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Mary K Apr 2016
red sunset vibes radiate from the poster on the wall
a pile of crumpled papers rest around the tin garbage can in the corner
broken dreams lie dying in the dream catcher above the bed
a record plays softly from the table by the window
white flowers turned brown with time bend weeping in their plastic vase
a pile of half-read books sit on the night stand
forgotten memories stay silent in the journals under desk
and moonlight floods through the open window onto the dark wood of the floor
something different
I don't think anyone could love books as much as I do.
Nath Rye Apr 2016
you were my daylight.

i was a mere infant
who, at the crack of dawn
of his very first day outside the womb,
immediately, stupidly fell in love
with the warmth the daylight provided
and abandoned fear and doubt
in the presence of the light it shone.

sadly, though
that was short-lived
as i learned more about the daylight.

fact number one
the daylight shines upon every single one
there is no such thing as favoritism
and thus
you must never, EVER
think you're special

fact number two
the daylight can burn you
spend too much time basking in its light
and the feeling's comparable to
a moth burned by the very flame
that it is helplessly drawn to.

as i gathered more facts
i soon realized that dusk was soon approaching
but i never wanted to lose this feeling.

but, as all things go,
powerless against the constant flow of time,
desperately crying, screaming
for my daylight not to go away

it just left.

i wonder what new things dusk can bring.
interesting
this doesn't feel like a poetry piece..... but i'll post it anyway.
xmxrgxncy Apr 2016
My mind can travel
Farther than any airplane
Any train
Any Titanic laying waste to thousands of icebergs
Deep pools of liquid twilight
Know my name
I visit briefly
Then am on my way
Broken shards of starlight
Pierced through by the screams of a newborn
I have heard
Seen
All there is
And when the feathery light axe
Begins to fall down
Down
Onto the neck
Of a plasmic colored swan
We will know
All there is
To fear
Patrick McCombs Apr 2016
When I digest poems
I often regurgitate them
It's like throwing up
Alphabet soup
The letters
Are in a different order
Coming up
Than going down
After they've been
Saturated
In my juices
They become mine
cgembry Apr 2016
When reading a juicy book
Don’t rush

Take a moment to sample the plot
Allowing it to saturate your imagination

Contemplate the tasteful expressions
That spice up the story

Notice how the vivid imagery
Blends beautifully with the conveyed emotions

Of course the main ingredients are the delicious characters
Turning an otherwise average read into a satisfying experience

Allow it all to settle in your mind
Savoring the message it imparts

And once you’ve reached your fill
Turn the page for another serving
cgembry Mar 2016
Story after story
Displayed on stories upon stories
Of multiple library floors
In large spacious rooms

Levels of fiction
Nonfiction
Mystery
Poetry

On and on they go
Lined on shelves dauntingly high
Or Child-level low
Artful as featured works in museums

We congregate with hushed voices in examination
Yet we can touch them
We are invited to
We can reach out and remove a piece of history

From the ancient days of scrolls
To the modern pages
We pull them from their places
To discover the wonders within

Sharing in the joy that emanates
From the joining of imaginations
A connection so powerful
It unites the hearts of strangers

We lose ourselves for hours
In our favorite chapters
With our beloved characters
Whom we come to love as precious friends

Reading ignites the imaginative powers of the self
And it all begins by pulling a book off of a shelf
Nikita Mar 2016
Words conduct orchestra
emotions dance to tune
I watch ,
Spellbound.
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