoned on attached feels I call brutal

on you a ceiling too high to reach

far from the abnormals we share we teach

my sick matches your sick

your sick matches mine

it collides it ticks

burrowed from the glares of a daemon monster flare

been sold to the harsh heads

been kept at stake

the stark of shame

glosses of unhealthy addiction of reigns

no one knows nor understands us our meaning

things we used years to strive hard to achieving

rotten wolves as in our animalistic

in search of prey

a hellish nature fevered burning hate of the realistic

remind my mental

were owned by devils

not sentiments not rental

pretend the innocence when the obvious seeps

let go of the hold to grip on the recklessness that creeps

bent beats of unmeasured clefts but for the darker not the tender

a dominant number on the silent hypnotizing hummer

i ravish skins when control is no more

its hunger

shot on veins killed

****** out of blood

same as ecstasy

same as adrenaline

still racing on a flood


                                                         ­                          ------ravenfeels
I saw this once,
in Philosopher's Stone,
that the wand picks the wizard,
not the other way around

I realized today,
at the bookstore in town,
that the book picks the reader,
not the other way around
https://www.instagram.com/wutheringsbronte/
Nicole Mar 2021
In a garden filled by inky night
she reads by fairy firelight
with dreams of magic and of cheer,
in a land when fantasy draws near.

Where unicorns flutter in mid-air,
and fairies shimmer with stardust hair.
Dragons twirl brazenly in a silky clouded sky,
while knights suited on horseback stoutly ride by.

Grinning trolls armored with riddles creep
to divert from their overgrown castle's keep.
The moon princess softly trills a serenade,
and frolics in an open cornflower filled glade.

Flaxen mermaids with encrusted combs of stone
sit on tufts of a verdant seaweed throne
whispering tales of prized treasures aglow
buried deep beneath in the sea below.

Stars blanket in the velvet overhead
as she sits and savors the legends read.
The sights found in writings all retold
are worth more to her than pirate's gold.
James Mahoney Mar 2021
You sit politely on the shelf,
tempting, teasing.

You haven't changed in the years.
Physically, at least. But I know
you've grown bitter, behind that
facade.

One day, I think, I'll take you down.
Finish you in a day, come back in a year.

I remember where we met. That
shop, the covered market.
Knew you were the one. The promise
of romance, a cunning plan...

I returned home giddy, keen to begin.
But a new job forced a delay; then a girlfriend, depression, apathy.

I took you down once. Made a start but never finished.
So I put you back, guilty of that literary crime.

So many books, so little time.
Next page