hold on,
don’t leave yet.
I still need to grab
the piece of
my heart
that I used as
a bookmark
A library, a ¦¦¦¦¦¦ spot, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Where treasures ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ patiently await,
Forgotten times whispered ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
And hidden gems unveiled at last.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
In this haven ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ we're free to dare.
Optimism fills the air ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Wisdom the library does provide.
(Blackout of Knowledge to Share by Catherine Pulsifer)
Library
Off to bury
Minds, spending time
Reading, soaring to imaginative levels
Harvesting curious ideas, challenging the devil
Experiencing many worlds, action always in a swirl
Around their setting, where the conflict can be upsetting
But when, the story comes to an end, happiness wins over the sin
If not in a hurry, destiny, visit the library, where the imagination will come alive, and cry
A good book is the way, to carry a day, under the sky blue, enjoying fantasies that are cool
magnification
of quiet joy—shelves rising
like soft, endless afternoons
pages breathing lightly,
each book a small refuge
from the heat outside
and I sit among them,
held in their stillness,
the perfect summer repose
the metropolitan library has a legacy of hosting unknown entities
reputed to be severely haunted since the early eighteen twenties
is it Goth? Celtic? what is her story I asked my eager brother
He wanted to go there on Hallows Eve, but did not invite our mother
Ghouls, goblins, ghosts and gremlins have been seen there
There might be vampires or cricket bats lingering in the air
a witch or two might be stirring a cauldron bright
we don’t know what to expect on this rare night
I thought it odd he did not mention book or a story
But decided to go because I am my brother’s sister, Glory
around the corner I saw an open book with sitting creature
she gave me the evil eye, with a gruesome face, an evil creature
it is a baby bat, my brother said, no reason to worry
But then we heard scratching and scratching, and something scurry
the bat transmogrified into a vampire with evil intent
spilled the cup of tea, and proved he was not heaven-sent
We ran out screaming, my brother and I
I yelled really loud “I thought I’d die!”
Then I noticed my brother had not made it out
I could hear him screaming as he was thrown about.
Far below the arguments of gulls,
beneath the commerce of waves,
there stands a library built of coral and silence.
Its shelves contain no books.
Instead, each volume is a memory
the world misplaced.
The first laugh of a child
whose name has long dissolved from stone.
The fragrance of an orchard
uprooted before photography.
The final dream of a sailor
who mistook the moon for a harbor.
Patient octopi tend the collection,
dusting absence from forgotten years.
No visitors arrive.
Yet every century,
a whale pauses beside the entrance,
sings a note older than history,
and another memory returns home.
Meanwhile, we above
continue calling ourselves the custodians of knowledge,
unaware how much wisdom
the ocean keeps from our reach.
Current time becomes the past
The past remains in the past
Full of the memories of the once present
Containing beautiful and all types of memories
A mental library to visit at any time
Books are Messiahs, they save
If with undaunted purpose, they enslave
To such extent that you wonder
If you were truly the man that do plunder
Whatever you read and seek
Let it groups an effective clique
Listen to your inner voice so prolific
To standing upright with the magic
To the peace of desire,
Sometimes you give in to acquire.
It is easy when interesting themes lure
As new spring of discovery inure
To get out the best anew
Look inwardly beyond the writer's view
The library in the woods cannot be seen by all
You have to be looking, and you cannot be so tall
It is down in the crook of a sycamore tree’s edge
Under a blackberry bush, inside a wall of a hedge
But it looks big in the photo, argued the biting red ant
Because it has been magnified by a hundred said all-knowing plant
The library in the woods has stayed a secret from most.
Hidden away by a large bullfrog, who serves as her host.
I walked into Dobb's library
I didn't have what life took
so there wasn't much left for me
except to search for a new book.
I sat down in an enclosed place
for ten minutes hoped to forget
the savage past grafted on my case
entangled in a strangling net.
I opened a computer screen
Then a lady sat beside
I sensed something sight unseen
A tear in the force had opened wide.
A short librarian had seen all
She gave this lady a look of scorn:
so intense it could burn the wall
I felt aghast, how could I warn?
I came back there in July
The new book shelf was getting old
Saw the librarian, my fierce ally
She looked unwell, in a dazed pose.
A library is a safe place to be
No bad guys have reason to go
But I brought one in with me
Did it hit a friend who'll never know?
You don't antagonize the wolf-like pack
With a heartfelt look of intense scorn
They'll take revenge, they may attack
I steel my heart, can't afford to mourn.
Now, I don't know for sure
Can's collapse that quantum wave
But in my mind that scorn endures
when icebergs surface, who can save?
Find me where the papers thin as these sweet n sour bones, yet scripted as plenty then all the worlds woes, as I plunder the stories stocked to the highs and lows, as I plunge deeper fighting imaginary foes,
Find me where the folklore goes or the mythology section how tales are spun upon rows and rows, even crime and romance can sit me down as they like to go toe to toe, in pop's words "jolly good show",
Find me where history is written continuously till the days of old, sprawled out on plump cushion chairs quite furnished, once birch and cold, I'd forsaken these sacred scrolls as I were only rash and bold,
Find me where seas of knowledge sprinkle spring from books, four seasons experienced not through a screen nor chalk, once living, still living, in our dreams and outlooks, trails by blazers linger between pristine covers
Find me where we said we'd met, no not at the 'met', my dancing nights are over till I feel I'm good enough, well and kept, maybe it would have been different In another setting I regret, reclused in the library, by the bending lake, there I'm forced to forget.
The library is a well.
Everyone drinks here without coins,
without proving they deserve water.
Come inside.
The old man reads his newspaper by the window,
teenagers cluster around computers like moths to light,
a mother spreads picture books on the floor
while her children build towers from blocks.
This is the hearth where strangers warm themselves,
the table where rich and poor sit down together,
passing knowledge like bread,
hand to hand.
Outside,
the world charges for everything,
a chair costs money,
warmth costs money,
even standing still in the wrong place costs something.
But here the door opens.
Here the librarian says How can I help you? to everyone,
no matter what's in their wallet or their past.
This is what democracy looks like up close:
bodies in chairs,
hands on books,
people teaching themselves to grow
toward light like seeds in a shared garden.
When the library closes,
we scatter back into the cold world.
But tomorrow the doors open again,
the lights come on,
and we return to this last free place,
this harbour,
this home we're learning to protect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the third shelf down,
where dust performs its quiet ballet,
a shoebox coughs up Polaroids
of someone else’s honeymoon.
The wallpaper remembers~
peels itself back slowly,
revealing the yellowed teeth
of old pencil marks:
Jesse + Sam, 1992,
now just graffiti for termites.
A single glove, left-handed,
curls into a fist around nothing.
The clock, stopped at 3:17,
swallows its own ticking.
Even the ghosts here
are forgetting why they linger.
But sometimes,
when the wind shoulders through
a cracked window,
the whole place exhales~
and for a breath,
every lost thing
remembers its name.
In the library
nook by cozy candlelight
a book will ferry
an adventure to ignite
another young one’s delight.
Just wanted to let you poets know
You’re helping my small company grow
My county Library desires copies wow
Of the book you poets wrote
What Makes Me Smile
So excited I scream out loud!
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