"bestseller" poems
Be my novel tonight
Allow me to navigate the depths of your thoughts
and journey through the pathways of your mind while
merging in my imagination and infusing in my wildest
poetic fantasies. Inscribing in our bedpost an
unforgettable bestseller.
Be my music tonight
Let me groove to the beat of your heart picking up pace
as I explore new ways to invoke melodious outbursts. I
want to sing a duet with you of synchronized moans and
pleasurable sighs. Culminating with you belting out my
name in one final perfect note.
Be my masterpiece tonight
Permit me to trace my fingertips across every inch of
your frame as I find your sensually stimulating spots.
Armed with new knowledge and intent, sit back as I
stroke you with my brushes of desire and take you on a
creative adventure of twists and turns as I bring to life my finest
work of art and watch with all anticipation your love erupt.
© Tina Thompson
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
The one is a myth
I bid farewell long ago,
Along with the illusion
Of lasting bliss.
That was a fairytale, I know-
Concocted to charm little girls
Whose parents could not bear
To break it to them
That they would never be a princess.
But maybe it was not a total lie.
Perhaps there are many ones
Just waiting for
The right moment in time
To stop you with a smile,
Maybe even stay a while.
Then when the season changes,
The one will too,
And you will be blue,
But then you will find someone new.
Is it like going to the library?
My heart is a bestseller-
Someone new takes it for a spin
Until a different story catches his whim.
I was the right book at the right time,
The patron has a wandering mind-
It is not a crime.
It is not like going to the library,
Because they check out my heart,
Then return it again-
But they rip out their favorite page
To keep as a souvenir of the adventure-
Because to them, that is all it is:
Another adventure, another conquest,
Another stop on the road to where they are going.
They do it without knowing
The trail of tears they leave
And the hot fire of rage.
The one is a myth.
There are over seven billion people here,
But that does not mean that for everyone
A prince or princess shall appear
Standing underneath the tower window
Calling, "Let down your hair!"
Hey, I never said it was fair.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes,
Do they also bake the recipe required?
What's the recipe for a poem?
Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems?
What temperature do you bake ink-
To make it a bestseller?
How much baking powder do you bake into a page
To perfect its pagey turny pageiness?
What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in?
Should it crumble?
Should it rhyme?
Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”?
Wait,
Where did drama llama come into this?
Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie?
Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust?
WAIT-
we forgot about the filling…
What do you put in a poetical poem pie?
Should I peach the pied poem?
The peaches plumpy peachy smile?
(i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that)
Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ?
A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie.
Crap, I forgot the apples as well.
Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long!
And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at!
Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper
To pipe the spice to pied poem levels!
But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be.
But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles?
So,
My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot.
Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
They have been together,
give or take, for fifteen years.
Their marriage in the clasp
of puberty, its voice deepening,
its stubble sprouting.
Not long ago, shopping.
Necessary. Kid’s birthday.
It comes around quick,
like lunch, paying for the Ploughman’s
at the self-service in town
when the clock flicks to twelve.
Her right hand on his right hand.
They still do this,
though not quite as often.
Today,
he returns from work, wrenches
the tie out from beneath the collar
of a shirt she ironed yesterday.
Son, out.
Daughter, also out.
The fridge plagued with magnets
and a list; Milk,
Bread,
Eggs?
Inside, two beers,
sweating cold.
Later, he thinks.
How’s your day been darling?
We need to be at the school at six.
Oh yes.
They need to hear
how their progenies
excel at the expressive arts.
He hasn’t been expressive in years.
Hours expire.
Now his bare feet slide
under the duvet.
The wife reads a while,
Sunday Times bestseller.
Then she hugs him,
touches the skin she has known
since she was nineteen
at Northampton, literary sponge
absorbing Shakespeare and Joyce.
It is warm.
It is something
that has not changed.
The two of them are content.
They know they can
always have this.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
When thinking on everything
It's hard not to understand
Why people hope for
A greater being
Some form of deity
It's hard not
To hope for
An almighty design
After seeing
How humanity has
Killed itself
Hard not to hope
So I've come to an
Agreement
With my simple minded
Spirituality
And decided
That all of existence
Is made by some
Heavenly Author
Creating entertainment
For the almighty masses
A Celestial bestseller
So to speak
All the death
Catastrophe
Love and Hate and Chaos
All of it
In order to keep the
Pages turning
Therefore,
Just as
Mercutio was born to die
Just as
Every aspect of his character
And life
Was molded around the single
Unwavering moment
Of his death
At Tybalt's hand
Just as
He existed to serve his purpose
Between his best friend
And the tip of a blade
So must I serve
And finish a chapter
Of this epic poem
Write on, Shakespeare
I follow your lead
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
Can I see your wine menu? What's the bestseller?
'We have bottles and labels from France, madame'
Oh...
Do you have something stronger?
Something that will knock me off my feet?
Perhaps something more bitter would be better.
Something that will get me home crawling.
Maybe something smoother and a little closer.
French just isn't doing it for me.
𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘻-𝘮𝘰𝘪 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘳 𝘴'𝘪𝘭 𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢î𝘵.
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 9:37 PM UTC
You dipped into me like a pool
you hadn't swam in all summer, a hole
in the back of your mind you almost forgot
was still there. It was as if you predicted
the big splash, the droplets like crystals
I could see through to your heart, reading
your feelings like a bestseller on a lounge chair,
basking in the sun on the side. You broke
through my surface with your hands, those hands
that strip me down to just my tan
and hold my ribs like a steering wheel, driving
our bodies together as I kiss the chlorine
from your lips. I'd wrap you up in a towel
just to trace the slope of it from hip to hip,
use that momentum to tell you
how much I love the way your smile looks
when you think my eyes are closed
as we lay on top of the sheets with a fan
circulating in the limited space we leave between
my baby sundress and your khaki shorts,
our bare feet playing with each others toes.
I like the way your hands feel in my hair,
pulling it down the line drawn on my back
with your knuckles, landing in the dimples
of my back like a raft, floating
on the feeling suspended in this moment
where I bite your lip and you sigh into another kiss.
I like how it doesn't get dark until eight,
how you make little circles around my hipbones,
the sound of your laugh as it bounces off my own,
smiling into another push as you pull
my heart over yours into the shade to cool.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
The book of poetry
has a page in every book,
It's not found in any registry
and it has no special look.
The book of poetry
Is inferior to the Bible.
But its mainly about artistry
Any has no verses of trouble.
The book of poetry
Is similar to the Book of Eli
It keeps secrets of our ancestry
Buried deep in the kingdom of Mali.
The book of poetry
Recognizes the Koran
Yet has no creed or authority
And places no restriction on any man.
The book of poetry
Transcends every bestseller
Yet no one has right over its intellectual property
And it belongs to every poet, every reader, and writer.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
or like today, almost any other day like today,
but today i matched up two analogies
with cooking;
i once only stated that doing organic chemistry experiments
were like cooking,
broths of sweets and sours (esters and ammonia compounds
respectively) -
they did seem so at the time and still are,
while smashing vegetables dipped in liquid nitrogen against
the laboratory floor,
but today, almost like any other day like today
i started cooking a chicken makhani (indian butter chicken),
past the stage of frying onions, garlic-ginger paste,
past adding the spices: garam masala ground cumin chilli powder
cayenne pepper salt & pepper,
past the stage of adding butter, milk and crème fraîche,
and chopped tomatoes,
past the stage of then dipping the chicken in to let it poach for
more tenderness than if fried prior (as the recipe suggested),
then... when i noticed the spice colours diluted by the dairy ingredients
i peered into the culinary warlock’s cauldron and uttered
what fiction critics would have said of a bestseller spy novel...
‘mmm... the plot thickens.’
side dish? lemon rice.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
If someone's going to write me a novel I think we should title it 'Girl Crashes Into Windshield'
Then everyone would be intrigued by the violence of the whole thing.
Then maybe, also, you can use that old photo of me as a reference point.
With a dramatic asterisk next to it that says before.
That will get 'em going.
The first line would be something like, "Death is such an ugly word."
Then we could detail the effects of having your face smashed in at 70 miles per hour.
Make some remarks in scientific terms about trajectory and blunt force.
Get some of those good 'like an egg on a sidewalk' analogies too.
End it with 'had she only stepped into the street two seconds later'.
Now we're gettin' somewhere.
The whispers of bestseller start to breed in the aisles of Barnes and Nobles' everywhere.
Because everyone loves a good car crash.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
We have been together long enough
WW3 broke out a week ago
We have been together long enough
You'd think we invented “kissing on the beach”
We have been together long enough
We are co-authors in the bestseller “Commitment and Quarrels”
We have been together long enough
Our memories could be your bedtime stories
We have been together long enough
Enough no longer means sufficient
We have been together long enough
We are back to being a day old
We have been together long enough
It is a kaleidoscopic cycle
©Belema.S.Ekine
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 5:52 AM UTC
it's a tree's life
a birds and bees life
the bees knees life
but they carve into me with these knives
see, i'm a tree and i help out the bee hives
in every land of milk and honey
honey, it's the honey that's the money
it's straight tree life
not down on a knee life
i stand for one thing and that's all
texas chainsaw massacre and hatchets
lost limbs and widow makers
in every atom is a gift within
every thing of thick and thin
it's straight tree life
it's so great to be life
i have one godly fate, to all relate
breathe me in and lay beneath
i am the shelter that you seek
come to me don't be afraid
i am all warmth and in all shades
it's a straight G's life
yo nuts swing on deez life
it's a tree's life
we all shake with the leaves
and say goodbye when they leave life
spring will be back to see us
not exactly, but we will be us
loving the sun, wind and rain
changing with the weather to be the same
accepting change
knowing we will live on
tree life
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 8:02 AM UTC
The hero of mine
My closest kin
Protector of fear
Where do I begin?
A mind of books
A wild story teller
Helping me sleep
Brothers bestseller
You took me away
On the high seas
We fought armies
Bullies and Thieves
I idolised you brother
Always by your side
Bikes from the shed
We'd go out for a ride
Long summer nights
Watching the skies
Satellites passing
Stars filled our eyes
But...
Youth escaped us
We were no longer free
The weight of life
Came down on me
The sun didn't shine
The shadows grew long
I searched for you
I tried to be strong
I missed your stories
I needed you brother
We drifted apart
From one another
I tried to reach you
But silence befalls
Keeping me out
Surrounded by walls
Ten long years
Since I saw you last
Only memories remain
Left long in the past
I really don't want
Our story to end
But our bond is..
Too fragile to mend
By Darren Wall ©
Feb 3, 2024
Feb 3, 2024 at 5:29 PM UTC
May you let me READ ALOUD to your soul.
Trust me
So we can find love
And share the mirror
I see through
For it is never a hawkers game
But,
A key to the many that
Let's us be one for eternity
For a white lie
Isn't strong enough
To win a game of poker against it
Where's your mind
When beauty is your agenda
Or was the cover of the book too
great to read on the suspense
That now laughs aloud in your conscious
At you.
READ ALOUD may I continue
Or is this such
Of the many tales
You read as a child
That let life blind you
With all its folds.
If so let me correct you
As I now
READ ALOUD mine to you.
With the simplest of words
That I would like to read a book
Of many genres
I will love and
Forever think of for eternity (life at death)
And write one back that you will too
Kicking fiction off the shelves
With a bestseller
Which we will read to the joy of our hearts
and one day we shall tell the story
Beyond us and this bubble of a wall.
As it will be in the best of cursive
Furthermore a script
That makes fantasy
Think twice before writing itself.
And end with THE END.
Truly.
©Hansmind, 2015.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
I have a lot of kindness to share
I have so much love to give away
But if you don't want to take it- your loss
My pages may never have been turned, but I'm a Bestseller
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Only step on light-coloured paving slabs;
there are gaping voids under the darker ones
filled with a twisted-mustard fog made up of cut-off hands, heads, and genitals
that ***** **** and squirt foul-smelling, luminous goo all over you
as you go down, down, down –
your screams will fall on deaf ears, and your voice will drown you;
your voice will be your downfall.
Never sleep with a gun under your pillow;
someone you love might annoy you in the slightest – and vice versa –
nightmares are so much more frightening when they become reality.
You will cry, cry, cry
(your cries won’t be heard if you swallow a bullet first, of course),
and cleaning the corners, where the Witness Spiders sneer, is a *****
Never sleep with a book under your pillow;
you might wake up thinking Wow, what a beautiful day,
not knowing that you’ve been ****** into one of the author’s stories –
leaked from his pen, though not inked;
the fleeting thought of a madman
who dreams about writing a bestseller on family murders.
You will scrub, scrub, scrub.
Avoid reading silly poetry about superstitions;
the words might be those of a madman who writes with a cheap pen,
the ink spilled all over the page on purpose.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 PM UTC
that bankroll of notes changing
train pistons into traffic cones
and brief loves into marriages
with the motherly continues, but
ended up, just being, a roll of toilet paper
that could buy you **** for ink
or ink for a bestseller that ended up a door stump for a housed breeze.
but she loved it, she took the story of pristine eden
and her the satan like a camcorder with selfies
readied into recycling a pretty face
that everyone wanted to fudge into snorkel in a sea of gag white;
so i took to the monk ape for inspiration for levitation
and i rooted into a child being the: bullied anorexic lexicon,
the all rounded a*
tenner for a teenager housebound into being schooled
for a grey of officiated scrubbing of papers into
business.
i loved it, i had my midlife crisis without a harley
and i faked myself as a dodo fearing man’s fear of death
more than the unexpected extinction of my fellow species,
which i took to be fearless.
so once i experienced caesar’s love of spontaneity and death,
the last two things i feared were homelessness
and a prolonged state of dying utilising morphine
from april till june,
that’s why i never changed surgery,
never wanted to check the cholesterol or blood pressure
acting like a virus i asked to attack my heart
with marginalised debriefings - if i prayed
for the herz blitzkrieg right i also got a heartbeat prior.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Let me take a page out of the book that gave you every look you passed me when I went about my life the way that I was taught
If you had only gone as far as lit my cigarette and smiled I would have given up the world for you and your trials
When you find your rhythm let me know, but I feel that you were never searching for truths not in your bestseller book
I’m sitting here still waiting for a turn to speak, but you’ve stuffed your ears with amnesia of history; it makes you free
I’m here looking at the sky; it’s my way to feel free for a bit of time, and it doesn’t hurt anyone, unlike yours
We were never in line, and it’s all fine, until you cup my mouth with all the force you gained from never having to think twice
Now let me take a lie out of your book and make it choke on all the tears that could have drowned your pages and made you realize
Shy and soft-spoken though I might be, there are ways to talk without speaking a single word and it’s worth a thousand photographs
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 4:44 PM UTC
**Nobody remembers but he won't forget
so many Novembers that he can't regret
and the few Decembers that they managed to get
to light burning embers ,fond memories till date**
*Camping as only two members, night fires till late
Watching stars twinkle, eyes travelling interstellar
the great fables and love stories he used to tell her
drunk from sweet wines he coveted for his dream cellar
when he narrated inspirationals of guys like Rockefeller
and she convinced him he'd someday write a bestseller*
**The daily stroll especially in twilight
crazy dances right in the moonlight
the color and florets during any date night
the mourns of pleasure after star gazing till midnight
the promises of for better and for plight**
*Nobody remembers but he won't forget
so many Novembers that he can't regret
and the few Decembers that they managed to get
to light burning embers, fond memories till date*
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
There’s a dry voice that chokes;
a sandy tongue that grates dust-vowels over chipped-blue lips,
explosive puffs that cause the heart to race,
from somewhere behind the cherry wood bookcase.
Let the flames do the talking – keep that fire stoked.
Hold your breath and pray he won’t come stalking,
for his teeth are geared with gold-sneer,
and they rip through bone to the beat of tortured soul-fear.
Never make eye-cont—
In his left hand a discarded, crumpled page – the letters broken and twisted,
his name rearranged to spell out the victim’s, yours;
the author who thought it ‘wise’ to exclude him from the last ‘bestseller’ –
King’s had a run-in, and so, maybe, has Heller.
act! Your feet are frozen to t—
An utterance of disapproval as he drags himself across the floor planks,
a crust of dust where his nostrils should be flaring,
a gob of phlegm on the chin as he turns
and slaps himself on a limp leg that drags behind like a heavy shadow.
he spotted you! Grab—
The harsh noise of nails scraping over the floor’s drawing closer,
as is the groaning of painful sighs with each heave –
splinters in open sores on a right hand that’s swollen green,
yet strong enough to clutch tight
the letter opener!
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 3:03 PM UTC
This morning I woke up a little earlier than usual
and grabbed some leftover boiled peanuts out of the fridge,
which I ate cold.
They seemed to have lost a bit of their charm,
since I always ate them hot at a picnic table in the market,
and I was usually accompanied by a friend or two.
So I sat shelling the cold peanuts,
with a paperback in front of me on the table,
which I neglected to read because my fingers were rather wet.
After a significant amount of time, during which I shelled peanuts
and pondered the various happenings and constituencies of my small lifetime,
I began to read.
And as if days of time had lapsed,
the empty shells had turned a churlish gray color,
next I looked at them.
Upon wriggling my fingers through the mound of halved shells
in a sort of diaphanous trance as I read, I stumbled upon a shell that had yet to be cracked,
which awoke me from my reverie in bestseller prose.
I was quite puzzled about how I ever could have missed it earlier.
I proceeded to roll it around in the palm of my hand, noticing its incredibly light weight.
When I opened it, there was nothing inside.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Hello boy.
You picked up my book.
Open me up and flex out the spine
Dust off my pages, it’s been quite some time.
Your hands feel so good on the skin of my cover.
Take me home boy, and read me forever.
Read about the time when I cursed at the moon.
Or the time I was so lost, and dreamt to find you.
Skip the dark pages that haunt my parchment. Move back to chapters of happier moments.
Don’t put me back on that shelf boy, don’t be done with this book of mine. I love the way you read me, you see the beauty between the lines.
Add your own ink onto my paper, your story would look so good mixed in with mine. We could be a bestseller, something our children would read over time.
Keep my book boy, don’t let me go.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
Recently
I've come to realize
That if my life were a book
My hand would ghost over it on a shelf
And I wouldn't pick it up
Because the cover is too bland
And the summary doesn't grab my attention
"Twenty-three year old college dropout lives at home with parents"
Will not be showing up on any bestseller lists
And I'm so distraught by the idea
That the author can't even crack open her own spine.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Raw candor is necessary for this one
If any of you readers met me, you would not enjoy my company
You females may find me mad, over-amorous and devoid of any set moral standard
The men might perceive me as an arrogant, disgraceful chaser of impairment
By the end of this that shall all be proven true
I am blessed with a ****** appetite that can never seem to be appeased
And you are all cursed for living in the same world as me, for you are all on the menu
Men
And women
I'm not sorry
I want to touch you, lick you, **** you **** you
And I will
If I have not already
I will love you
I will hate you
We can go for a drink or five
Have a smoke
Cigarette or joint?
Do not fight it
You are much too cautious
It's better to just go with it
Do not fret
We can go to the city
To a a restaurant
Dine and dash
We will rob a bank
Look at art
See a concert
Write a bestseller
Map out the ****** of one so deserving
Create a new belief, a new system of faith
All in one afternoon
But I'm warning you
Do not fall in love with me
Do not want me
Do not even look at me
I'm doing all this for I am bored and in need of a single-serving "friend"
I warn you
I only desire *** excitement, experience and intoxication
Do not disappoint me
**** me well
And I will reciprocate
And every time you ****
And you ***
Whether with me or an other
Think of me because I live for and live in that feeling of complete satisfaction
There you go, a declaration of my personal itinerary
It is not decent
It is not humble
It is the truth
Unapologetic
I am Tommy Johnson, one of an entire race of flawed mortals lost in their own derangement
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
I liked it
I really did
you write beautifully
it reminded me of that book
but different of course
it was a bestseller because
do you know what I liked
when he came in and she and then he says
haha I had to laugh out loud
not because it was bad but because you once said
no of course, that it really happened doesn't matter and
what do you say
that I now put you down as a Sunday writer
if that's how you feel it's your problem
besides, I haven't read it yet.
Sep 5, 2022
Sep 5, 2022 at 3:54 AM UTC