"bookworms" poems
Today the Irish people witnessed an eclipse in their senses. The morning came over all queer. Nobody noticed, except the king of bookworms in the book of Kells, and the mice in the Campanile. I witnessed the eclipse from a windowless room on the 4th floor of the Arts block. Edmund Spenser's poem, The Faerie Queene, shall henceforth be named, *Long **** by jury of 5 English Lit. Students and a Lecturer. Also, Sinn Fein plans to build Jerusalem in Ireland's green and pleasant land.
Lines written last night over a cup of sugary tea in a public house in North Dublin.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.
In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.
At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl
and the ordinary brown
owl gives us proof
he can count:
five times--always five--
he stamps and takes off
after the fat frogs that,
shrilling for love,
clamber and mount.
House, open house
to the white dew
and the milk-white sunrise
kind to the eyes,
to membership
of silver fish, mouse,
bookworms,
big moths; with a wall
for the mildew's
ignorant map;
darkened and tarnished
by the warm touch
of the warm breath,
maculate, cherished;
rejoice! For a later
era will differ.
(O difference that kills
or intimidates, much
of all our small shadowy
life!) Without water
the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.
3.2k
People say, bookworms are antisocial, quiet, and pretty much unattached.
these are not true, alright? no. bookworms are not like that.
let me enlighten you by telling you about the bookworm I fell for.
1. on meeting her for the first time, I was minding my own business. I was in class and it was the first day of school.
then all of a sudden, she suddenly points out the game I'm holding and screams *** *** *** that game!! and after that we just talked on and on and on and on pretty much about random things. so no, they are not antisocial.
2. on trips to bookstores I'd always end up walking out of one with ym body hurting. why? Whenever she sees a book that she doesn't have, she'd gasp point grab gasp point grab and repeat. on seeing a book that she can't buy. she'd hit me with it! I mean who does that? on seeing a book that she's been looking for, for a long time, she'd throw a tantrum! so no, they are not quiet.
3. When you look into her eyes, you'd see all the things she's been through, the masks she wore, and the wrinkles in her smiles for faking them so much. It came be from a lot of things, A past lover, a long-term problem, an old friend, or betrayals. whether it's fiction or non-fiction it would pain her no matter how she lies about it. She's been attached to too many for too long a time, that she'd try her best not to get attached. So on a bookwrom being attached or unattached, in the end it's all up to you whether she becomes the first or the latter
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
I'm a free thinker
I make my own observations
That one friend of yours
Is not a free thinker
In fact I don't know if she thinks
Some of the smart people
They're the most closed minded
They read a lot and take in a lot, they become *** Laude+
But they believe things like the WBC
Believes what they believe
See, some of the dumber people
Like the Steve Wozniaks
Like the Bill Gates of this world
Those free thinkers that were really the smartest
But didn't like society's games
They are the real success stories.
But we're taught that the only success you can get
Is going to Harvard with a 4.0
In a field where the pay is good and jobs are hot
But a field in which where you went to college doesn't mean crap,
Because they're not looking for bookworms but looking for free thinkers
That friend of yours
She's been through pain
So she knows the pain
So she can relate
But that might be where it stops
That friend of yours
She'll have your back and she cares
But she's a little bitter
I mean, pretty bitter sometimes
I think you know this already
She told her cousin once
She found that talking helps
When there's a misunderstanding
That she wished people would talk
And work it all out
But she doesn't do that at all
She shuts people off
She shuts people out
Just like when she got annoyed
When you got less into her
You see
People who hold grudges
Who shut people out
They live a world of suffering
They live the saying "Nice guys finish last"
But they make it that way
Those people are the reason that saying exists
They say that those who don't learn
From history are doomed to repeat it
Let me just say she's one of those people
You're turning into one too,
Losing the free thinker inside of you
When you think you're making her
For the first time
I wish you'd listen
And not let your emotions overwhelm you but use the logic in your brain
Because your emotions are clouding your thinking
They're clouding your thoughts
They're clouding what you think you know about me, I think
Because you're doing that thing your friend does where you stop listening
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
i have been around the world
trekked through the amazon
battled dragons
fallen in love
and saved mankind
all in three hours.
what have you
done today?
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
All we have is time
No reason just rhyme
Set in stone in time in time itself
Time to write a best seller to sit on a bookworms shelf
Time to walk in amongst the trees which is good for your mental health
Time to jump, sing and dance
Time to play games of chance
Time to breathe and believe in meditation
Live life without agitation
The clock is ticking ticking away
What will you do with your day?
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
*a seven year nebuchadnezzarª psychosis will do
that to you, waking up from such a dream
can be bewildering, esp. when taking up a pen,
remembering cohort conventions of clearly
insinuated arguments, in essays of wide ranging
historical interests.*
but, but i haven’t aged...
ha ha (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha)
also called a magpie cackle; in reverse
dentistry's a, i.e. aħ, i.e. 'open wide, now say a'.
i never wished for a cage for a voice to wish
either, i liked free limbs to try to swim
rather than attempt paparazzi sinking for a fret
once dubbed swimming.
ªand as nebuchadnezzar's dream second interpreter
after daniel, it really doesn't matter who you ascribe
the feet of iron and clay to, all all preceding
portions of the statue, the gold (babylon), the silver
(persia), the brass (greece) and the iron (rome),
they all fall, because empires like the men who
found them, reach a zenith, and then tumbleweed
into the nadir, the abyss of papyrus, bookworms,
silent concert halls of reading, dust and yawning,
for both men and their empires are but clay / iron
(well, you have to remember the iron in haemoglobin).
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
well, it was hardly or ever would be a respectable
musicology with mere rhyme; so we overburdened it
with ideas, those pit-stops of thinking,
those pivots of the former fluidity
that gave us Achilles... long gone
the respectability of not thinking,
so waiting awaiting the respectability of thinking
to un-think the existence of thought
rather than the existence of god...
i say forget atheism, and reading philosophical
books kept till old age of respectability,
those books are nothing but dust by then...
but i'm in agreement with the attack,
for who would want to sing a rhyme with mere echo,
the ulterior ego... to sing for a tennis match
of resounding a# a#, b b, c c, encoding our children
to merely encode rhyming patterns?
for fear of the loss of mimic or replica?
if i were a kid i'd love to rob her majesty's vessel
and encounter adventure than bookworms sneezing
dust for kindred death with Spinoza chiselling
optometric devices on a lesser scale in comparison
with telescopes - Amsterdam seen from a far far away
galaxy; if only you stood there, and experienced
the freedom that prostitutes govern in this city;
if only less legislative powers in your politics!
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Battered bookworms
turning a familiar turn
(always left)
For those that leave:
your threads become part of the tapestry,
a picture writ with deep love, excitement, applause,
dire fears and tiredness,
here be dragons and arrows in eyes
but despite the hamfists
of some intrusive hands,
there to see forever
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 1:28 AM UTC
The obsession was endless
tears undeserving, a hated addiction.
"let me breathe,
or I might just die"
scrawled on the bathroom wall.
Oh! How excited I'd be,
to meet the ground, six feet underneath.
Unafraid of missing the northern lights,
exhausted with these caustic words
flying like bullets out of my own mind.
Gossipy little words throughout my ears-
spreading heinous lies about my character
but he scrawled threats I know I might take seriously.
Scars lined up like cheerleaders upon a gymnasium floor.
Death shoves to take his spot at the top of the bleachers,
looming over those laughing scars.
An announcement is made;
Bookworms writhe at the thought of a human's words going to waste,
Stoners rush out of the way,
Jocks make haste to find what to say
Death just laughs
while, other kids pray.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
The American Library Association
implores cognoscenti tubby alert
impersonators, who
call themselves Ernie and Bert
took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,
(who worked for Peanuts),
and pay-dirt, though
dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous
sordid details suppressed kept from press,
(which scurrilous breach of conduct
involved said scallywag
violating more than flirt
discovered in prurient compromised activity,
where his skin flute encircled,
with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected
public television station benefactors,
and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly
to make a profit sounding proper
sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
asper faux expected by
a "FAKE" trumping prophet,
sans motley crue comic
stripped of more'n
motion picture PG ratings,
hence future lurid, graphic,
banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
muted, disallowed, and banned
so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
(who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
returning amidst fanfare hoopla
much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
glory and apple pie order land
ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
and horrifyingly
brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
whereat armed guards
strategically stationed
at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable
ravishing knowledge
hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
faster then Clifford
the big red dog speed!
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
Do you like books?
Well, I do, too.
I don't really get it when people say they love the smell.
And, most of the time, I just get ones with good covers.
Like,
Books are hella expensive.
And I got both pockets out with no cash.
But I still decide to buy it later.
Because reading is fun.
Makes me feel so comfy.
And keeps me in my calm state.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
What was that you wanted, dear?
I'm busy reading away in here,
Bookworms munching through the pages,
Words in print, creating stages,
A writer must read and write alone,
Get someone better on your phone,
What was that you wanted, dear?
Move on, I'm busy reading here......
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC
What about the Mistress plan?
is it always about the Master?
I cast a weary eye and reel in
a scene from Tin-Tin.
Herge,
the Thomson twins
win
and Haddock smells
something fishy.
When there's much to do and
not much time
Much runs Robin ragged.
Men in Lincoln Green,
just another forest scene
cut.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
SEARCHING FOR A RATION OF PASSION
Wrangling of words might become a tightrope for the writer to *****
While the reader may feel the fervor that an author still hasn't discovered
Frequently fondling of familiar phrases may become dull,lost in a lull,hiding behind hope
Basking over prose a browser can feel close,bring themselves to find what the scribe may not have recovered
Lost in a webster's lottery laboriously lamenting in language, mindless and in a mope
Scholar wanting the lecturer to teach ,essayist out of reach,more reason for rhymes for which they hunger
Easy essays aren't eloquent,lingering thoughts quickly lost,locked in with no code
Simple students wishing for more a peek inside the penmans mind ,giving them even more reason to wonder
Almost lost like an old cowboy song,left to search in a field with little yield,memories too easily erode
Bookworms wringing hands await on the edge of a seat ,their fondness for dialog wanting to be pleased but the dramatist waiting to ponder
Wordsmiths wants sometimes leaving them empty,then like an open sky raining down phrases leaves them with a new day and new way to reload . R.C.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 6:37 AM UTC