Booktok Poetry Novels & Stories

"What is this?" She picked up the note and started to read it slowly. "When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars,

I said, grabbing the book off of the shelf and showing Kai proudly. That was a bit easier than I thought it would be. That was at least reassuring. He took the book from me and flipped through it, confusion lining his features. “Our next clue is a book of poetry?” “Yes. No, not exactly,” I said, biting my lip and flipping the book open until I got to the right poem. “This is a book of poems from the infamous Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke. My favorite poem is this one.” I showed him. I was not huge on poetry, but Rilke was a complete genius with his words, and I would be an idiot to ignore that genius.

She's a nice girl, even though I'm more likely to remember the entire makeup routine than her name. The will to leave the room evaporates from my body. Strolling around, I find a book in one of the drawers. It's old, and the cover has faded halfway. I know not to judge a book by its cover, but this book looks less appealing than a sandwich without filling. With nothing better to do, I decide to read it. It turns out to be a poetry anthology with different poems. Surprisingly, they're interesting. I read a few before dozing off.

Every moment is this. Without moment. This. The light that is. The love that is. The being that is. The this that is. Only this. The book never opened. Because there was no cover. The book never closed. Because there was no ending. The book was the opening. The book was the reading. The book was the read. All one. Without one. This. The final chapter is not final. There was no first. There was no sequence. Only this. Appearing as sequence.

"You okay?" I nodded quickly. Too quickly. "Yeah. Just... tired." He didn’t push. … Next, he drove us to a bookstore. Not one of those shiny chains, but an old place that smelled like paper and memories. I loved it instantly. He let me wander, didn’t follow too close, just stayed near enough to make me feel safe. I picked up a copy of a poetry book and flipped through it. He appeared behind me and pointed to a page. "That one. That poem. Read it."

he asked in a low voice. Only then did Kimberly realize she was holding a Latin version of the Bible. He had already taken the thick book from her without waiting for her to respond. He put the bothersome book aside. His cool voice became more profound, "In the Old Testament of the Bible, there is a poem that doesn't carry any religious colors. It's devoid of God or deities, speaking only of the girl he loves." "Do you want to hear it?" "Mhm." Kimberly felt his wandering hand; her cheeks flushed red, and she casually replied.

Russell Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle Stuck On You and Other Prime Cuts by Jasper Bark Poetry collections: WAR by Alessandro Manzetti and Marge Simon Brief Encounters with My Third Eye by Bruce Boston No Mercy: Dark Poems by Alessandro Manzetti Eden Underground: Poetry of Darkness by Alessandro Manzetti If you’ve ever thought of becoming an author, we’d also like to recommend these non-fiction titles: The Dead Stage: The Journey from Page to Stage by Dan Weatherer

The minute my eyes landed on the words, my hands as if holding a mind of their own moved to the first page that read Tim's Poetry Book. Grabbing the chair, I took a seat flipping through the pages, fascinated, curious to learn more about him. The thing about going through an author's work that I've come to find was that you're almost given a glimpse into what goes on in their minds. You learn about what kind of childhood they had without them saying it; learn about their perspective on certain subjects of love or sex- even power.

***Author's Note: This book will not make sense if you do not read the two before this first. So, please read: Book one: P.S. You're My Mate Book two: She's My Mate Before reading this book. Thank you and enjoy!! _________________________________________________ QUADE Poetry. Tattoos. Piercings. Sex.

In the center stood a grand pedestal, upon which rested an ancient tome. Leori and Adonis approached the pedestal with a mix of reverence and anticipation. The tome beckoned to them, its pages filled with the accumulated wisdom of generations past. As Leori opened the book, the words inscribed within seemed to come alive, whispering secrets of forgotten realms and uncharted possibilities.