Long Librarian Poems
Long Librarian Poems. Below are the most popular long Librarian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Librarian poems by poem length and keyword.
He is so angry he will not talk to anyone.
I happen to be teaching his class a lesson
They are in teams enjoying themselves
Except him; he is shutting down rapidly.
He taps the pencils against the desk
Over and over and over and over and over.
I ask him to come with me and he does.
I ask him what has happened.
Seeing tears, I go get three tissues.
He tells me he wanted to check out a book.
The librarian said he could not have that one.
He is totally sad.
I am sad too, because this has ruined his day.
He told his teacher he did not know how dumb he was
Until today.
I have no words, just feeling sad with him.
Matt the librarian loved to own thousands of rare books
and displayed them on shelves keeping an eye on crooks;
one could find the music sheets of young Beethoven;
Jenna loved his classical music and played it on the violin.
He dusted every book, not leaving a speck anywhere;
even rays of sunshine filtering gave them a golden shine;
for fourteen years or more Matt read books on line,
then opened up a bookstore and spent his time there.
G
Over twenty years he ran his business with zeal,
he stood six foot four and was a fine navy seal;
folks dropped by to spent an hour reading,
or engage in a cool topic that was interesting.
One afternoon I walked in and I saw him dusting books,
he could reach the top shelf with easiness and glancing
back he greeted me kindly dropping what he was doing
he invited me in, his welcoming was as warm as his looks.
Everyone reading at the long cherry table lifted their eyelids once,
as if I was intruding in their reading and apologizing
I started scanning all those books for an interesting
title and finding it, I joined the other avid readers who smiled twice.
I visited that bookstore often, I bought an old book with a buck
and read it on the spot instead of going to the library;
winter came and kept me away, I spent time on Facebook...
April came and I was shocked to hear that Matt had passed away.
Written on 3/27/2017
[Quite possibly the most juvenile gag I’ve
ever posted on Soup. In my defence, I was
probably twelve when I first heard it.]
*
He went to the library to borrow a book
The librarian said, “Please do take a look.”
He looked for an hour but couldn’t decide
She said, “I’m surprised, when the choice is so wide.”
She pushed two books forward and said, “Look at these,
I’m certain that one of these writers should please.”
He gazed at the books with a smidgen of doubt
And asked her to detail what they were about
“Now, Dickens,” she said, “a likely solution,
With London and Paris: the French Revolution,
But if you feel reading this might take you ages
How about something with rather less pages?
“This other suggestion instils quite a chill.
A man selling body parts fresh from a kill
He first kills a woman so ample of breast
And markets those ‘wares’ to a girl who has less
The man said, “One Classic and one Burke and Hare,
How might I distinguish the books you have there?”
She told him, “The first is ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’,
the second is titled ‘A Sale Of —’
[you were warned]
Take nothing for granted, little kids,
It was library day for our kids,
Lateral epic lit. for the kids,
The kids' librarian was off her ****,
Reading new wave epic lit.,
Such as "Paddington got Pissed,"
Then there was a new book for tots,
Titled, "RIP Spot,"
And epic lit. for libraries to fill,
Like "Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill....
Now, it's story time for kids,
Here's our new one, "RIP Spot",
(Lift the flaps, there's the chaps),
RIP Spot, the street dog,
We dehydrated Spot,
(Lift the flaps, there's the chaps),
Froth, Spot, froth,
Yes, read along, tots,
Read along, little tots,
We all starved Spot,
He was a street dog,
(Lift the flaps, there's good chaps),
Rot, Spot, rot,
Now we can count his ribs,
Check his ribs, dear little kids,
(Lift the flaps, there's good chaps),
Happy maggots, Spot,
He was a street dog,
(Lift the chaps, there's good chaps),
Now Spot's on his way to Heaven,
His ribs were more than seven,
(Lift the flaps, there's good chaps),
Have some flies, Spot,
Rot, Spot, rot,
They opened up the Pearly Gates,
Poor Spot wasn't late,
(Lift the flaps, there's good chaps),
Look at Spot's halo!
Two more books to go,
Spot's sent us a card down here,
"F.U. Society, you didn't care!"
(Lift the flaps, there's good chaps),
Rot, Spot, rot,
You were a street dog,
Ooh, now you're sad,
There's two more books in this bag......
Here's "Paddington was Pissed,"
(The librarian's off her ****),
The tots were by now totally miffed,
He was their childhood hero,
Now a raving drunken dero,
Rolling around in the gutter,
An alcoholic penniless nutter,
Society didn't care,
He was a homeless bear,
Yes, the tots were totally miffed,
Paddington was Pissed,
Now here's our last little book,
This one's worth a book,
"Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill,
His mother forgot the pill,
Perched in a tree up the hill,
Blinky Bill ran under a bus,
Stoned on Eucalyptus,
So, Bye, Bye, Blinky Bill!
We took nothing for granted, let's say,
Kids' librarian got the sack that day.......
In place of bookmarks or
turning the corner of the
many empty pages of my
autobiography
I so wish to fill in to
commemorate the journey
and story of my life thus far
I choose to use
crestfallen autumnal leves
i saved since last september
Best described as colour
fired desert opal grapefruit
colour red
And along my merry way
to both humour me and
provide me joy
I keep a dictionary by my side
for constant companionship
So if cometh the day
if i shall ever was to be asked
to regail my story unto another
passing stranger by
Not of where i am going
but rather where i have
been and thing's
that i have seen
I manage to get my
message across in the
most eloquent of my ways
And somehow make my
dull and somewhat dreary
life appear as it has never
been viewed before
Not simply a librarian but
as a published author instead
Worthy of gracing the page's
of any brittle leather bound
antiquity 1st edition fairytale
Adorned with such illuminating
word's its left entirely up to the
imagination of the said readers
mind
The picture he or she wishes
to paint and journey to explore
We had better sneak the dragons whispered to each other.
You should not even be breaking in! Warned their worried mother.
Their father stayed out of it, he loved libraries and books too.
They tiptoed in the window and down the shelves they flew.
What shall we read first? Asked the little one. He was filled with glee.
I think the trick is to open the interesting ones said his cousin Lee.
Dreaming of reading since I was a baby, I was glad here just to be.
We began reading and could not stop that morning until way after three.
We were apparently caught on camera, and the librarian was glad.
She left the window open every night; she was an admirer, we had.
She left us cupcake snacks and little notes also, she was totally kind.
We read all the books in the library, glad we had a dragon’s mind.
Evell’s pointed ears perked up. A faerie library! Where was it?
When does it open? Who can check out books? She was intrigued.
“Only true faeries can see it,” evil Morganna said, she was a chit.
Not being a pureblood, Evell wondered if she would get access.
“I know I will be invited,” Morganna told her. She was a snit.
Two weeks later Evell discovered a new road, and a tall stair.
She was let inside. Dwarfs, elves and dragons reading books.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” a pixie said, flinging pink dust in the air.
“Excuse me,” Evell said to the librarian. “Where are faerie books?”
“Everywhere,” the gargoyle said, extending his hands. “Every shelf.”
Fantastic Faerie Frolicks, Fairy Bible and Recipes for Fey Cooks.
Morganna never showed up. "She won’t," winked a knowing elf.
For you, the first to teach me poetry,
I wrote a little poem at age nine.
I don't remember writing any more
till I had you for English in ninth grade.
One day when we were talking at your desk,
I saw a single laminated sheet.
I took a closer look and realized
the childish cursive on the page was mine.
You'd saved "My Winter Poem" all those years
and brought it as my gift. I almost cried.
I smile now as I vividly recall
this scene from over fifty years ago.
As teacher and librarian, you earned
the praise of all. We recognized your love
of students, language, books, and our small school.
We knew how much you wanted us to learn.
If I had never told you how I felt,
beyond that day when I was just a teen,
I'd be without excuse, but I did claim
the opportunities to give you praise.
In our last conversation at a school
reunion just a few short years ago,
I told you how I often think of you
when choosing just-right words for poetry.
I recently shared memories of you
with others who held you in high regard.
We wiped our tears and said our last good-byes
to one who taught much more than books and rules.
My partner called out cars she sent
as we stood at opposite ends
of the work zone, and when
hers had passed, I called out mine
sending them along a narrow passage.
We found a common language
to communicate, and we made
small talk when things were slow.
The construction crew struggled
to settle each fresh coat of asphalt
over a moist bed of clay
of a two-lane in northeast Nebraska
arcing and curving over hills and valleys
between two unincorporated areas.
Black angus cows grazed
on a grassy hill, coincidental beauty found
in another time and place,
and a bull bellowed
to declare the spread his own.
After work my partner and I stood
outside our rooms at the hotel.
She talked about her husband
and I talked about a librarian
who read my poems.
While we spoke about our
lives back home, a light in the lot
shone a distant star.
She had a masters degree,
from Trinity Cambridge,
was brokering deals in the city,
with overheard talk re. financial leverage.
Whilst I’d a diploma
from a,
“technical” college.
A photographic memory,
from heart she could recite,
the Shakespeare plays and
the complete periodic table,
and her port and whisky bottles had their own silver labels.
A no mortgage flat, Persian cat and a cleaner,
a holiday retreat on some remote Welsh peninsula.
but despite,
the disparity in background and mental capacity,
we clicked and hooked up and for a while,
lived,
quite lustfullly.
To survive, comfortably,
in her social circles,
I needed to eliminate some of the hurdles.
The barriers that doubtless would have stifled,
my chance of becoming,
economically entitled.
A list was produced, and included employment and personal grooming,
but my care free attitude,
Is what attracted her,
I imagined,
what she found appealing.
But lust is short term and knowing,
knowledge is power I began reading her own books and with time on my hands spent hour upon hour.
I read 1984, so not to be a bore,
at her parties.
I read to Kill a Mockingbird, so I would be heard,
at her parties.
I read The Great Gatsby, because I had to be,
at her parties.
I read Death of a Salesman,
to be life and soul,
at her parties.
I read Great Expectations, to get
me out of situations,
at her parties.
I read The Grapes of Wrath, so they wouldn’t laugh,
at her parties.
I read Pride and Prejudice, to stop them extracting the piss,
at her parties.
I read Catcher in the Rye, so I could look people in the eye,
at her parties.
I read The adventures of Huckleberry Finn, just to fit in,
at her parties.
I read book after book,
but no one gave a flying f*** , about me,
at her parties.
Ironically after reading Gullivers travels,
almost as I closed the cover,
she told me to pack my bags.
It was all over.
I went up North,
got a job,
on a three month trial,
Coincidentally, as a trainee librarian,
at a private school,
near Carlisle.
The acceptance photograph displaying the Chancellor’s handshake,
new wife,village life
and my f*** you smile,
and a perfectly groomed new hair style.