"hardbacks" poems
Life Without Resentment
Nearly everyone has stored
among hardbacks and paperbacks
or dusty mental drawers
resentments, gathered incidentally
unintentionally or
by rubbing shoulders
with ingrates and other
irritating souls
Meeting her, she exudes
an excitement for what is said
while displaying an openness
a self-reliance
that disallows any acrimony
indignation or animosity
No bitterness is harbored
nor rancor secreted
among the ruins
of her disappointments
Not long-suffering
the past is forgiven and forgotten
Not apprehensive or perturbed
she treads in this moment
with the power of living in the present
no longer feeling victimized
She lives refreshed, restored
without resentment
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
Water skids the ephemeral valley.
Tight turns, night gowns and cigarette ash beds,
with countless souls lost in ruby red wine.
Fingers indiscernible, scaled hardbacks
lay upon the shelves in deadened beauty,
whilst creation is born in digital sound.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
You are like a library, do you know that?
Going slowly crazy looking at endless spines,
enigmatic titles that I have not read everywhere,
purples, blues, reds, indigo,
I want to read you in each last word,
to suffer that impending end
Ah the smell of you in my mind,
the cloistered shadows in corners,
the silence of your vulpine smile,
Glittering crystals on book covers,
gilded writings in gold and silver for miles,
Soft covers, hardbacks
I am in a labyrinths, a maze,
Creative soft chairs are begging,
Come sit and grow,
Visions of other worlds,
Sun stars rotating,
You inspire my secret smile,
My shadows are dancing,
Reading, reading **** it
I miss you
─ © Arnay Rumens 2016
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
I'm just a book
that's been sitting out
too long, now
the shelf's filled up with
unfamiliar hardbacks,
where do I fit?
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
So many familiar faces
Different appearances
I guess it's because
Of all those changes
That occur when we age
When we grow older
Smarter, wiser
We change
All the time
I miss those
Memories though
Those we built
Together
When we
Were carefree
And as calm
As the sunny
Weather
We might change how we look
But we are still ourselves
On the inside
Like a book
With different
Hardbacks
And covers
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
*Trusted , clear-coated , cured cane pole
Can o' corn 'neath a Maple umbrella
Brown Trout skimmers popping the top of a runaway
river
Red , gold leaf boats sail the eddies
Painted hardbacks , soft shelled sinkers
Lolly-gagging Mudcats , sunlight in her
turbulent mirror
Cold water shivers , warm flannel shirts with
wet rolled up Levi's , Peanut butter -apple jelly
sandwiches with a peach Nehi
Cattle trails homeward
Honeysuckle boundaries , Red plum , Mimosa ,
Honey Locust companions
Brown sugar tended earth , June corn , young hideaways
Purple wire-grass terraces , wild Dove lining
barbed wire fencing with late hour songbirds escorts* ..
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Rod McKuen at a Garage Sale
We don’t know who Baby ****** and Tommie were
They sent each other notes and underlines
And colored slips of paper from page to page
In Someone’s Shadow (“Hardbacks 25 Cents”)
The exuberance of adolescent arcs
Reminds us of our long-ago callow youth
When we thought we had discovered something
In secretly sharing free verse in home room
And we had – indulging in forbidden lines
Is still good therapy for being sixteen
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 9:20 AM UTC
They'll say, "Women are beautiful, like books." They'll thumb through, gently turning the pages, smelling the worn pulp, being careful not to hurt the old and exhausted spine. They'll say, "Beautiful.. aren't they just beautiful?" before placing the unread books back on their neatly lined shelves. Kant and Lawrence and Morrison will line either side of the fireplace for the next twelve years, and the homeowner will recline and sigh and think about how elegant their space looks lined with hardbacks and plays. And all across America libraries will lose funding because books are beautiful. Because they make a home feel full. Because the pages are old and perfect, unread, untouched, unloved, unopened vaults of ideas that can only be preserved through concept, potentially brilliant and bound in untouched beauty. Women are. Beautiful books.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
June 9th-10th, 2020
In the House on Woodland Road – Love Weaved in Many Molds
It Came when Two Little Girls heard a Woman’s Voice Announce, “I Have a Surprise for You,”
And Sitting on the Fireplace – there was a Videotape, and it Showed Tigger’s Smiling Face
The Tigger Movie had Just Arrived, much to the parents’ surprise
It Came Again when the Girls Looked in the Cookie Jar, the one Topped with the Smiling Cartoon-Cookie Man
Inside was a Tower of Oreos, Waiting for the Girls to Pull Apart and Lick
Love was there by the TV-set – Shown with a Stack of Madeline Tapes
Love was even by the Bookcase – with a Bing to the Brim of Hardbacks Neither Child could Understand
Seated on a Shelf’s Corner, there rested a Crayola Box – Filled with Crayons to the Tin’s Tip-Top
Love was in the Bedroom, with Crayola Crayons Stockpiled – and Sitting on the Closet’s Ledge
Love was on the Rounded-Rug Below, as the Child Played out a Tick-Timing Clock while Laying on their Back
Love was by the Twin Seat Cushions, as the Girls Bounced from One to Another – and Played Leap Frog Between Each Other
Love was in the Garden’s Grass – seen when one of the Children Pulled Apart Presumed Pickles from the Tree, and Sprinkled them all over her
Love was by the Cats’ Food Bowl, Awaiting a Stray to Walk in and Take a Bite
Love was when the Child walked into the Family Room, and took out the Classic Game Candyland
She Played with her New Puppy till he Crossed the Finish Line, and Declared him Champion
Love was there as the Children went for a Walk in the Backyard, and Saw all the Birds and Conifers
The Birdfeeder Hung, and the Bathwater Rippled, – and they awaited its famished and filthy Aves
Love was there for many years, long before the Children Appeared
And then One Day, the Children came, but all the Love had Died
They Noticed the Dust, and the Cobwebs, and the Chill Attached to the House
They Noticed the Trees Chopped Down, and their Smiles were Lost
They Noticed the Change, and it Made them Very Sad
The House had Lost its old Charm, the Children Fell into Monotony
and the Gems that Once Gave the House its Glow – Would Never Again Come out and Show
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 6:18 PM UTC
I can’t seem to detach
The shelves hold books
I do not need
Soft and hardbacks
Stacked chaotically
I want to keep them
I want to give them
To someone who will
Appreciate them
But I do not know who
Will take them and treasure them
As I did and do
I want to detach
From my cache of comic books
But my memories are attached
To all that muscle and flash
The stories of my past
Are sculpted heroes
Of fantastic proportions
And grand moral fortitude
I do not want to lose
The person who was
So deeply intertwined
With those graphic stories
I want to detach
From the ****** way of thinking
So I rub one out
Yes it hardens and shrinks
So that each day
I am not driven
By lust and passion
So my perspective is not blurred,
Woman are more than mere
Objects of desire
Desire speaks more of
Seeking something special
A unique kind mind
But the yearning still surges
Spews milky madness
To calm my edginess
It is in my flesh
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
I used to read so much, people thought I was a bore,
Over the years, their words became true and reading became a chore.
The sacred feel of reading I don’t recall,
I lost my one true love and now there’s nothing to break my fall.
Bags under my eyes would mean a late night date with a paperback,
The old me might never return, even if life cuts me some slack.
“I am a voracious reader” used to be my favourite line,
A sad, stable career over the love of my life seems like a pretty hefty fine.
CRYING, BAWLING, LAUGHING, LOVING, HATING,
There was always a pure emotion waiting.
Life struck as unexpectedly as a fable,
And now even crying requires a time table.
Those stolen glances at the pages while your mom called you down for food,
Reading was never an activity based off of mood!
A book and a bookworm - a bond as close as old monk and ***
Why then, have we grown farther apart than the moon and the sun?
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC