Best Library Poems
Around midnight, in the library I found myself drawn,
to these shelves haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
as a rare, late October storm brews beyond the pane,
bringing life back to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker.
To these shelves, haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
my fingers grasp a book from under the dust and webs,
bringing life back, to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker,
it's well-worn, leather spine just waiting to chill my own.
My fingers grasp a book, from under the dust and webs,
while autumn winds rustle leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
it's well-worn leather spine, just waiting, to chill my own,
my head, sinking further back into the velvet-lined chair.
While autumn winds rustle, leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
candlelight flickers dimly across the tattered old pages,
my head sinking further, back into the velvet-lined chair,
where the ghosts of Irving and Dickens will not let me sleep.
Candlelight flickers dimly, across the tattered, old pages,
I, unable to recline, with the shadows thrown by the fire,
where the ghosts, of Irving and Dickens, will not let me sleep,
residents of the dark welcome, and wait to be revisited.
I, unable to recline with the shadows, thrown by the fire,
as a rare, late October storm brews, beyond the pane,
residents of the dark, welcome and wait, to be revisited,
around midnight, in the library, I found myself... drawn.
In the library, at last I am freed
from others’ wishes for what I should read.
Book after book I most gladly peruse
with all these free hours I now get to use
finding books that I love; not just books that I need!
The books about science which teachers all feed
our minds with are making my eyes start to bleed!
I think I would even prefer reading news
in the library.
How much more enthralling are aisles that lead
to books of pure fiction! I will not heed
strict teachers, for romance and drama I choose.
Just see, I’ve already picked novels that ooze
suspense! Yes, indeed, I’m doing the deed
In the library.
Whenever I walk inside I feel at home;
enraptured, from shelf to shelf I roam
till a book catches my eye
as I flitter by
smell sends me
high
rapidly
while senses comply
inner needs to satisfy,
like a bee that sips a honeycomb...
whenever I walk inside I feel at home.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest by Kai Michael Neumann
My neck crooked backward,
I stand between the stacks
feeling the weight of centuries,
the distilled wisdom of minds
who graced the earth with golden words,
words that pace the pages -
vellum, parchment, fine and common papers;
words, cordoned in lines, confined,
yet powerful tools to set one free,
a roamer far from home,
across universes,
beyond time's reach.
The light filters through high windows
downward to where I peer with squinted eyes
teasing out a jewel -
a title, an author, an adventure, a friend.
The air is charged,
the static of adventure,
heartfelt journeys of a hundred thousand writers,
their souls etched upon the pages
for ones such as I to stumble upon decades,
centuries later,
dream maps
thought castles,
imaginative quests.
Quietness reigns.
The elements of books -
leather, cloth, paper and ink -
infuse a rich elixir,
a mind expanding potion,
companion to best wine and oldest friendships
seasoned,
mellowed,
treasured.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, August 11, 2015
I scanned the shelves to pick a book
That seemed to be appealing,
From those adjacent to my shoes
To those up near the ceiling.
Selecting some that might work out,
I skimmed the first few pages,
For mostly I can tell by then
A story that engages.
A half an hour passed before
I found a prime contender,
The author someone in whose words
I’d happily surrender.
I checked it out and brought it home,
Some reading time in store
But soon enough it came to me –
I’d read this book before!
Lingering among the stacks
Interval of serenity, a luxury to
Borrow a world, then bring it back
Riches of printed page, once few
Are carried throughout the community
Requiring only a card to belong
Young and old both given opportunity
Lending literacy to growing minds, strong
Out of many streets, they share the room
Vaulted ideas have a place to bloom
Encyclopedias of adventures to unpack!
1/22/19
It is many years since I visited you and Grand mama
The second I walked through the library door
Memories of my childhood came flooding back to me
I remember climbing up on the polished library steps
You stood behind me to make sure I didn’t fall
One day I wobbled on the top step and you held my hand
I loved seeing the jewel coloured leather bindings
With the delicate tooling etched with gold
You would tell me the names of all your favourite authors
We would repeat them in a rhyme
Trying to go all the way through the alphabet
I can still smell the aroma of your tobacco
Locked deep in the pages of these dusty tomes
We would spend many hours together
My thirst for knowledge was fuelled by your enthusiasm
We would pour over the atlas and the giant globe
You would tell me stories of all the great explorers
Oh how I wanted to travel the world like you had done in your youth
In my mind I ventured to distant lands
Recreating the scenes you so vividly described
Recently my dream to travel finally came true
Finally I have returned from my grand tour
Now I am here to share my adventures with you
Contest- In the Library – Sponsor Isaiah Zerbst
08~3~15
She stands tall by the light of the window’
her soft lady hands holding her treasure.
A favourite book from the vast library.
Her eyes following each written word
as she lives the story within,
pausing only to rest her tired eyes.
Why does she stand, why not sit and read
in her mind she felt she needed to look pristine.
Her dress flowing from her shoulders to the floor,
so she stands by the window to read her precious book
for daylight to filter through onto the pages.
Enhancing the words written therein.
The words came to life in her mind
imagining the sombre lake where the lovers boated.
Could see and feel the branches of the trees
as the couple ducked their heads
avoiding scratching themselves
As the boat glided silently to hide in their density
She smelt the smell of lovers
her stomach curled in their embrace.
Feeling the relief that comes when love fulfilled
She loved this book, gave her what she missed in life.
The lady in blue was waiting for her love to return from war
had been away for two years already, missed him so.
Meanwhile, she read the books from her parents library
Always returning to this book of love
He will be home soon,
He must come home
he must.
Penned August 2nd 2015
With her back to the world
Reality begins to fade
Eyes wide like a small girl
She slips into fantasy unafraid
Without the chattering of others
She listens to voices in every page
She's amazed as her heart flutters
Setting her up with each new stage
Yet I wonder where she is
In that whole other place
Yet I would not disturb this
Young beauty full of grace
For this place is not for everday chatter
It's for the worlds and adventures that matter
In my dreams, I hear whispers and echoes from abandoned books
Begging for attention, from their old bookshelves and cozy library nooks
Ghostly pages full of dust, some damaged from water leaks and mice
Genres untouched for decades, fiction, cookbooks, self-help and advice
I decided to try to find the old, abandoned town library, left dilapidated
Rumored it's haunted and unsafe, waiting to be a tear down as stated
It was gifted from a rich family, and cared for until no more descendants
The town couldn’t afford the upkeep and feared the rumored tenants
As I drove down a long country road, I could hear whispers of welcome
I spotted an overgrown gravel road with a faded and worn Library sign
As I read the sign, the colors sparkled and came to life for a brief second
I quickly blinked and the sign remained faded and drab but still beckoned
I walked to the library, hearing voices echo as I saw the oak wooden door
The granite steps were clear with an old gold skeleton key on the floor
I bent down to pick it up, once I held the key the library door opened
Books flew off their shelves, pages echoed as if their words had spoken
My alarm awakens me from my deep slumber as I remember my dream
I wonder if this new town has such a place and what It could mean
I grab the newspaper and there it is, the old town library is for sale
I smile, I now know what my future with the old library would soon entail
9 KISSES IN THE LIBRARY
First kiss meandered through Sci Fi by the purple
wall. The tender second kiss arrived around the bend.
mumbling 3rd and 4th excuses as she frog jumped
twin matrons chatting with their dead and absent friends.
Sweet and slow-- the next three left her breathless--
Zinged and knocked her senseless to her bony knees.
She braced herself--for just two more--oh, please--
At 9pm she's startled by a subtle shoulder tap,
Bodice ripper pages shuddered with a final schoolgirl snap.
My pen pal and I both had a passion for poetry books
The city library was thought of. We met in her nooks.
Shush! Shush! We heard from a librarian, truly staid.
With face of a rooster, we knew she was an old maid.
Two pen pals forever, we only had one day to meet.
We knew it would be fun, endearing, exceedingly sweet.
We ditched the library, my forever pen pal and me.
We headed northeast, where two terrific poets should be.
We picked out a spot where literary mermaids danced and sang.
Faeries and brownies came along with a hull-a-balloo band.
Dictionary gargoyles got frisky, and gave us some sass.
We rolled our eyes, ignoring them, and their syllable grass.
It was a fine time. Two poet pen pals having a blast.
Collaborating hard, ideas in spurts, and real fast.
And that is how we two pen pals finally met, and had some real fun.
If you doubt this incredible tale, you are not the only one.
As she entered the building she uttered not a word
Sounds from the outside could no longer be heard
In this quaint structure were books of every shape and size
Some held mysteries, while others held surprises
The library was where she found her inner peace
Each book to her was a masterpiece
Where imagination and wonder never ceased
And the fires of her curiosity increased
With several books in hand, she took a seat
And lost herself in pages that entreat
The book on poetry was her favorite one
It was both inspirational and fun
She loved the metaphors and the rhymes
whose meaning were woven into the sublime
Upon her, these verses cast a spell
In this place of books, where silence dwells.
With ten thousand places to go
And it won't cost me a dime,
Just to walk a block or so ...
Takes a few minutes of my time
And it won't cost me a dime
To borrow one library book,
Takes a few minutes of my time
To browse around and look ...
To borrow one library book
Is to open up a great door,
To browse around and look ...
At a place never known before
Is to open up a great door
A thing that I dare to do ...
At a place never known before
Then, o, to walk on through
A thing that I dare to do ...
And need to, o, so badly,
Then, o, to walk on through
And disappear ever madly
And need to, o, so badly
Just to walk a block or so ...
And disappear ever madly
With ten thousand places to go.
I read, like an open book
All others can see the words written on my pages.
I contain tales, read as secretive,
A hushed whisper that only a handful have seen.
But how many times has this book been checked out?
A sea of white masks, deadpan through the years
So cherished once, now faded, emotionless.
Forgotten both to me, and I to them.
My secrets are secrets no more -
I own my past, without connecting to it.
I am an open book, because who has to connect with a story?
People can project on a tale,
As what better to have in a confidant,
Than a horror story?
Something you can read from the comfort of your bed,
A scary, scarred stream of words that seem otherworldly.
Frankenstein’s monster will never be faced -
So, too, is this failures’ life.
You understand, you say.
You sympathise, you say.
But how can you, when I checked myself out long ago.