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sarah crouse Jul 2020
There once was a boy who feared himself.
So he went and hid in a big bookshelf.
He picked up a book and started to read
he saw the hero and followed his lead.
He read, he lived within these books
saw himself, the hero with the striking good looks.
He wanted to see it all he said
as the wonder and joy-filled up his head.
From world to world he travelled far
he sailed the seas and explored the stars.
He laughed, he cried and lived many lives
in his desperate quest to help him survive.
But everything has to come to an end
the books were done and all were read.
Just like that, he was alone again
alone with his thoughts, away from his men.
with no more books to save the knight,
he picked up a pen and started to write.
Victor D López Jun 2020
Working on two books,
In English and in Spanish,
Free previews below

https://www.wattpad.com/user/VictorDLopez
It's been nearly nine years since I published my first book of poetry, Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems. Since then, I published five college textbooks on business law, the legal environment of business and immigration law through my current publisher, Textbook Media Press and numerous papers in law reviews and refereed academic journals on law and ethics. I also self-published several books of short stories in English and Spanish and some 200+ poems here and at other poetry sites.

This summer as a fun project I'm working on a second book of poems that I will publish as Echoes of Dawn at Dusk and also a Spanish version of my lesser output of poetry written in Spanish and translated into Spanish from my English originals that will be called Ecos del Alba en Tinieblas. If you'd like to take a look at samples of poetry that will be included in these two books, you can go to my author's page at Wattpad at the above link or to my Booksie profile page at https://www.booksie.com/users/victordlopez-82664. Both sites also have samples from my non-fiction (other than textbooks), short stories and poetry readings.

I have an active research agenda for this summer and next fall, but these projects are a way to ensure I continue using both sides of my brain and remain connected to my fiction and poetry roots that long predate my academic career. It is also one of the ways that I de-stress and take needed breaks from my day job and serious research.
chloe May 2020
i don't think he loves me.
that is such a strong word.
but this man is a complete stranger
yet he could tell me every single fact about myself.

it's just my physical qualities that he sees.
thinking this is more would just be absurd.
i cannot imagine myself in any danger
of falling in love
this is about Pride and Prejudice
Remy Jun 2020
She was the only beautiful thing
In her dark world
Bodies were falling apart around her
Since her childhood
She couldn’t read or write
But she was the book thief
She stole “  the gravedigger’s handbook   “
And when she was asked
She said -it wasn’t always mine-
She met a bird
Who was forbidden from life
From seeing the sun and the daylight
She described it for him
The weather, the day
The coldness of the snow
The heat of the sun
Painted the pages of a book
Then she wrote her own story
The book that the bird gave her
And said “write , words are the only thing that make us humans”
She was living for books and words and lines
She lost all the dear souls
Under the left pieces of war
Except her book
And the bird
I was here  :)
Raven Woodfort Jun 2020
When I close my book,
do the characters get trapped
in time or pages?
Perhaps they're trapped inside our heads...

A haiku written during Inktober 2019.
Vaampyrae May 2020
Like any other Saturday, she picks up a book
Lies on the couch, starts reading her favourite lines
With her adventure-ready position
Gazillion particles await her discovery

In between familiar blocks of text
She traces white spaces with her fingers
To capture a long-lost story in the universe
Her heart always feared to return to

Its sturdy spine stands still between her fingers
Yesterday’s traces of coffee and tears remain
The folded edges hastily placed to remember
As a stray bookmark falls down like a sparrow

Treading its story chapter by chapter
There's a line she keeps coming back to
“Hope,” it said, “can bring you places”
She tucks it in her pocket full of favourite lines

She thinks of outside
Where the withering whispers no longer matter
Inked and paper-bound, she begins to make sense of
A romantic story between a girl and her book

The pages calmly gaze at her
As she finds herself at the last fold — a blank canvass
With a smile, she takes a quill and braces herself
To finish the —
Made recent revisions to a poem I made months ago for lit class. This is supposed to describe me. Proceed with caution bwahaha.

(Note: I was never able to write a happy poem for a long time, this is the first ever happy poem I wrote in two years.)
IMCQ May 2020
Take a page from my book.
Don't live to please those who would write you off
For choosing your own narrative.
Why let others write our stories.
Sitting idly by, as they use up the pages.

They forced the pen from your hand.
Take it back.
You know the words better than anyone.
But don't cover up their mistakes.
Tear-filled chronicles, a testament to growth.

When did you last write your own chapter.
You were excited to sign your name, you're the author.
Take up the sheets of paper.
Fill in the blanks.
Leave your mark.

When you read cover to cover,
Were you dynamic?
Did you go off script?
Underlined lessons?
Highlighted cautions?

When you've reached the resolution,
Will you be happy with your account?
Or do you have more to write.
If you have another story to share,
Take a page from my book.
I've read 1,000 tales.
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