Hey everyone,
I'd like to propose a challenge.
Grab a book, any book, and open to page 49.
6th line.
5th word.
Make a poem, and use that word as its title.
Be sure to make sense, and relate the topic to title!
Tag your poems as bookpoemchallenge so I can check them out. I'll be sure to like, comment, add to collection, share the poems which I enjoyed reading.
Best of luck.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Thinking of parks, gardens, and yards..
Not a single minute of wonder
Not even a street to wander
Sitting in silence at home,
Not even a window to look out of
Not a single door to open
Imprisoned in the darkest place
a person can dream of
Just wishing I could have a glimpse,
of what the world looks like
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
I would want you to be my star,
but then you would fade in the morning.
I would like you to be my sun,
but then you would set at night.
So maybe you could be my 'heartbeat,'
If it stops, I won't die from fright.
I'm already dead.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Owen: Hey. You're awake.
Cristina: You didn't come home.
Owen: Yeah, there was a--
Cristina: A bus crash or a train crash or a patient crashed? Yeah. Right. Why are you staring at me?
Owen: Well, I'm weighing how upset you are and if I want to get into this.
Cristina: You do. You want to get into this...
Owen: I'm tired and it's late.
Cristina: ... with me. You know what? That's the point. It's always late, and it shouldn't be. And you should want to get into it with me but you don't. I mean, where are you?
Owen: I am-- I am here. For God sake. I'm right freakin' here. I'm home.
Cristina: No, you're not. ... You have to be honest with me because I am going crazy here. Do you, um, do you love me anymore?
Owen: It's not about if I--
Cristina: Owen, please answer the question.
Owen: I love you so much that it hurts.
Cristina: Okay. Well, okay, then. Then we can-- We can work on this. We can talk. You know, we-- We have to talk, because I cannot be like this anymore. (voice breaking) And I Mean it when I say that I'm going crazy, 'cause... (sighs) 'Cause that nurse Emily-- I mean, I-I accused her of sleeping with you.
Owen: You what?
Cristina: I'm-- I'm sorry. I just-- I mean, I feel like... My whole body feels like... Like you were cheating on me. And then you come home and you tell me that you love me, and I'm... I'm-- I'm relieved. I mean, I'm so relieved because--
Owen: Stop. Stop. I said I love you so much that it hurts.
Cristina: Okay.
Owen: I said... it hurts... to love you.
Cristina: Just say it.
Owen: I'm not cheating on you with Emily.
Cristina: Okay.
Owen: But I did cheat on you.
________________________________________________________
He said he loved her so much it hurts.
He said it hurts to love her.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Every morning, I promise I'll never forgive you.
I forget,
I already have.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
My feelings for you
were the ink
that of which helped me write...
but now,
I'm afraid I'm all run out of ink.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
No thank you.
I think I'm going to stick with having real emotions,
And not being afraid to express them freely.
You should be proud too
Because if being a girl means having the ability to feel,
then we are all girls.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
My sister,
an annoying blister.
In the depth of my relaxation,
she bombards me with such nonsense and retardation.
Like she's designed to disrupt every source of silence,
while I'm diving in the ****** of my imagination.
My sister,
full of spirit and laughter.
Her jolly heart is something I feel obligated to look after.
My sister,
Although having her endless branches of imagination,
says that I'm her inspiration.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
Having races brings me back to running rainbows
Jumping over dogs and pancakes
Shadows stretching beyond computers
Is it my imagination, or did the grass run home?
We are empty aluminium shining in the snow
This is how we eat 1000 GB of soil and lyrics.
We are not,
yet we are
reaching out to grab the tables
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Children are dying...
I'm kicking back, with nothing to complain about, yet complaining.
While children are dying
I'm dancing
to my favourite song with my pals and sisters.
While they bleed because of the blisters
caused by the wood of their broken homes.
Unheard screams and groans
Getting ***** by strange misters.
Bombs and grenades fall like raindrops from the sky
BOOM BOOM BOOM! The soundtrack of their lives
An endless lullaby
And they cry
and cry.
But I can't hear them,
for the music in my room is too loud.
Children are dying.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC