I mean your borrowers of books - those mutilators of collections, spoilers of the symmetry of shelves, and creators of odd volumes.
quote by Charles Lamb
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The best books of our times have included the three mature volumes of Philip Larkin. They're very short books of poems, and very carefully arranged.
quote by Robert Morgan
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You've got all these books on self help, getting to know yourself, doing the right thing, eating the so-called right foods, even down to what books you have on your shelves. People are encouraged to look to themselves first as opposed to being a part of society.
quote by Samantha Morton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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And Yet The Books
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are, ” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Existence Loves Equally All Loving Creators and Creations Eternally
Inequality amasses amongst the masses
when our worlds wealth wasted on
self vain worship and war
when those creators at the top
get sick kicks watching the struggle
of the sick starving and poor
Equality is born when loving beings take stand
deciding to buy in to divisive games no more
heal the inner evils within oneself
promote peace admonish war
turn to existence the one true loving god
from which all creators and creations are born
hateful creators be not Gods
but idol self worshipers
creators are not God's
only Agents of existence
Existence embraces eternal all
beings who embrace all love
True God never pits human against human
man vs nature man vs. woman
Existence loves equally
Creators and creations
all variations with free will
embracing equal love
Love existence love
Loving Creators and creations
in all existent loving forms and variations
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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No One's Friend
she's no one's friend
she's no one's friend
at mornings she wants to be dead
so lonely
so desperately lonely and sad
she just wants it all end
she's no one's friend
she's no one's friend
all days and nights run gray and blend
so empty
so hopelessly empty and drab
she waits for them all to end
no one's friend
books on the shelves
dreams melt away in her head
nothing ever will help
nothing ever helps
she's no one's friend
she's no one's friend
there are always things you don't get
but you want them
you want them so badly and wait
for years and years on end
no one's friend
books on the shelves
dreams melt away in her head
nothing ever will help
nothing ever helps
poem by Max Kuvaev
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Ultima Thule: Bayard Taylor
Dead he lay among his books!
The peace of God was in his looks.
As the statues in the gloom
Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb,
So those volumes from their shelves
Watched him, silent as themselves.
Ah! his hand will nevermore
Turn their storied pages o'er;
Nevermore his lips repeat
Songs of theirs, however sweet.
Let the lifeless body rest!
He is gone, who was its guest;
Gone, as travellers haste to leave
An inn, nor tarry until eve.
Traveller! in what realms afar,
In what planet, in what star,
In what vast, aerial space,
Shines the light upon thy face?
In what gardens of delight
Rest thy weary feet to-night?
Poet! thou, whose latest verse
Was a garland on thy hearse;
Thou hast sung, with organ tone,
In Deukalion's life, thine own;
On the ruins of the Past
Blooms the perfect flower at last.
Friend! but yesterday the bells
Rang for thee their loud farewells;
And to-day they toll for thee,
Lying dead beyond the sea;
Lying dead among thy books,
The peace of God in all thy looks!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I believe in nurturing creativity and offering a haven for creators, enabling them to develop their ideas to the fullest. With more and more talented creators being drawn to Cirque in an environment that fulfills them, these are ideal to continue developing great new shows.
quote by Guy Laliberté
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If the search engines don't respect the creators, there won't be anything to search in the future because creators have to make a living too.
quote by Patricia Schroeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gathering Dust
The books on my shelves
are now gathering dust.
I will get back to them
for I know I must.
But not just now,
can’t think of them somehow.
Their pages won’t solace me.
Their words can’t turn my mind.
For my mind just wanders
to you, I find.
Books need concentration,
not a vacant stare.
But other people’s stories
don’t take me anywhere.
If I outlive you
maybe then I’ll dust.
I’ll slowly try to read again
for I know I must.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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So that ideas of sort of relaxed symmetry have been something for years that I have been concerned with because I think that symmetry is a neutral shape as opposed to a form of design.
quote by Robert Rauschenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.
quote by Gilbert Highet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Creators of Heartbreak
Creators of heartbreak.
Souless creatures,
Of wasted animation.
And living to strike with venom.
With slit snake eyes,
To victimize at random.
Your flickering light dims.
To live tormented in eternal heat.
With no peace to come,
To your released spirit at all.
Haunted by your deeds.
With no relief to quench,
Your screaming silenced calls.
Creators of heartbreak.
Souless creatures,
Of wasted animation.
Quickly comes your shortened days.
Upon your heartlessness evil preys.
Creators of heartbreak,
Your ways...
Slithers to an end.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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May and the Poets
There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May's in Milton, May's in Prior,
May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
May's in all the Italian books:--
She has old and modern nooks,
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves,
In happy places they call shelves,
And will rise and dress your rooms
With a drapery thick with blooms.
Come, ye rains, then if ye will,
May's at home, and with me still;
But come rather, thou, good weather,
And find us in the fields together.
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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The Poet And His Books
on that day
pain comes
for you failed to pay the rent
of your room
and so they take away everything inside
and lock the room
it is a pitiful situation
but you never cry
silently you take away your possessions
towards the road
as you wait for a ride
your overused toothbrush
your Colgate toothpaste
your red slippers
dirty jeans and off-white shirts
some collections of poems
and secondhand books
and then the rain pours
suddenly
you try to cover the books with
your dirty clothes
but the rain pours mad and heavy
and everything gets wet
this time
a flood of tears rush from your eyes
the pain has become
unbearable
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode to the Book
When I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.
Copper ignots
slide down sand-pits
to Tocopilla.
Night time.
Among the islands
our ocean
throbs with fish,
touches the feet, the thighs,
the chalk ribs
of my country.
The whole of night
clings to its shores, by dawn
it wakes up singing
as if it had excited a guitar.
The ocean's surge is calling.
The wind
calls me
and Rodriguez calls,
and Jose Antonio--
I got a telegram
from the "Mine" Union
and the one I love
(whose name I won't let out)
expects me in Bucalemu.
No book has been able
to wrap me in paper,
to fill me up
with typography,
with heavenly imprints
or was ever able
to bind my eyes,
I come out of books to people orchards
with the hoarse family of my song,
to work the burning metals
or to eat smoked beef
by mountain firesides.
I love adventurous
books,
books of forest or snow,
depth or sky
but hate
the spider book
in which thought
has laid poisonous wires
to trap the juvenile
and circling fly.
Book, let me go.
I won't go clothed
in volumes,
I don't come out
of collected works,
my poems
have not eaten poems--
they devour
exciting happenings,
feed on rough weather,
and dig their food
out of earth and men.
I'm on my way
with dust in my shoes
free of mythology:
send books back to their shelves,
I'm going down into the streets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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The Mystery of Life
The theory of life
Is to be at one
With strife
And remain calm
Calm is where we are at one
With ourselves
When the day is done
We put our strife on shelves
Like books to be read
When we are at one
With ourselves again
Life is performed in
Recurring circles and stages
To be acted out like a play
A mystery drama
We continue to perform
In circles and stages
Life is not a mystery
The mystery is
Why we live in
Recurring circles and stages
Doing the same today
As we and all of our ancestors
Have done in the past
Change is what’s needed
Change our lives
To live in harmony
To live in calm
To live as one with ourselves
To sleep in peace
To rise
Without taking the books full of strife
From our shelves
But to read of peace
To have self respect
The self respect we get
From having respect for others
We don’t do this
WHY! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ?
That is the-‘Mystery of Life’
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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The Real Lot
My names contain the elixirs of cold and hot,
Knights of the table consider the real lot.
Never do experiments arrange themselves,
Books collect and connect on the shelves.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Poem about Poetry - Best and Worst Poems
if i ever be famous
with my poems
well, i would come
out with collections
of my best poems for
hordes of ardent readers
if i ever be famous
with my poems
i would also surprise
readers with collections
of my worst poems
and i am sure
they would sell too
everybody loves to see
the unsavoury side of
a famous personality
it is news in fact
we all have to start
from somewhere
good, bad or ugly
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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News
The books have us in the binding,
Powerful pages resound in the waters;
A clever trick is employed by the wise,
Ghosts of strength dabble with the mind.
The books are volumes so bright,
Force shall embark on a quest;
The middle of the street is a foreign element,
Litter stains the streets like a silver jubilee.
Like us when we strive towards other islands,
Of nations and tribes we know of and about;
The knowledge is about, the knowledge has arrived
Of a type called News, the simplest routine.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Books of a Reader and Drinker
The library of books to do with life are great,
Inside them we discover a whole new story.
Their covers are as hard to swallow as fish,
Meeting a drinker dissolves your hatred of reading.
The drinker is a drunkard of the odd variety,
He reads like an angel when his wings number many,
But then they shed due to drink, and the beer has departed.
For this reading composes the mind,
The books of ancient nature fall from the shelves,
They burn by the dozen and leave us with true knowledge.
poem by Naveed Akram
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