#bookstores - Hello Poetry

Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com They Say Young Men Have No Ambition These Days The poetry section is the most remote: The floor where the staff sneak away for lunch Or lovers rendezvous for lovers’ arguments A few eccentrics who want to read poetry A young man sees it as his corner office Reposing in a chair, feet up on the glass Wielding two ‘phones, negotiating *** And drugs, and his efficient deliveries A **** among the poets, playing the world - Who says young men have no ambition these days?

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Oct 16, 2021

Oct 16, 2021 at 8:35 AM UTC

lawrence-hall

They Say Young Men Have No Ambition These Days

Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com They Say Young Men Have No Ambition These Days The poetry section is the most remote: The floor where the staff sneak away for lunch Or lovers rendezvous for lovers’ arguments A few eccentrics who want to read poetry A young man sees it as his corner office Reposing in a chair, feet up on the glass Wielding two ‘phones, negotiating *** And drugs, and his efficient deliveries A **** among the poets, playing the world - Who says young men have no ambition these days?

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_Vellichor (n.): the strange wistfulness of used bookstores._

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Oct 20, 2020

Oct 20, 2020 at 5:13 PM UTC

annh

Obscure Sorrows

_Vellichor (n.): the strange wistfulness of used bookstores._

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Distances by Michael R. Burch There is a small cleanness about her, as if she has always just been washed, and there is a dull obedience to convention in her accommodating slenderness as she feints at her salad. She has never heard of Faust, or Frost, and she is unlikely to have been seen rummaging through bookstores for mementos of others more difficult to name. She might imagine “poetry” to be something in common between us, as we write, bridging the expanse between convention and something . . . something the world calls “art” for want of a better word. At night I scream at the conventions of both our worlds, at the distances between words and their objects: distances come lately between us, like a clean break. Published by Verse Libre, Triplopia, Lone Stars. Keywords/Tags: distance, distances, convention, books, bookstores, art, literature, poetry, chasm, abyss, divide, Faust, Frost, clean break

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Apr 3, 2020

Apr 3, 2020 at 3:40 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Distances

Distances by Michael R. Burch There is a small cleanness about her, as if she has always just been washed, and there is a dull obedience to convention in her accommodating slenderness as she feints at her salad. She has never heard of Faust, or Frost, and she is unlikely to have been seen rummaging through bookstores for mementos of others more difficult to name. She might imagine “poetry” to be something in common between us, as we write, bridging the expanse between convention and something . . . something the world calls “art” for want of a better word. At night I scream at the conventions of both our worlds, at the distances between words and their objects: distances come lately between us, like a clean break. Published by Verse Libre, Triplopia, Lone Stars. Keywords/Tags: distance, distances, convention, books, bookstores, art, literature, poetry, chasm, abyss, divide, Faust, Frost, clean break

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I would rather write About this world than Live in it I would rather play Music all day and read Or wander around Or waltz into bookstores And run my hands along The wooden shelves I would rather remain Indifferent to the world That exists around me I would rather watch Humans than actually Be one of them.

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Jul 31, 2018

Jul 31, 2018 at 5:30 AM UTC

Obscrea

Rather

I would rather write About this world than Live in it I would rather play Music all day and read Or wander around Or waltz into bookstores And run my hands along The wooden shelves I would rather remain Indifferent to the world That exists around me I would rather watch Humans than actually Be one of them.

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I got braces when I was 16 that year I never kissed anyone but I made boys steal things from pricy bookstores I measure time by my teeth every year they get more crooked the older I get they seem to shift back to old territory old habits old now even smoking cigarettes feels boring when I walk into bookstores I leave sticky notes with advice I wish someone would have told me then they did but maybe if I had found it somewhere I was looking I might have paid more attention my retainer sits in a shelf collecting grime

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Feb 7, 2018

Feb 7, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC

nosebleedbaby

Retainer

I got braces when I was 16 that year I never kissed anyone but I made boys steal things from pricy bookstores I measure time by my teeth every year they get more crooked the older I get they seem to shift back to old territory old habits old now even smoking cigarettes feels boring when I walk into bookstores I leave sticky notes with advice I wish someone would have told me then they did but maybe if I had found it somewhere I was looking I might have paid more attention my retainer sits in a shelf collecting grime

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Ode to Barnes & Noble Patrick Leigh Fermor never roamed these aisles Sir John Betjeman never rhymed these aisles Graham Greene never despaired of these aisles And Rod McKuen was never here alone And anyway the two or three feet of poetry Are hidden far away in the back behind The puzzles, records, comics, and plastic toys And solitaries plugged into their machines But on a winter weekday a writer’s retreat - A yellow pad, coffee, and a window seat

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Sep 15, 2016

Sep 15, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

Ode to Barnes & Noble

Ode to Barnes & Noble Patrick Leigh Fermor never roamed these aisles Sir John Betjeman never rhymed these aisles Graham Greene never despaired of these aisles And Rod McKuen was never here alone And anyway the two or three feet of poetry Are hidden far away in the back behind The puzzles, records, comics, and plastic toys And solitaries plugged into their machines But on a winter weekday a writer’s retreat - A yellow pad, coffee, and a window seat

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