Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
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
Agusto Ninoy 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
Love, I do still listen to the music that we use to listen to.
Eat in our favorite place where we use to hang out.
Go to the bookstore that we use to stay for hours.
Still playing the song that you use to teach me in my guitar.

Suddenly, you left.
Without a word.
Without a message.
Without a call.

I'm used to be called every night.
To be chatted every night.
The love is still there.
But too soon suddenly all went away.

I knew there is someone else.
Now, it is not me that you take to the fast food that we use to eat.  
You no longer stay at the bookstore that we use to stay for hours.
And I don't play the guitar anymore.
The concept is based on my friend's experience.
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.
Moth 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.
Poetry Addict Feb 2019
Enveloped by damp
Inhaling books

Murmur of shoppers sorting
With their fingerprints

Eye’s rhythm on book spines.
erin Oct 2018
i don't love you.
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)
Next page