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Glenn Currier Jun 2022
Perched on the plank seat
of the old wagon
the dusty man gently jiggles the reins
of his reliable old steeds,
they as resolved as he
to reach Archer City
to get booked up.

Larry was there with his white hair
whittling his latest creation,
an overweight manuscript
sure to cause a sensation
no matter its heft.

They sat together talking
til the fireflies flew,
shared stories of books
loves, and good bass hooks,
reaching down to fetch a fresh brew
when they got parched
which was frequent
as they spoke at length
of men like Woodrow and Gus,
how they cussed,
poked, and stretched yarn after yarn.

Larry’s gone to the barn
but the guy who pulled up
in that old wagon
still is reading
and yet yearns
to revisit Texas lakes
to fish bass,
visit the local café,
and eat a passel of pancakes
or a big, tasty chicken fried steak.
This is a light poem begun by letting my imagination roam until I got this image of the wagon pulled by two old horses. I started writing and it just became what it is. Dedicated to my best buddy, Joe, who loves books even more than fishing. He was my pahdnah on Texas lakes way back when. One of his favorite authors is legendary Texas novelist, Larry McMurtry who also owned a bookstore in his hometown of Archer City, Texas.
Mrs Timetable Aug 2020
The scent I miss
Not for reasons of bliss
But simply this

The scent of old paper
To read a new caper
Or of the candlestick maker

So many worlds to explore
You even had a second floor
I miss you old bookstore
Online shopping stinks when you can’t smell the paper
Jose Carlito May 2020
If you want to see happy people
Go to the bookstore

As they flip the first few pages
Observe the cover and the edges

Notice the torn and the teardrops
Rub the coffee spills and the bookmarks

Smell the old cinnamon bread
As this 2nd hand book tells, the living and the dead

And if you see them smile,
And their eyes sparkle like the sea

By that you can tell
And tell, yet begin another story

So if you want to see happy people
Go to the bookstore

They are silently sitting in the corner
But you don't judge a book by its cover
Micah G Nov 2019
Those lazy days when
Your soul pleads with you to leave - -
So you leave the house
You get in the car, city bound
And breathe in the books and ink
fray narte Aug 2019
I’m sorry that I allowed you to fall out of love with poetry and writers, and the smell of old bookstores, and of the soil after the daybreak rain. I’m sorry that I allowed you to fall out of love with saving people with messed up souls, that I allowed you to stop hearing the stories they tell at midnight when they’re lost in unknown towns concealed beyond the gaps in their ribs.

I’m sorry that I allowed you to fall out of love with songs that could’ve saved your life, that I allowed you to walk past the paintings in a museum, and that I allowed you to stop seeing movies that could’ve reminded you of how it feels to feel again. I’m sorry that I allowed you to stop sparing glances at the myriad of city lights in smoggy cities and the spaces between fading pedestrian lanes — that I allowed you to stray far from mountain-and-sea sunsets, and the outline of a crescent moon, and the beauty of conversations that last ‘til sunrise.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, darling.

I’m sorry that I allowed you to fall out of love with the things you wanted to stay in love with.

I’m sorry that I allowed you to fall out of love with the things that kept you alive.
Kai May 2019
a sweet chime dings
as you walk through the door
you breath in the smell
of cherished tomes
and are drawn in
to a world of possibilities
I love the feeling of vellichor, it is just so enchanting.
erin Oct 2018
i don't love you.
no
i simply love everything about you
i love the simple aggression of the way you write and speak, your mind which says volumes in almost no words at all.
i love the glint of determination always present into your deep dark eyes, which tell me that the strong woman inside is being trapped, trapped by the hollow cage of a girl she's been burdened with all these years.
i love the wings, the scales which shiver with every step and cast brilliant beams of light off of their sharp red wherever you go.
i love the rhythm which with your poetry echoes in me, making me feel the pain of the man, the woman, the child and the lonely girl who you talk about.
i love your friends
your interests
your love for coffee and bookstores and the rain

but i don't love you.
it's true
Henessy J Beltre Oct 2018
Confused and misguided I found myself in the bookstore,
Looking for myself in the writing of poets,
Where pain and love met, I yearned for more
Found myself in disguise, broken, feeling time fly

Broken and insecure, I found myself in the bookstore.
Reading about my past lovers, was I not strong enough for the storm?
Loved a man who failed to explore,
The woman inside me begging for more

Lost but committed, I found myself in the bookstore.
Reminiscing on our lust, was I a bore?
Picking up a book filled with promises,
Will I ever get what love has in store?  

Running towards lust, I ended up broken in the bookstore.
You left me broken but wanting more
Addicted to your soul, I failed to remember..
That I met you at the bookstore

-Henessy J. Beltre
bookstores and libraries bring a great level of tranquility.
(© Henessy J. Beltre 10.10.2018)
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