"hardcover" poems
This world has me in transitions
From good to bad
But deep in my roots
I'll always be good
This image is just a shield
Protecting me from unnecessary pain
You say you know who I am
You say you're reading me
Yet you haven't opened a page
My hardcover may be misleading
But what it contains
Is nothing but a blank
Undecided in a society of pressure
With no identity I roam free
Of becoming anything I want to be
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
I miss my cargo green canvas backpack
Shredded with the mass of three
science textbooks: biology,
classical history, chemistry.
Not like backpack was meant for
several colossal three hundred page
hardcover books.
When it was empty,
it was light,
barely anything, tugging
on my shoulders;
but I insisted the friend come with me.
But I used backpack
for study,
drudgery,
play.
The linen wore
with every use.
It was my safety blanket,
under loose cloth
that contained
sacarine
orange glucose
tablets that I hoped
to never need
Inside the main large pocket,
there was a secret
zipper, within held
a pack of cigarettes,
an excuse,
to pardon myself into a realm of aloneness-
with little questions asked
There were strings that adjusted
its position on my back that
I would pull down,
using tension to fling myself
terminal to terminal
More than fifteen times, I lost
count, of my partner traversing
across oceans, gently cradling my laptop and phone-
my trusted links
with the outside world
Nervousness alleviated by the tassels
in my mouth, I bite and chew
on the cloth, but it holds steadfast
as I ponder how to approach
what's next,
the bittersweet coffee they fell into
rehydrates with my salivating mouth,
hungry for adventure
but a stomach empty
knots itself
anxious
for what's to come
My backpack weighs
on my shoulders, empty or full,
but it's trained my body
to carry the load thoughts in my
head bring upon me
But it yielded to what was to come,
the seams at the bottom gave out.
Backpack let me know: I needed to
learn to carry on
without reliance.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Pixelated bitmap e-mares
Digitized be mementos cached
Her 8 bit vocal vintage freeware
Transfers recurrent electric draughts
The bitrate of virtual seduction
Intrusively hacks my bones
Taste be my lips of data eruption
Elicited from her tone
Physique a stimulating software
Upon my Ethernet she crafts sparks
A gem society deemed quite rare
Though she possessed a vibrant bark
Her bandwith I yearned to fiddle
'Twas encrypted with die-hard lust
She moans in esoteric riddles
Keen I decode them whilst I ******
Pizazz eclipsing our veins
A billion megabytes colliding
Satiated we crash free of rein
Unforeseen servers uniting
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
The first bite of a Mallomar,
Crunching like a boot,
On a fresh sheet of snow.
The sip of Ginger Ale,
On crushed ice,
With the squeeze of a lemon wedge
The smell of crisp Autumn air,
In September,
Just before the leaves change.
A puff of rich tobacco,
Rolled in Maduro,
With a glass of Scotch.
A salty, fatty, crispy steak,
Dripping of meat juice,
As it swims in steak sauce.
The lips of a beautiful woman,
Inside and out,
Pressing up against mine.
My fingers flicking,
Through fresh paper,
Of a brand new hardcover.
The feeling you get,
When seeing prints developed,
From your own 35mm roll of film.
A big, salty, garlicky pickle,
After a deli sandwich,
On a Saturday afternoon.
The palette punch,
Of a salt and vinegar chip,
From a fresh bag.
Looking at all that gives me joy,
One can see the truth,
In the meaning of life.
Little things,
Oh so grand,
In a world of big woes.
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 9:57 PM UTC
Pictographs concoct
Quaint flavors
An appetite blooms
Ginger locks descend
Passion skates
A micro death sparks
Pixels synthesize
Collections
Of synchronized whines
Lips laced with temptation
Eyes descending sunsets
Elements of resolution
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
Supernatural
Beams dazzle
Illustrations shape
A character speaks
Pleasantries
Quakes of fear occur
Lullabies eject
From her lips
As she pirouettes
Such color spectrums
Radiate
To mold a queen
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
I HAVE FINALLY RE-EDITED AND FINISHED MY FIRST BOOK, FROM CRO MAGNON TO PRO AVERAGE MAN: AN ASSORMENT OF POEMS!!!!!
Well, I have officially made my first book of poetry. The book is entitled From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man: An Assortment of Poems. This was the first time I ever attempted making a book, and finally I have pulled it off!!! I made this book through the website: www.bookemon.com. Just a few minutes ago, I actually published the book on Bookemon for the whole world to buy! So, if you’ve wanted a copy all along, are interested in reading it now, and/or just want to help me keep chasing my dream of becoming a known-poet by paying for the book, YOU CAN!! Here’s what you do:
You go to www.bookemon.com
You enter “From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man” into the search bar in the upper-right hand part of the screen.
When you hit “Search,” my books should pop up!! MY books! I actually made it.
There are two types of the book. A hardcover and a softcover version. It will say which version is which under the title. The hardcover version sells for $28.72, plus tax. And the softcover version sells for $18.07, plus tax.
If you would be so awesomely-amazing to buy a copy, just hit ADD TO CART, Then scroll down and hit PROCEED TO CHECKOUT. Hit CONTINUE under GUEST CHECKOUT, and enter your information there.
NOW, I KNOW THE BOOK IS KINDA PRICY, BUT BOOKEMON SETS THE PRICES THEMSELVES. MY APOLOGIES.
Or, if you don’t have any money to spend and just want a little preview of the book, you can hit READ beside the book and get a free 20 page preview!!
Again, thank you to everyone who has supported me through this long process of self-publishing my first book of poetry. And thanks in advance to anyone who is willing to buy the book and actually does. THAT WOULD MEAN THE LITERAL WORLD TO ME.
Thank you all again. Now I have all my time devoted to the continuing and making of my second book, Pocket Change for Priceless Memories. It’s coming soon!!
Thanks again everyone!
Nick
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
Frozen within coloured novelties
Elegant fashion strikes tears of joy
Flawless solace veils mass poverty
Through ****** eyes we appear coy
Bewildered they bleed of apathy
Visually we appear strangers
Oblivious to such telepathy
A streak of electric danger
Revere the brilliant colours
Petite a theatrical delight
As unified in passion we muster
The enchanted rainbow knights
Your black and white hunger we yearn
To collect and radically refine
Eliminate all doubt and concern
A narrow cubicle undefined
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
anywhere u go
its about what u do
who u know
what u have
take a piece
and one for the road
take and take
is all we do
judged like a book
every single day
in one glance
no second thoughts
hardcover hollywood
special editions
and just for dummies rule
those text book kings
and things of the past
replaced by
sefl-help gurus
with a thirst for power
history books burn
and dictionaries die
bibles and korans
wage war for deeds
written in oil
more precious than blood
lawbooks lie
with family trees
while notebooks fill
with pointless lives
but my story is written
with my sweat
and tears
filled with pages and pages
of love and fears
i dont need to be
hardcovered
reprinted
bound up
and edited
forget the colors
and the revamped image
no motion pictures
just a story
on my shelf
the last of them all
the Paperback Boy.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:47 AM UTC
when you're there i pine for you
like a stupid little intellectual
i theorize your face
make up stories about your eyelids
how they close like a hardcover book
sheltering your wisdom from the judge
you let it spill out to me
your ***** brine
tenderizing my leathery exterior
into broken down, cured meat
you freed me with your trust
i was savory, salty with your laughter on my tongue
you've been waiting for me
but i cannot come
if we are to ever be in the same room again, together
i would smother you and oppress you with
love, tainted by imaginary things
like the fable of us
like my contentment
like your hand in mine
clasping surely,
silently,
home
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
Cast be thy fate to live in exile
Bated be your fair fluffed fleece
Face of said avenue beguiled
Ebbed a carmine masterpiece
Ebony landscapes you adorn
The eyes of thousands you have hooked
Whines sharp replicas of thorns
Question mark shaped be such nooks
Appeased the ice queen had appeared
Fabricating jagged thrills of mirth
A concept quite eerie, yet linear
'Til done apart by spineless dearth
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
Her personality reminds me that of a hardcover book,
tough and undescriptive on the cover,
but soft and vast of layers to discover inside.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
*You are a mystery novel
I read over and over
You put up such a strong front
Yes, you're a hardcover
I am a good listener
Your stories make up for what I lack
Fragile and easily ripped apart
I am but a paperback*
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:01 AM UTC
Everything in the home is new
She curls her toes against the wooden grain of the floorboards
Rain pelts against the window pane, her fingers flex
The dog moans somewhere beyond the walls
She feels like a phantom, her feet light on every surface
Untraceable, she finds him reclining on the couch
Curled in on himself, eyes, half-lidded
Heavy with sleep, pearled water on his eyelashes
She kisses his cheek, presses her lips against his wet forehead
His eyelids flutter open, his hands pass over the thick hardcover
A poet's book in his hand, pages dog-eared on 352, he opens it
Drowsily reads a poem, her words that she'd written late at night
Dripping from his lips, not mendacious, but holding a deeper truth in his mouth
-
This is where she would end up, in this soft-white-walled home
Everything is new and bright
The cat, curled up on the windowsill, seemingly peering into a divided world
Separated by the gentle pattering of falling rain
Everything outside is gray and cloudless
The computer is on but its light emitted is muted
She seats herself next to him, folds her legs underneath her
His hand grasps hers gently, turns it over, gleaming on her finger is the ring
The quiet and unselfish promise
*
The quiet and unselfish promise
His hand grasps hers gently, turns it over, gleaming on her finger is the ring
She seats herself next to him, folds her legs underneath her
The computer is on but its light emitted is muted
Everything outside is gray and cloudless
Separated by the gentle pattering of falling rain
The cat, curled up on the windowsill, seemingly peering into a divided world
Everything is new and bright
This is where she would end up, in this soft-white-walled home
-
Dripping from his lips, not mendacious, but holding a deeper truth in his mouth
Drowsily reads a poem, her words that she'd written late at night
A book in his hand, pages dog-eared on 352, he opens it
His eyelids flutter open, his hands pass over the thick hardcover
She kisses his cheek, presses her lips against his wet forehead
Heavy with sleep, pearled water on his eyelashes
Curled in on himself, eyes half-lidded
Untraceable, she finds him reclining on the couch
She feels like a phantom, her feet and fingers light on every surface
The dog moans somewhere beyond the walls
Rain pelts against the windowpane, her fingers flex
She curls her toes against the wooden grain of the floorboards
Everything in the home is new
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:24 PM UTC
If we were books,
I'd be spineless
and you would be a paperback
with a hardcover head.
Page turner pretense turns to
kisses and fifty shades of
sequels.
My life is an open book.
You read?
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Lullaby of the city, bright and strong,
Serenade the masses of the sleepless,
The tossing and turning, troubled tense throng
Of our kin bubbling over with stress.
Ink covered fingers flowing like water --
Pouring o'er paper in sharp curvatures.
Lips like verbs, eyes like green glass he'll shatter;
Like an open book with a hardcover.
Ballad of beautifully broken notes
Ringing through the chilling autumn air
Gathering the hearts and the tears of most
To bring the sorrowful much needed cheer.
Like the steam from her black cup of coffee
Not quite here; she's warm, hearty and happy.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
/ Blade Running \
Making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,
Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,
Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,
Even Philip K ****
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is,
Half man half nocturnal machine,
Half real life half diurnal dream,
Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing,
Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,
“You don’t believe,
In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”,
That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee,
& why you’re always so sterile & cynical,
& maybe that’s why I write,
More than I do anything else,
As a way of trying to jog your memory,
While running up the bill,
At the bar trying to wash away,
Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled,
In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold,
Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All,
Getting drowsy,
Must be the pills,
On a plane,
On my way to somewhere else,
Travel so much,
Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in,
It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien,
A creature with amnesia & beautiful features,
How’d you become such a miracle,
Are you really that perfect,
Or is that just the way I remember you,
Guess it doesn’t matter either way,
Because maybe I don’t even remember you,
Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,
Maybe it’s all just programing,
Maybe we’re all just programs,
Programed to play our part,
In The Grand Program,
Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain,
Or by the woman behind the glass wall,
Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
Which is absolutely nothing at all,
Maybe that’s why I’m making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,
Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,
Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,
Even Philip K ****
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is…
∆ LaLux ∆
From ABC: The Beginning Of The End
Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover
Feb 4, 2024
Feb 4, 2024 at 1:57 AM UTC
go ahead
and worship yourself once in awhile
let the breeze come and, once in awhile,
remember how to stand -
check your posture, shoulders back, feet apart
and if all you see is cobblestone or pavement or dying brown grass,
look up
remember how to be valiant
check your heart rate
feel your fingertips
loosen the knots in your eyebrows
open your throat
remember the way sunsets look and that puppies and butterflies and popcorn exist
go ahead
and buy yourself flowers
once in awhile
buy a bouquet or seven
fill up a vase with water and let them drink love
place them on your windowsill or
coffee table
or bedside table
but remember to smell them every time you walk by
and once in awhile
buy someone else flowers
or chocolate or honey or a brand new notebook or coffee
make them feel special and important
remind them that tenderness is the root of peace
and you'll remember that tenderness is the root of peace
go ahead
and head outside
if it's raining, get wet, if it's chilly, greet each goosebump with a deep breath
and remember, once in awhile,
your eyes rain and your heart floods and they wash away whatever hurt comes
you are a rocket, baby, you are a fresh hardcover book sitting on a cafe table ready to be read, you are a tree trunk so wide, people must gather around you and hold hands to hug your circumference,
you are bright yellow rain boots, love, you are red pink white roses and lilacs and lavender and the entire flower bed,
you are the sunset, sweetie, the puppies and the butterflies and the popcorn and the peace
so, once in awhile, baby, worship yourself
go ahead
and worship yourself
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
If you decide to buy me flowers
I may press them in my hardcover copy of Shel Silverstein
Because I know that it's your favorite book of poems to read
If you decide to kiss me goodnight
I may kiss you back
Because self-control among other things is what I lack
If you decide to hold the door open for me
I may walk through
Because that's the polite thing to do
If you decide to hold my hand
I may grab yours and hold it close
Because we fit so perfectly and it would be hard for me to let go
If you decide to tell me you love my curly hair
I may wear it that way
Because I don't get complimented on it everyday
If you decide you want to pay for the date
I will not touch the check
Because it's not classy and I'm classy as heck
But if you decide to say that you love me
I may not return the statement
Because you might not feel that way,
Once you see the demons I keep in my basement.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
You're a hardcover novel I can't seem to put down with charming tea stains on your pages, endearing creased corners and torn edges I look upon fondly but I can't open you far enough to break the bind of your spine. I’ll keep trying though as I soak in and inhale every toxically flawless inky letter you are composed of, scribbling quotes from your chapters onto my wrists so I feel like I always have you with me until I know your story inside and outside, forwards and backwards, by heart. You have and immensely lovely and irresistible sleeve around you and a fascinatingly stirring summary for your description on the back but I’m more interested in what’s inside. It’s an incomplete tale though so I hope I get the chance to rewrite the rougher parts like the heartbreaking paragraphs of your past and maybe I’ll get to be a co-author for typing out your happy ending.
Please repost if you have ever experienced or are experiencing the budding beginnings of puppy love
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry or poetry itself as an art! :)
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
I don't want you to become
another foreign thing in my
closet and inside
I ask myself what I expected
What I was hoping? Every
secret thought, I don't capture
them all.
And your memories: those I
deem property of Chris inside
my head, play on a spanish loop
with He Venido on low in the background.
I don't plan on getting rid of you.
Or forgetting you, or burying your
face behind stacks of books, The Count,
The Little Prince, A Clockwork Orange,
Things Fall Apart, and most of all the
Lemony Snicket hardcover that you
hid condoms in, the ones we never
used.
I have tried to document you because
I hope that it will help or that you will
see these things, but I have taken your
willpower for granted. You perhaps
write nothing of me, maybe in a
diary maybe no where maybe
I am buried, maybe I am gone
maybe you have ripped out
my pages, my pictures, my
hair from thoughts no longer
strays on your bed, maybe you
have chosen to move on.
I don't want to end this poem.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
there's no powerpoint presentation or a pocket guide nor a three inch-thick hardcover book for falling in love.
there's no rain with more oxygen than hydrogen that keeps the fire alive.
there will never be an elder who fully understands the oh-and-ah's of your young naivety.
there will be painful memories attached to your most loved songs.
this is life. you'll fall, get up, fall again, fail to get up. the lights will go out. you will get lost. you will feel the pain of being left.
this is the time when you pack up your tears and painkillers.
you will be you.
because that is life,
and this is love.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
I will learn a love.
The kind of love?
It binds you to I,
Like the pages bound,
To a hardcover spine.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
The darkness into the moon
A beastly attack that will embark on soon
An enchanted forest with a foggy presence
Consequences beyond within a precise instance
The beast from within searching for blood and flesh
Eaten down to the bone with nothing left
The beast being fed
The moon in how it led
As the beast swiftly heads for its ****
Its mind is guided upon its own will
As the beast walks off
The irony is a spinoff
Yet the imagination thereof
The vision of teeth and claws
But no mention of a thaw
Story line having its own dialog
Your mind being the electric plug
No character being a ****
Grimm’s living on am
Many more stories in their own begin
Grimm’s extending into no end
A written hardcover book that won’t bend
But a night that makes your heart and mind transcend.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC