The Bookshelf Corner

A creative space for all things books and writing….


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Quote of the Day: What Is Poetry?

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Poem: “Someday” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner

“Someday” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner

Author’s Note: A blast-from-the-past poem I wrote. I hope you enjoy.

Royalty Free Image via pixabay.com

Someday

there’ll be a beautiful castle

not chipped or broken but built strongly to shelter, to protect us

with its soaring indestructible walls that keep at bay

the monsters with yellow teeth and sharp metal objects.

 

Someday

there’ll be a warm fireplace to keep the blue tinge off our toes

as we wrap ourselves in blankets for comfort for once.

Spacious rooms–one for everyone!–with soft mattresses and pillows,

and see-through water filling tubs to get squeaky-clean in.

 

Someday

there’ll be tassels and ribbons, shoes that match,

and let’s not forget pretty dresses that fit.

They’ll drag on the floor–but that’s okay–

the floor is clean so they won’t get dirty.

 

Someday

there’ll be long tables overloaded with food and water–

I fear they’ll topple over before anything reaches our tummies!

We’ll eat like this all the time

instead of once in a while.

 

And on that someday

The king and queen will be happy and so will their subjects.

No one is sad or crying in this castle

because we’ll be inside the castle, warm and safe,

wearing lovely clothes and eating delicious food.

 

One day, if not today or the next day, but someday if I make it there.


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Poem: “Books Are Infinite” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner

“Books Are Infinite” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [2/17/2014]

Royalty Free Image via pixabay.com

Books are infinite.

They are

a promise that things will be okay,
a secret to solving the day’s problems,
a confidant when looking for understanding,
a memory of the past, present, and future,
a door to new worlds undiscovered,
a blank slate to drench one’s imagination upon,
a new life, sometimes several lives in one,
a hammer to breaking outside the box
a comfort when the world is in a frenzy
a ticket when you need to get away for a while
a friend that will always be there for you
a teacher when even common sense seems senseless

Books are infinite.


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Poem: “The House” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [After Jack Spicer]

“The House” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [After Jack Spicer]

Author’s Note: Another poem I wrote as a part of a class exercise while studying poet Jack Spicer’s work.

Royalty Free Image from Pixabay.com

This house is bare,
here the walls are bare,
stripped down and bare.

Secrets exposed to
large intrusive ears
perked to catch a word.

Floors creak and creak
with the weight of an
epiphany-bulb realized too late.

Secrets exposed through holes
by strobe light fury
in white-washed rooms.

Muck-stained windows
trash the floors with
fractured sunlight.

Cram in dark corners
the creaks and muck,
and the lingering fury.

Splash upon these too
bare walls something good
in exchange for kept secrets.

Or let the house fall,
collapse in a relieved faint
and bury those bare secrets.


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Poem: “Red Roses” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [After Shane McCrae]

“Red Roses” by Christina @ The Bookshelf Corner [After Shane McCrae]

Author’s Note: So this was a poem I wrote in school as a part of a class exercise where we had to write poetry in the style of the poets we were reading. This poem I came up with after Shane McCrae’s style I really liked how it turned out. We were reading/studying McCrae’s book of poetry entitled Mule: Poems. He has a perplexing, unique writing style that really fascinated me, which made this exercise fun to do. So today, I thought I’d share with you this little blast from the past.

Royalty Free Image from Pixabay.com

“Red Roses”
After Shane McCrae

 

she thanks him for the roses

bleeding roses          too tight

you’ll snap his heart in two

and all the things he loves          he loves you

about you          will fall / in a slow          waltz

with the wind

drifting down to earth

where all things crumble          / fall

shrivel          a plummet to nowhere

one by one          the things he loves about you

fall          / a mix of ash and red /          fall

stains the ground with longing and sorrow

you can’t give them back          go back

restore them to a cheery cherry color

by the dozen          keep them and him whole

water will sustain them before they          / fall

hushed and red pricked hands

she thanks him for the roses


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“A Man and His Ship” by christina15bk/Christina

“A Man and His Ship” © 2015 by christina15bk (Christina/The Bookshelf Corner) | Revised Jan 13, 2017
ship-40009_1280

Setting sail for adventure
Out towards an ocean –
A toiling, roiling body
Fit to test the audacious man
Who thinks himself
The mightiest of men,
A spirit that can’t be tamed.

His ship is him
And he the ship –
Bound, joined in holy camaraderie.
Together they have braved grave waves
That at times curved high,
Leaned forward, bent slightly
As if to coddle and protect
But instead intent to crash, smash, dash
Back into itself.

This man, the strongest, they say,
Was born with no fear.
He packs, stacks his ship
With goods and crew,
Feeling courage and luck firmly girdled to his belt.

With dawn illuminating at his back,
He releases his ship from the docks.
A joyous crowd watches the ship slip and dip away
But did not see it sink at the end of the day.


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“Late Night Drive” – Poem by christina15bk

Free Image from Pixabay

Driving on these paved streets,
darkness enveloping my way,
a deep blackened void
devoid of anything but the sounds
of nature’s night revelry.
And as I drive, two streaks of light
lighting my way forward
and bright beacons of white and red
shinning around me,
I cannot help but think of
what brought these humans out
so late at night?
Where might they be going
with only headlights and stars to guide them?
I, heading one way, and you another.
What journey may lie in this darkness?
But we have gathered together,
racing by one another,
disappearing and reappearing,
to reach a point of conclusion.
Whether guided or not
we will make it there
through this dark, almost desolate place,
a path laid before us to somewhere.