Poetry To Read Novels & Stories

“She’s ready. She’s just torturing me on purpose. She’s already your daughter.” He chuckles low. “Fair.” He reaches for the book on the coffee table. It’s old, leather-bound, the pages yellowed. Russian poetry. Pushkin, Akhmatova, some Tsvetaeva. He’s been reading it to my belly every evening for the last two weeks. Says it’s tradition, his mom used to read poetry to him when he was little, in Russian, and he wants Sandra to hear it too. Before she’s even born. He opens to a marked page. Clears his throat.

The fireplace crackled softly, casting amber light across the lakehouse living room. Shadows danced across the walls as the wind outside whispered through the trees. Inside, time felt suspended. Ava sat cross-legged on the thick rug, the warmth of the fire brushing her bare arms. She was reading from a dog eared poetry collection she’d found tucked between old novels on a high shelf. The spine was cracked. The pages smelled like memories. The poems weren’t curated or famous just raw, honest words scrawled by someone who must’ve loved too deeply.

This was what contentment felt like. This was what having your entire world contained in your arms felt like. “What are you reading?” I asked, noting the way she relaxed completely against me, trusting me to hold her, to keep her safe. “Poetry. Some old collection I found in the back corner.” “Any good?” “Some of it. Though most of it is very dramatic. Lots of tortured souls and unrequited love.” “Sounds depressing.” “A little. But some of the love poems are beautiful. Listen to this one.” She opened the book and began to read in that soft, musical voice that never failed to capture my complete attention.

Brianna suddenly remembered poetry she once had read in a book: O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune. So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry. Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only love! And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my love,

He rushed, the sentence hanging in the air before he cut through it. "What Wordsworth poem did you want to read?" His voice much more gentle and slow. She took a moment to respond, her hands twitching back to life as she sucked in a deep breath as though she was waking up. "Ode to Imitations of Immortality." She spoke, her voice dry. She slowly turned and sat down in the chair next to the fireplace, the bright amber flames illuminating her face. He closed his book and put it back on the bookshelf before returning to the couch and leaning his head on his hand.

Immediately he was in the comfort of his fancy car, he sighted a fresh sheet of paper on his dashboard and took it at once. Looking through the front and back pages, Yomi discovered that it was some sort of poem with no name on it, so he decided to read it out of curiosity. It reads thus: How exquisite is this view as I revisit you Words of love begin to write as I sigh in delight The day has only started and my eyes have spilled with tears They have never parted from what lies fulfilled by years God, are you so beautiful and nothing but divine I beg of you to see like me, oh why not redefine

The whole scene makes me smile a bit before paying attention back to poetry. "All these feelings hit me like a punch.... when I'm texting with him. Thank you". People clapped and so did I . "Bevy Samuels is up next." "Hello, I'm Bevy and I'l be reading a poem by Rupi Kaur. It's quite a long poem so stay with me". There was groaning at different ends of the hall.

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.

"What do you enjoy reading, Lord Pembroke?" "Well" He paused to think as they both studied the titles stacked neatly on the shelves. "I like a bit of everything. It's good to be well versed in many things, but I suppose I like a bit of poetry most, aside from novels." "Poetry?" Miss Beaumont's blue-gray eyes grew wide. "Most gentlemen of my acquaintance have no patience for poetry." "A pity for them. Poetry is a window to a person's soul. With just a few words, a great writer can move mountains. I read it when I need to find a place of strength." He realized he was revealing far more of himself to this woman than he had intended to.

he walks away I let out a sigh Don't worry mum, I'll find you and am going to free you from him This monster, I hope you're still alive Roses are red And so are some lipstick My poems probably making you guys sick But once you see it you'll know you've come to the end of another episode You could do something better than reading it though Like maybe kissing Santa on a mistletoe Yeah you got me I just wanted a rhyme Thanks for reading my lines (see what I did there) If you laugh you'll surely die Sorry don't be scared I'm just kidding Am probably sure you're wishing for this to end