Lang Leav's evocative love poetry speaks to the soul of anyone who is on this journey. Leav has an unnerving ability to see inside the hearts and minds of her readers. Forget the dainty, delicate love poems of yore; these little poems pack a mighty punch. Answered Jun 17, I got the book from Lang leav - love biosamnewbcropdic.tk ( KB). Click the 1st link and follow the instructions to download the PDF. Lang Leav's evocative love poetry speaks to the soul of anyone who is on this journey. Leav has an unnerving ability to see inside the hearts and minds of her readers. Her work expresses the intricacies of love and biosamnewbcropdic.tk & Misadventure is her first poetry collection.
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See the Glog! Download Free ePub eBook Love & Misadventure (Lang Leav) PDF: text, images, music, video | Glogster EDU - Interactive multimedia posters. Love & Misadventure book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Lang Leav is a poet and internationally exhibiting artist. A. . Books Type PDF Love Misadventure [PDF, ePub] by Lang Leav Free Complete eBooks "Click Visit button" to access full FREE ebook.
You brush my hair away from my face. Whatever call—falls vainly on the wave. O simian Venus, homeless Eve, Unwedded, stumbling gardenless to grieve Windswept guitars on lonely decks forever; Finally to answer all within one grave! Eyes crumble at its kiss. Its long-drawn spell Incites a yell. Slid on that backward vision The mind is churned to spittle, whispering hell.
I wanted you. The embers of the Cross Climbed by aslant and huddling aromatically. It is blood to remember; it is fire To stammer back. It is God—your namelessness.
You crept out simmering, accomplished. Water rattled that stinging coil, your Rehearsed hair—docile, alas, from many arms. Yes, Eve—wraith of my unloved seed! The Cross, a phantom, buckled—dropped below the dawn.
Light drowned the lithic trillions of your spawn.
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View all comments. Aug 13, Jesse JesseTheReader added it. I've been reading this off and on for the longest time, but I finally made my way through the collection!
I'll admit, I don't really know how to review poetry. I enjoyed this collection immensely and I definitely have the desire to pick up more works by Lang Leav. View 2 comments. Jan 26, Khanh, first of her name, mother of bunnies rated it did not like it Shelves: Back when I was with my gamer ex-boyfriend, we would give each other cards containing stupid geeky poetry for Valentine's Day: Roses are red Violets are blue All my base Are belong to you. As painfully silly as it is, that little snippet is still significantly better than the poetry in this book.
At least it wasn't meant to be taken seriously. Unless I've missed something and this book is meant to be some grand satire of the artistic sort.
In which case, carry on! If you think this is good poetry: T Back when I was with my gamer ex-boyfriend, we would give each other cards containing stupid geeky poetry for Valentine's Day: To love him is something I hold highly suspicious. Like having something so very delicious then being told to do the dishes. And you still think it is good poetry beyond the age of 9, we seriously need to have a talk.
And if you are one such person on my friend list, kindly remove yourself from it posthaste. Why the fuck is the rating so high? View all 27 comments. Jan 19, Greg rated it it was ok Shelves: I'm not a poet, but this book did inspire me to write this little couplet: I cry for all the dead trees, for these poems you died thee. So many dead trees. So much blank space in the book, actually every single verso page in the poetry section is blank the three illustrations grace verso pages and the traditional verso page has its usual blah blah blah stuff about publishing information.
So many trees dying for the pretentiousness of blank pages and white space. Lots of people like this book, and that is great. I can be sort of snobbish with what I choose to read sometimes, but I think it's great when people read and anything people download bookwise helps keep me in a job so that's good, too.
The poetry is not very good. I'm not trying to disparage anyone who likes this book, but it's just not that good.
And I totally get that, I have a whole library of songs that I like to listen to and wallow in—some of which are embarrassing and some of which I'm fairly certain are good outside of the cheap emotional responses they are producing. I was going to compare this just now to Bright Eyes to give mention to one of the embarrassing sides of my own tastes , but I'm fairly certain that Connor Oberst is a better wordsmith.
But the emotional level in this book gives me the same feelings I have when a couple across from me on the subway are actively engaging in public displays of affection or are having a fight, not really something I'd choose to share with them.
As poems these are just undisciplined ramblings. Sometimes there are rhymes thrown in ok, actually a lot of times there are rhymes , but there is no apparent rhyme or reason to when they are being used. There is no real structure to it.
Rhyming in poetry gives a work structure and lyricism, something lacking in these poems. They maddeningly border on being lyrical at times, but then break apart with some borderline pretentious wordiness. Because there doesn't seem to be a structure to the rhymes in most of these poems, they come across as cutesy conveniences rather than as a limit imposed on the work to give it shape. These poems don't feel like they have been worked on, they feel like they have been dashed off and thrown out there for the world.
They don't feel crafted. I'll let the poems speak for themselves though. Mornings With You I slowly wake as day is dawning, to fingertips and lips imploring. The sheets against my skin, he says, like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Little sparks of static dance across my skin. Does it hurt? He says, running his hands gently over my warm body. It is your own little fireworks show, I whisper. His Cause and Effect He makes me turn he makes me toss; his words mean mine are at a loss.
He makes me blush! He makes me want to brush and floss. A Dangerous Recipe To love him is something, I hold highly suspicious. Like having something, so very delicious-- then being told, to do the dishes. I had written a bit of an apology here about how this just isn't my thing but I get if you like it.
Fuck that though, this isn't good. It's popular but so is a lot of poorly written crap out that. I try not to be a snob about things but fuck it, any negative reviews of this book are up against an army of people out to make it look like Lang Leav does no wrong.
There are more than enough places you can see people gushing about how good this is, and you can feel good about yourself in those reviews. This might be art and art might be something subjective but there is still well crafted and poorly crafted art.
Just because you've created something is it automatically good. You can tell me I'm wrong, but I'll stand behind what I think of this work, which Yes I did read it in its whole fairly awful entirety. I'm giving it two stars because I also get that I'm not the audience for this.
The audience for this might be bigger than the audience for anything for anything that I like but I want more from books and poetry. I don't want cute little easy snippets of just about twitter length 'awwwws'.
No matter how many copies this sells, and no matter how many followers Lang Leav has it won't change the fact that as poetry this is pure drivel and if in the future there is an equivalent of the Stuffed Owl Anthology of Bad Verse this whole book could be safely put in it. View all 64 comments. Jan 19, Jane Kim rated it really liked it. To the reviews that basically take a giant shit on Leav's ability as a poet, You're missing the point. I can only speak for myself completely, but I know many people would agree with me when I say that love does not need advanced prose.
If what you're looking for is sheer structural and linguistic genius, then this is not the book for you; however, often, true feelings are raw. Prose that comes from these feelings shouldn't need any gimmicks to impact the human heart. In fact, even words at a ba To the reviews that basically take a giant shit on Leav's ability as a poet, You're missing the point.
In fact, even words at a bare minimum should be able to resonate with you. That's the point with Lang Leav. Leav has the ability to string together simple words and strike the human heart, and that's why her book holds so much appeal. I'm sorry if I offend anyone when I say this, but to be honest, I think it's a bit pretentious to look for stylistic sophistication from a genre or type of prose that is supposed to speak the words your heart could never say.
In that case, you may be missing the point of prose altogether. View all 12 comments. Oh my god, I dislike it a lot, and I don't give a damn if it rhymes or not. I'm cursing like hell. It was a painful experience; I need some air.
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I dared. I am so mad because I had high hopes for this book. Sure, I was more intrigued by the misadventure part, but still I thought I would like it. However, I found this: What the hell is that?! I feel bad for that poor tree that became paper. A bit unfair, don't you think?
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Okay, another sample: Let's take a look at these other gems: He and I When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am, and we just are. Anyway, when I was 12 or 13 years old, I had this diary filled with little poems about love and unrequited love, sighs, love, prince charming, love and more pinky pink love with a pinch of girl-pining-for-guy-ready-to-leave-everything-to-be-with-him. I remember one of those high-quality poems: That means something like: Do you see the resemblance?
And with this, I am not saying I am so mature and such a complex and supernaturally smart person bla blasasdssdf. I love poetry, and I know that it does not have to be all pretentious with difficult words and incredible images and erudite thoughts.
But, seriously, have you read those verses I just quoted?! I was expecting something more substantial. Just saying. Babbling over. And I thought those were awfully cheesy. Oh no, I am not translating that. If only I had collected all those poems A better book. I am sorry. I don't enjoy rating books with one sad star. In fact, I don't have many one-star books. I try to find the silver lining. But in my humble opinion, there is no silver in here, and definitely no lining.
It is all cloudy and foggy and with a chance of rain. However, this is just one reader's opinion.
A lot of people liked this book, so go ahead and find out for yourself. View all 66 comments. Jul 02, Milena Wo rated it it was amazing Recommended to Milena by: View all 6 comments. Nov 12, Carla Carla's Book Bits rated it did not like it. I took some time to peruse this at the library because everyone's been getting excited about it on Tumblr. I don't really know what I expected.. Given the hype, I guess I expected to read some really insightful and profound stuff, but instead what I got was this: For— I am not a bore!
It's not my cup of tea. View 1 comment. Nov 10, Jason rated it did not like it Shelves: I wanted to like this poetry collection because a dear former student let me borrow it. I am dreading the talk we will have when I hand it back to her. Maybe I'll just say, "Thank you for sharing this book with me. That was very thoughtful of you. I will tell her that I was mainly reminded of greeting cards when I read this collection. For example, take this poem "Always": You were you, and I was I; we were two I wanted to like this poetry collection because a dear former student let me borrow it.
You were you, and I was I; we were two before our time. Gag me. Her poems put these to shame, although sometimes they were kind of cute.
Here's "Xs and Os": Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting, for the next x or o. Greeting card. Lines of verse like that belong inside a Valentine's Day card. The overwhelming majority of these poems seem like they are first drafts scrawled in a notebook by a middle school girl who dots her i's with hearts. Here's "Closure": Like time suspended, a wound unmended--you and I. We had no ending, no said good-bye. For all my life, I'll wonder why.
These bite-size poems feel incomplete, like they were just Jackson-Pollocked onto the page and because they're lovey-dovey, we as readers are supposed to like them. Perhaps I am not the target audience for this collection.
I was shocked to see it had such a high rating.
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This is just an instance of my being an English snob, I suppose. The one poem I really like in this collection, "Rogue Planets," is a prose poem with some actual development.
In typing Leav's poems, I did not recreate her line breaks for speed's sake. Sep 04, Ariel rated it liked it. I really enjoy reading modern poetry, especially by poets my age and poets that start their careers with an online following, and so I was really curious to see what Lang Leav had to offer!
This collection had a few poems that I dog eared, and I found some of the ideas cute or interesting, but overall it wasn't my style of poetry. I don't think I'll be picking up anything else by Lang Leav, but that's okay! Life goes on! This is probably more like a 2. Nov 26, Kimberly Lloyd rated it it was amazing.
Perhaps this person carries within them an angel--one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them--even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering--the reason for their presence will become clear in due time. As a child, I always loved the romance of the night sky. While writing this new body of work, I revisited that sense of wonder and fascination that I have held as far back as I can remember.
The sentiment can be best described as a mixture of nostalgia and longing.
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In many ways, a book is, in itself, a tiny universe. Each page is like a newly formed galaxy, fashioned from a single, pulsing thought. A book travels for days, for years, sometimes for centuries to meet you at an exact point in time. I hope you enjoy The Universe of Us as much as I have enjoyed putting it together. I sing along in dreams of him, I cling to— when I start waking. That Day I remember our highs in hues, like the color of his eyes as the sun was setting; the pale of his hands in mine, and the blue of his smile.
I remember our sorrows in shades, like the gray of the shadows, which loomed that day, and the white in his lie when he promised to stay. The closer to loving me he grew, the more he would grow further.
I tried to love him as his friend, then to love him as his lover; but he never loved me in the end— his heart was for another. A Lover's Past The turbulent turns and the tides that twist them.
When what they once were, was how she had wished them. And all the joys he brought her, how she could list them. In time she will learn, not to miss them. Beauty's Curse Her bow is drawn to worlds of dark; where arrows spring and miss their mark. She'll turn their heads— but not their hearts. Dead Butterflies I sometimes think about the fragility of glass—of broken shards tearing against soft skin.
When in truth, it is the transparency that kills you. The pain of seeing through to something you can never quite touch. For years I've kept you in secret, behind a glass screen. I've watched helplessly as day after day, your new girlfriend becomes your wife and then later, the mother of your children. Then realizing the irony in thinking you were the one under glass when in fact it has been me—a pinned butterfly—static and unmoving, watching while your other life unfolds. Wishful Thinking You say that you are over me, my heart— it skips, it sinks.
I see you now with someone new, I stare, I stare, I blink. Someday I'll be over you, I know, I know— I think. A Heavy Heart All you have done, I had hoped to pardon. When the death of love was slow for me— for you was sudden. Now the years go by, and my heart has hardened.
Saving You The darkness takes him over, the sickness pulls him in; his eyes—a blown-out candle; I wish to go with him. Sometimes I see a flicker— a light that shone from them; I hold him to me tightly, before he's gone again.
An Answer To choose from there were many; among them, there were some. And of those I loved you, more than any— but not as much as one. Swan Song Her heart is played like well-worn strings; in her eyes, the sadness sings— of one who was destined for better things. Part 3 Love First Love Before I fell in love with words, with setting skies and singing birds— it was you I fell in love with first.
He and I When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am, and we just are. Sundays with Michael I hold my breath and count to ten, I stand and sit, then stand again. I cross and then uncross my legs, the planes are flying overhead. The dial turns with every twist, around the watch, around his wrist.
Resting there with pen in hand, who could ever understand? The way he writes of all I dream, things kind yet cruel and in-between, where underneath those twisted trees, a pretty girl fallen to her knees. Who could know the world we've spun? I shrug my shoulders and hold my tongue. I hold my breath and count to ten, I stand and sit, then stand again. Mornings with You I slowly wake as day is dawning, to fingertips and lips imploring. The sheets against my skin, he says, like wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
Soul Mates I don't know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are.
How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence. A Fairy Tale Start of spring; heart in bloom; our whisperings in sunlit rooms. Summer was felt a little more; in autumn I began to fall. When winter came with all its white, you were mine to kiss good night. Always You were you, and I was I; we were two before our time.
I was yours before I knew, and you have always been mine too.
A Dream As the Earth began spinning faster and faster, we floated upwards, hands locked tightly together, eyes sad and bewildered. We watched as our faces grew younger and realized the Earth was spinning in reverse, moving us backwards in time. Then we reached a point where I no longer knew who you were and I was grasping the hands of a stranger.
But I didn't let go. And neither did you. I had my first dream about you last night. She smiles. What was it about? I don't remember exactly, but the whole time I was dreaming, I knew you were mine. All I thought and all I felt, was only just because, never was it ever you— until it was all there was. Beautiful Your hand reaches for mine.
We kiss tentatively, passionately and then, tenderly. You brush my hair away from my face. If you love me for what you've heard, then you would love me for my words. If you love my heart and mind, then you would love me, for all that I'm. But if you don't love my every flaw, then you mustn't love me— not at all.
Some Time Out The time may not be prime for us, though you are a special person. We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock, in unison. Souls When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other.
The presence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen. Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance.
They only know it feels right to be with one another. This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they are not there— even if they are only in the very next room. Your soul only feels their absence— it doesn't realize the separation is temporary.
Can I ask you something? Why is it every time we say good night, it feels like good-bye? Solo Show He pulls the thick woolen sweater up, over my head. Little sparks of static dance across my skin. Does it hurt? He says, running his hands gently over my warm body. It is your own little fireworks show, I whisper. The Fear of Losing You Without meaning to, he's disarmed me, with kisses that soothe and alarm me. In arms that terrify and calm me. Ebb and Flow She yearns to learn how his tide is turned, to understand each grain of sand, he knows.
To move in rhythm, with his ebb and flow. Written in Traffic A quiet gladness, in the busy sadness; inside the final tussle, of love and its madness.I didn't find any connection at all and barely felt anything. Fuck no!!! Perhaps because this person carries an angel within them—one sent to you for some higher purpose, to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time.
The Cross, a phantom, buckled—dropped below the dawn. Rogue Planets As a kid, I would count backwards from ten and imagine at one, there would be an explosion—perhaps caused by a rogue planet crashing into Earth or some other major catastrophe. Who could know the world we've spun? It is God—your namelessness.
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