Poetry Collection Books Novels & Stories

“You look like a kid in a candy store.” “Don’t mock me. This is sacred.” She darted down an aisle, running her fingers reverently across the spines of novels. Reid trailed behind, occasionally pulling out a book to skim but he’s behind her each time. At one point, he stopped and held up a book. “This one.” Raees blinked. “What is it?” He handed it to her. “The woman on the cover page reminded me of you.” She turned the cover over, seeing the face, then she smiled, proceeding to read the title. It was a collection of poems centering on different topics, some love, some strength, some just stories written . “Reid…”

Part of me wants to flee this exchange, the other feels strangely drawn to his presence. — Does she have a favorite genre? Poetry? Old novels? He frowns slightly. — She loved poetry, once… before the illness stole a bit of herself from her. But I think she would appreciate a book that reminds her of her youth. Something that makes her feel like she still exists. These words strike me unexpectedly. I understand this pain, this need to cling to what remains. — I might have what you need… follow me. I lead him to the back shelves, where the books no one comes looking for anymore lie dormant. I pull out a bound collection of Ronsard, with a worn leather cover, gilt-edged pages.

"Step away from her, Caden." He turned. "What are you doing?" "Protecting myself. Protecting this pack." She walked closer. Pulled something from her pocket. A small pouch. My grandmother's herbs. Or what was left of them. "Found these in her room weeks ago. Thought they were medicine. Had them tested instead." She held them up. "Poison. Slow. Subtle. Designed to stop a woman from conceiving." My blood went cold. "I've been taking these for months," Serena said. "In my tea. In my food. She's been poisoning me. That's why I can't have children."

All the way through. She did not speak. I drank my coffee. Outside the street moved. Inside the place was quiet and warm and neither of us was in any hurry. When she reached the last page she closed the sketchbook. Set both hands flat on the cover. “Anita,” she said. “I know.” “No.” She looked at me. “I don’t think you do.” She paused. “This is a collection. Not sketches. Not drawings. A collection. It has a point of view. It has a language. Every single piece is in conversation with the others.”

Should I keep going? “What the…”

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

Given that the game itself was boring if played only by four people, it became extra boring because they couldn’t make noise whenever they wanted. On the other side of the room, near the door where a two-meter long bookshelf was established, Yuri and Cylvia dragged their chairs near it and took the chance to do their past-time hobby without getting disturbed. Yuri piled up some books on top of her desk and read them. Meanwhile, beside her was Cylvia scribbling lines on the surface of her all-time favorite blue and white diary. There had been a lot of poems and short stories written inside, and to read it thoroughly with her permission was considerably a must-not-miss opportunity.

Lissa and Dan were happy to oblige my request to wait to find out the sex of our baby, but we all desperately wanted to see the little darling and get new pictures. I'd taken scads of photographs of Lissa every chance I got. I wanted to commemorate what she'd done for us, and I wanted to be able to show our son or daughter pictures of the pregnancy. I didn't know if Lissa would want one, but I was working on memory books, carbon copies, so we both had the same thing. I couldn't wait to add these pictures to those albums. It wasn't just a tribute to her-Dan, Brett, and I were in there as well. It was a collection of our lives.

I haven't been to work in 4 days and I honestly don't think I can go there anymore, I've been drafting a letter to my manager to tell him to transfer me to another office even if it was the next street I didn't care, I just could never look at him in the face again, I'm horrified! But I need to go back to work to gain access to his systems so I can delete the video,who knows how many people have seen it. I spent the entire day bedrotting, I decided to do the only thing that calms me down; watch p**n and play with my titties.

‎It had not rained for weeks!! Last night had felt like I was baking in a sauna and not in a good way. My cooling system had worked so hard, so f*****g hard, that it packed up the day before. My house slowly but surely became outrageously hot, so hot that when I looked down, I could see my n*****s peeking through the thin fabric of my sleeping T-shirt, already damp with sweat, and it wasn't even 9am yet.