Poems: The Gift of Reading

7/14/2004

Circle Time

A place of thoughts in that opened book.

Illustrations create contemplations

Of those far away places with

Talking animals, flying grandmothers,

Lessons learned from giddy stories

Borne from an adult’s child-like mind.

Enraptured, the blonde and brown haired boys and girls

Pull in tightly to get the best view of what’s described

On those pages she is turning.

Lips moving to memorized dialogue

Laughter anyway despite the repetition

Awed by colorful drawings

Studied a dozen times.

They never tire of the voice.

Oh, that smooth, sweet rhythm

Pouring words into tiny glasses.

Everyone takes a sip.

But the more they drink,

The more they want.

And that’s her plan, that trickster:

Entice young minds to eagerly desire to read,

So proud to point and shout, “I know that word!”

Her eyes close as she pulls that cry

Close to her heart, feeding her desire

To impart that lifelong love for learning.

And, despite the alliteration,

Boys become literate and girls become illustrative

And minds become industrious

Around dinosaurs and trucks,

Rattling off names known only by

Paleontologists and construction foremen.

The Hunt

Book binges through store shelves

A most pleasurable excursion, searching for the special book

For that sport-minded third grader

Science loving fifth grader

Fantasy traveling kindergartner

Banker, lawyer, accountant

No one’s left out of her joy to find

“Just the right one” to bring a smile, a nod, a hug.

“She knows me and what I like,” they say

Of her creative and colorful choices

Love that printed paper between hard covers!

Publishers love her for that, thankful for the audience,

Hopeful it won’t diminish despite the Internet and t.v.

“I’m not much of a computer person,” she admits

And no one cares because what she lacks in tech skills

She makes up with a heart that’s bigger and better

Than those interactive boxes of superficial flash.

“Harumph!” others argue, “How old fashioned!”

Ah, now, my sweet fellow, look back on history

And what has endured?

Remember: You can’t pull a plug on a book.

And she has the last laugh

As rooms are darkened by an outage.

“Can’t work today!” they all rejoice.

That wasn’t an option in days

When a candle, lantern, or fireplace 

Brought light to paper in darkness.

Stop Your Yawning!

Do you have a good book?

Is her response in the face of boredom

Oh, yeah, good idea, but it’s so much faster to watch a movie

And there are always captions to read,

Blah blah and other excuses

For impatience and a mind stimulated

by sound and moving images.

Hard to find a captivating story, though there are lists of texts

On to do lists, slips of paper, backs of minds.

The Passion

Book in hand at bedtime and up early for the ending

Hardly can sleep and can’t jump ahead to see the end.

Authors trust us in that, though that part is so close at hand.

Patience, patience, it will all unfold in time, in time.

Bought or borrowed, no matter the source,

Give me a good book and I have a new world

Stepping  into lives much different than mine

Seeing myself walking that country lane

To visit a character facing mystery or heartache.

Turn the page. Oh, it’s not what I thought would happen.

What a surprise, but it all makes sense,

Happy now she didn’t look ahead at an ending

That needed the reader for several chapters before.

The Real Goal

Daddy, Daddy,  read me this book!

Let me turn the pages. I’ll be careful.

But let me lean on your chest

And feel the vibrations of your voice

Repeating familiar words.

*

I  can feel  your chest go in and out.

I can hear your heartbeat.

What makes your heart beat, Daddy?

*

Your hands  are so much bigger than mine.

Will I have big hands, too?

*

Yes, I love the story, but I love you more.

I love you because you read to me.

*

How come your voice is so deep?

What’s that thing in your throat that goes up and down?

Daddy, you have a big Adams apple!

Look, it always goes up and down when you talk.

Does mine go up and down?

Can I put my finger on yours?

Does Mommy’s go up and down?

Let’s go see.

Talk, Mommy so we can see your Adam’s apple.

You don’t have a  big one like Daddy.

*

Let’s go read the book some more.

Can I hold your hand?

Yes, piggy back ride, piggy back ride.

Let’s go outside for a piggy back ride.

Can I bring the book? You can hold it.

Maybe we can sit outside and read.

*

Can we sit in the  car?

I’ll steer and you can read.

Daddy, will I drive when I get big?

What makes a car move fast?

Can I look at the engine?

See, Daddy, there’s the ray-dee-ay-tore.

Yes, Mommy said that’s what it’s called.

She said the oil goes in that hole.

Does Thomas the Train need oil to run?

What makes trains go so fast?

I have a book about trains.

*

Dinner’s ready? Can we read that book after dinner?

Can I have a piggy back ride again?

Daddy, let’s go wash our hands.

We don’t want to get the pages dirty.

Safe at Home

Words that make us laugh

Stories that bring a tear,             

Enjoying the folly of others

At no one’s expense.

Vicariously feasting or fasting

Birthing, dying, maturing, crippling...

The comfort is that it’s fiction

But somewhere, someone may feel those things

Has walked that way, said those words.

Longing that only the good, happy endings

Would be their experience.

Escape

Flee from the day’s cares,  into the harbor of paragraphs.

Hide under the words, pull them over your head

Block out the weights of others’ lives and needs

Tossing out today’s memories, ballast for the soaring balloon,

Drink the letters, an elixir of peace, quiet, stillness.

The only noise the slow breaths,

Movement of chest rising, falling.

A sound far away. Someone else’s noises.

Bathe in a stream of new thoughts, new ways,

Rejuvenated by prose inspired for those who need refuge.

Hold Me Close

As gifts, for show, on shelves, on tables

Waiting for those searching, willing to dust.

Not hard to figure out, those books in holiday wrapping,

But can’t read the title through paper flowers.

A book, a book! the child exclaims

And before all other colored boxes are open,

Read to me, read to me! (He’s excited for it’s his own

To direct him to places never visited, people he’s never seen,

Circumstances far from his nursery school,

Play, sleep schedule)

I want to hear the words but even more I want to hear you

Share my pleasure. My thrill. My new book.

Matrons and misters have that reaction

Buried in past emotions, their joy revealed in courteous smiles,

Secretly yearning to also hear that voice and heart,

Not willing to forego standards and request the same,

(Another dimension of the present they hold)

But few givers acknowledge the ageless need

to be comforted and held.

Alas, so only the child has that thirst quenched, hunger fed.

Different Yet Similar

Cookbooks, manuals, novels, plays,

Poetry, biographies, histories, scriptures,

School books, abstracts, discourses, speeches,

Fiction and non, horror and bliss,

Written well and poorly, long, short.

Dictionaries, encyclopedias, myths and legends,

Sci-fi, games, picture books, almanacs.

All between hard covers on printed paper

are about all they have in common.

‘course, people are flesh, blood, and bone,

and that’s all alike we are, ahhh, but how so different!

Black, brown, white, hairy, smooth, short, tall

Fat, slim, mobile, bedridden, injured, healed.

So uncommon are we who walk or lie prone.

Professionals and blue collar, laborers and philosophers.

Flesh, blood and bone are about all they have in common.

Umm-Umm, Good!

Can’t eat one, but a story can be sweet.

Book covers  give readers a taste of what’s  to come

Tantalizing the literary taste buds,

Sending out whiffs of aroma to entice and lure

The unwary consumer, enraptured by promises of more within.

Chapters...meal courses, finish one and go on to another

Until the feast is completed, the text is pushed back,

To the sound of an ahhhh, that was good.

Perhaps there is a bit of indigestion

As an unpleasant passage makes its way to the mind’s surface.

Discussing with a friend, predigested

For a more concise approach

But not willing to tell her of the main course,

Lest she not want to try it herself.

Being served tonight is a light romantic novel,

Then a surprising mystery, followed by an escapist fantasy.

May I also interest you in a poetic sorbet?

It is Finished

Lying in bed, the day’s chapter completed,

Book closes and I sleep, thinking on others’ adventures,

While between comfortable sheets.

The covers hold tomorrow’s prose,

As I rise to begin again another chapter

In a life that continues to unfold with humor one day,

Joy and hardship on another.

Thus, lives made up of stories yet unwritten.

You hold the pen and decide what you will write that day.

Fate or Author, either provide paper, pen, ink,

For what will come, on a walk or sitting at a desk.

Everyone’s stories will end one day,

Hopefully happily ever after,

As companions recall their role in creating that volume.

The last chapter is the same, with tears.

Then the book is put away,

Having inspired sons and grandsons,

Recalling their good fortune

At having read your life,

And recommend it to friends through memories.

Eyes Failed, But Heart’s Full

Even the magnifier can’t help me now.

They say the eyes are the first to go.

But I have you to read to me now.

April 9, 2010

Just Turn the Page

Don't need to

flip a switch

turn a dial

buy new batteries

plug into a socket

Just turn the page

and leave a bookmark

Power runs out but

Paper's always there

and it's not going anywhere!

You can put it down anytime

And rest your eyes, it's easy

In your lap or up in bed,

propped against a fluffy pillow

But lay it on the nearby table

when you're eyelids can't stay open

the page marked so you will know

where to read after your long snore

waiting to continue where you left it

Stories often keep readers awake

Then is a chance to read something boring

So your brain isn't that interested and

sleep can come up unassisted.

Goodnight, dreamer of tales

perhaps tonight you'll think of mail

and the lovely, well appointed cottage

But wait, that's here, you're sleeping in that house

surrounded by your friends, the books

that don't require a switch.