More Book Title Poems

I recently got a new bookcase, which necessitated the reorganization of my books, which resulted in books EVERYWHERE, which led to more BOOK TITLE POEMS. Yea! I first discovered this lovely little time-consumer about a year ago when two titles sitting side-by-side on my shelf made me laugh. A lightbulb went off in my head and three hours later my house was a mess and I’d written this piece for my blog.

What are book title poems? It’s pretty simple, really. They’re a type of found poetry where you create poems out of book titles. And I was definitely not the first person to have this idea. Just google “book title poems” and you’ll find all sorts of examples of this art form, ranging from the super sweet to the naughty. In fact, if you do google it, one of the first links that will pop up is from my friend Annie. Her poems are awesome, and we have several of the same books. What’s funny is I didn’t discover her book title poems until after I’d already written mine. 🙂 If you like this idea, you should definitely check out Annie’s post because she has links to other good book title found poetry, as well as tips for how to create your own.

Ok, so here’s what I came up with this time. The poems are typed out for your convenience, since some spines are difficult to read. Also, while I’m hardcore and stick to only books I have in my house and don’t add any additional words to my poems, I do format and sprinkle in punctuation where necessary to enhance the meaning.

Enjoy!

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This is the first poem that emerged from my pile of books this time.

Inhaling the Silence 

Stargirl,
Wish girl,
Shopgirl,
speak
the words
under
the words,
little women,
inhaling the silence
within these walls.

 

“Within these walls” was just too good of a last line, so I had to use it again.

Brave New World

I was told there’d be cake
at the gates of darkness—
a mango-shaped space,
accidental joy.
Quicker than the eye
things fall apart.
A monster calls
out of my mind.
The skin I’m in shrieks
at midnight
much ado about nothing.
Even cowgirls get the blues
within these walls.

 

Here’s one about the writing process, specifically about the process of getting a great idea in the middle of the night and realizing in the morning that it doesn’t make any sense.

On Writing Poems That Last Forever

The eleventh hour,
something’s brewing—
a light in the attic,
notes from the midnight driver,
anything but typical.

The trouble with poetry,
it all changed in an instant.
Fear of flying,
the place my words are looking for
(places left unfinished
at the time of creation)
come with me.
The things they carried:
pure drivel.

 

This is my favorite one. I think it’s haunting.

I Kill the Mockingbird

I know
why the caged bird sings.
The god of small things
eats, shoots
& leaves.
We the living
shiver.
All that lives must die.
My wicked
wicked ways
walk two moons
on the road.
Remember me like this:
the prince of mist,
red as blood,
sailing alone
around the room,
going
going
to kill a mockingbird.

 

I’m also partial to this one. And I think it’s the most visually pleasing of all the poems.

The October Country

As I walked out one evening
walking the black cat,
vampires in the lemon grove
schooled the death catchers.

This I believe:
There is no long distance now
     the sky is everywhere.

What my mother doesn’t know:
I have lived a thousand years
     at the gates of darkness.
Holes linger
where I’m calling from.

 

Sometimes short and sweet is the way to go.

untitled

Rats saw god
in the kingdom of ice,
mortal coils
surviving Antarctica,
misery
salting the ocean,
the light fantastic.

The Last Generation

When you are engulfed in flames
in the lake of the woods,
eat, pray,
love little green men.
Speak
the machineries of joy,
call it courage.
Only you can save mankind.

 

This is another favorite. Habibi is the Arabic word for “beloved.”

Habibi

Before I die,
remember me like this:
the giver off the road,
the book thief
tap dancing on the roof,
lord of the flies
walking the black cat.
Speak my own true name:
habibi.

 

I wanted to format this poem as two voices. The first voice (on the left) is hers, and the second voice (on the right) is his. The centered sections are left to interpretation, maybe things they both agree on. There was no way to make this format work in the photo. I couldn’t get the books to balance that way. But I created the visual I was going for below.

It was getting pretty late when I created these last three. I was running out of books and things were getting weird…

 

Evidence of Things Not Seen

The turtle of Oman
     surviving Antarctica
A monk
     swimming the writer’s journey
The miniature wife
     writing down the bones
The illustrated man
     saving fish from drowning
Brown girl
     dreaming the thirteenth tale
The book thief
     giving thanks

 

Dept. of Speculation

We the living wonder
how did you get this number?
What have you lost?
A wrinkle in time,
the box,
the secret life of bees?
Let’s explore diabetes
with owls.
This is the story
of a happy marriage:
not quite
what I was planning.

 

Don’t Read This!

Johnny and the dead
eat, pray, love
@ the restaurant
at the end of the universe.
A pig with six legs
sees behind trees.
Frankenstein, Dracula,
Mr. Mysterious & Company
(a confederacy of dunces)
linger forever.
Which witch
rides a dread legion?
The outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place
wonder.

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I think I’ll stop there. They just got weirder and weirder after that. I hope some of these made you smile. If you decide to create some of your own, have fun and enjoy the mess. 🙂