Each Other's Eyes
what if we built a fire,
and put down our books...
and read the silence
in each other's eyes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blissful Bookworm
I sit in my soft easy chair in the silence of my study
Surrounded by a multitude of special books.
The humming sound of my computer breaks the silence
From where I normally work.
After awhile I don’t even notice the noise.
The books on the shelves have a special way of talking
To me. Some have scared me shitless with their stories.
Others filled my mind with facts and fiction.
Sometimes separating the two proved problematic
For me, but I managed. Yet through the years few have failed
Me. I wish I could say the same but I know I cannot.
There were times I abandoned a few. Finding fault
With what they had to say. Sometimes surrendering
The read, barely or half-read, but always blameworthy.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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With Kafka.
Kafka would have liked
the way you said that.
You kept his books on
the shelf next to those
of Burroughs and Joyce.
You like the painting on
the book’s paper cover.
Paperbacks are cheap
and soon worn out,
Thornton used to say.
He liked hard covered
books, first editions if
he could afford. He said
Kafka was too morbid
for you. You need a lighter
read, he said, something
that doesn’t mess with
your female head. You
take down the Kafka and
read again where you read
before, the whole drama
unfolding, the printed words
bringing a different world,
and ghostly by the window
with steady stare, Franz Kafka
in silence just sitting there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Silence, a weapon
Silence misread, one is misled.
Silence taken for ‘no’ costs chances.
Silence taken for ‘yes’ brings trouble.
Silence over read, the goal is lost.
Silence under read, the bus is missed.
Silence is a mysterious weapon,
With which the clever get away.
30.04.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The fate of possession
He cherished holding books.
He bought them to read and hold.
He breathed his last with the faith
That the books would get a fair deal.
The books were sold by weight.
With no eyes, his soul didn’t weep.
31.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested: that is, some books are to be read only in parts, others to be read, but not curiously, and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested that is, some books are to be read only in parts, others to be read, but not curiously, and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monastery
Up the long flight of stairs
every tread echoes from stone walls
as if to comment on how stillness
tells of sound its silent origin.
In the quiet library, the central table
bears a careful written message:
‘Silence is spoken here’..
and that’s truer than
at first it seems to read;
round the walls, shelves of books
as silent as the monks
standing upright in their stalls
witness words that seek to share;
yet ultimately, wave fare well, turn back;
speak of silence sought and silence found;
yet cannot speak of silence;
in the name of silence, take a book,
well-worn, from off the shelf;
meet it in the silence of the room,
read a few words, and lay it down;
glance at the other readers round the room;
fall still.
Here, silence speaks of stillness;
stillness joys in silence.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Literary Masterpiece
Rocked up at work, all confused,
we discussed books we loved as
kids, Hanlie reminiscences about
Bible and Vicky Villard Stories - I
recall a garage stacked with book-
club detective novels, hands killing
victims by giving them a fright in the
night, she read comic books at school
We got gargantuan amounts of photo-
books from grandma De Lange while
grandma Alice subscribed to Reader's
Digest, we read Shangri-La and Beau
Geste so condensed - they lacked all
fire and spice, only an outline left, then
I tried tackling a document, International
Warrant of Arrest - my mind wandering
Listening to an André Rieu DVD playing
because cold silence punctuated by the
tapping of keyboards is a symbol of the
end of all life; with Carmen and Zorba on
my earphones engaging my heart, I shall
try again to relay the quaint legalese of the
warrant of arrest - a literary masterpiece
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Silence Must Be Heard
(m.cretu.)
.
Look into the others eyes, many frustrations
Read between the lines, no words just vibrations
Dont ignore hidden desires
Pay attention, youre playing with fire
Silence must be heard, noise should be observed
The time has come to learn, that silence ...
Silence must be heard
Or diamonds will burn, friendly cards will turn
Cause silence has the right to be heard
People talk too much for what they have to say
Words without a meaning, just fading away
Silence must be heard, noise should be observed
The time has come to learn, that silence ...
Silence must be heard
Or diamonds will burn, friendly cards will turn
Cause silence has the right to be heard
song performed by by Enigma
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My intellectual shortcomings
He loves books
Books that he cannot buy
He gets the intellect
He gets the mind
He gets rich in time
Trusting his instincts
He buys books
That he cannot read anymore
He gets so many minds
He loses his intellect
With all regret to what
Happened, he loses his face
And wants to recover at least his eyes
By writing some of these poems.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sort Things Out
I wish my silence can help me to tell
The countless wishes that inside me dwell
And help to convey before my tears fall
Because silence has built around me a wall
I wish if I can sort things out
I wish if I can clear my doubts
But how it can be done by me
When I don't feel from distress free
And feel as I'm burried in the hall
Where around me silence has built a wall.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Comic Books
Long before I was 12 I would read by myself.
Archie, josie, super-heroes.
I would read them by myself.
I had the stars on my wall.
14 was a gas for me.
Batman on tv.
I would cheer the super-heroes.
They were all I wanted to be.
I had the stars on my wall.
18 I was guaranteed.
I would lose my teenage dream.
But its so funny how I got to look.
Like all the people in my comic books.
Now Im a star on my wall.
Comic books.
Comic books.
Comic books.
Comic books.
song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quietus
Silence is clean, a frigate leaving a harbour
with no siren wailing.
Silence is a tureen that needs no scouring
for the last stains of grammar.
Silence is fire,
a threat with no reprieve.
Silence is a panther
that stalks us through jade eyes.
poem by Ranjit Hoskote
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If I finish a book a week, I will read only a few thousand books in my lifetime, about a tenth of a percent of the contents of the greatest libraries of our time. The trick is to know which books to read.
Carl Sagan in Cosmos
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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Read. Read. Read. Just don't read one type of book. Read different books by various authors so that you develop different styles.
quote by R.L. Stine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet's Significant Other - for Mary and Todd
On the shelf above the crackling fire,
the day’s work over, shadows swaying and flickering
across the room, in the firelight’s glow;
here is love abiding
On the shelf above the crackling fire
a few slim books, some of them poetry, some of them signed;
open them and the world spills out
tumbles laughing and crying, shouting
like children home from school with stories;
like grandparents reminiscing over photos with a smile;
like the last of the night’s pillow talk
one already eyes closed, the other treasuring thought
On the shelf above the crackling fire
two bookends hold the books in place
pressing lightly against each other
as two lovers walking through a door, a gate, from here to there
one bookend’s image we know well
familiar to us from the books
How little we know, of that other bookend
without which, without whom,
there might not be these books, lightly pressing
on the shelf above love’s glow
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I still love books. Nothing a computer can do can compare to a book. You can't really put a book on the Internet. Three companies have offered to put books by me on the Net, and I said, 'If you can make something that has a nice jacket, nice paper with that nice smell, then we'll talk.' All the computer can give you is a manuscript. People don't want to read manuscripts. They want to read books. Books smell good. They look good. You can press them to your bosom. You can carry them in your pocket.
quote by Ray Bradbury
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Children will not pretend to be enjoying books, and they will not read books because they have been told that these books are good. They are looking for delight.
quote by Helen Dunmore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, I read good books, too, but only Earthside. Why that is, I don't really know. Never stopped to analyze it. Good books tell the truth, even when they're about things that never have been and never will be. They're truthful in a different way. When they talk about outer space, they make you feel the silence, so unlike the Earthly kind — and the lifelessness. Whatever the adventures, the message is always the same: humans will never feel at home out there.
Stanislaw Lem in More Tales of Pirx The Pilot (1983)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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