Trance
A bookworm in a boulevard tramples with boredom
Who stops at every library?
His topics always in classics and the half of his life
Who turned the pages of massive books?
A philander never get settled and once a philatelist.
Like the Phoenix (Mystical Arabian bird said to burn itself
And rise young again from its ashes) in the flash point.
An unvarnished valuable personality but disarray who leads a lifeless-lifestyle.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Open Book's Monologue Part 5: Welcome To The Library!
Welcome to the library! come one come all
Welcome to the library! come with your brethren on this wall
Welcome to the library! come all you books tattered or new
Welcome to the library! come tired and overdue
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're most mundane
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're to endure most pain
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit unwanted
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit haunted
Yes welcome to the library where everyone's just like you
Yes welcome to the library where we're all books too!
Yes welcome to the library where you can take comfort
Yes welcome to the library where In the fact you're no longer unique
Yes welcome to the library You're just pen marks ink
Departing the library? I think not, even if you get out we'll bring you back
Departing the library? Here you rot, but we'll dust you to ease your passing
Departing the library? Don't make me laugh, here you're black and white
Departing the library? Nobody argues on your behalf, look more amassing
Welcome to the library! A place of keeping and safety
Welcome to the library! Take your place you'll like it, just wait and see
Welcome to the library! New books don't mind the old they're disillusioned
Welcome to the library! You've sold your soul... but it's too late for you
so WELCOME
poem by David Knox
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Second Hand Books
Books! Books! Books! There are so many different designs.
There are some which, by the author, are personally signed.
Some books have pages with gilt edges, which look all posh.
Some have nice pictures on their covers, which are embossed.
Some books have hard covers, while some have soft.
Some are all dusty, where they’ve been kept in the loft.
Some books have fancy covers; some just have plain.
Some have suffered mishaps, and are now all stained.
Some books are all dog-eared at the corners of their pages.
Some have gone yellow, where they’ve been around ages.
Inside some books, there can be seen a pencilled name;
Someone, who once, on this particular book, had a claim.
Some are obviously well read; their spines are all creased.
From out of a book, amazing adventures can be unleashed.
Some books have pages which are spoiled or a bit torn.
Some have covers which are grubby and look well worn.
Some just have text, while others also include illustrations.
Some are former prize winners; once the toast of the nation.
There are books by famous authors, as well as the lesser known.
Some are former library books which, to the public, were loaned.
There are romances, poetry, classics, sci-fi, humour, and histories;
Gardening, cookery, travel, thrillers, manga, and murder mysteries.
In wooden bookcases, the books are categorised, and are neatly lined.
In a second hand bookshop, you just never know what you may find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Phoenix
What does a phoenix do,
that is unlike a bird,
what does it do,
to be different?
A phoenix rises from ashes,
and so have I,
I guess I have a lot in common,
with this bird.
What beautiful creatures,
they truly are,
and in the dark,
they seem so strong.
But they look so shy,
and so meek,
but watch them soar,
high above the rest.
I hope one day,
I'll be like them,
soaring high above,
the weakest below.
I hope one day,
I'll be strong,
and one day,
rise from the ashes.
poem by Katherine Bryce
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Within The Mist Is Fire
Inspired by your inspiration
An inspiration I inspire
Through the ashes,
RISES...
A red phoenix, on fire
A mothers nature, Is to nurture
A poets words, will paint a picture
The path of my people
Diverged while unfostered
Left to the winds to recapture
The ways of my people
I preserve with great care
Like the phoenix
I rise from the ashes
The flame in my heart
The four winds in my hair
Like the phoenix
We will rise from the ashes
poem by Marcus McKinley
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It's best to have failure happen early in life. It wakes up the Phoenix bird in you so you rise from the ashes.
quote by Anne Baxter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Phoenix Reborn
From the Great Fire’s ash, a new Phoenix shall rise
It’s glory is born from another’s demise
It’s mighty wings spread, as the Fire Bird sings
It’s voice heals the world, as it spreads it’s great wings
It rises above, a new King of the Skies
To the ends of the Earth the great Phoenix flies
Reborn from ashes, the Great Flame of the Sky
But in a burst of flame, this Phoenix shall die
Reduced to but ash, 'til the fire is stoked anew
This is the fate of the Phoenix, King of Skies Blue
From the ashes of death, shall a great flame be born
From the Great Fire’s ash, mighty Phoenix reborn
poem by Tim Vallie
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Burn
Burn. Burn. Burn.
Everything burn,
everything fall to ashes,
Everything burst into flames,
everything rise,
in gray smoke,
Then fall as ashen tears,
burn. Burn. Burn.
the rise again,
to live in,
Burning brilliance.
poem by Rebecca Adams
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Hoarder Or Collector (Fun Poem 101)
Some of us are hoarders
and we don’t know where to stop.
We say we are collectors,
of rubbish maybe.
For a long time I have loved books
and collected every waif and stray.
People gave them to me by the dozen
and I never turned them away.
My collecting went so mad
I have now ten thousand or more
within my library.
Enough is enough I would say,
but still more arrived.
Now I don’t live in a house anymore,
as it has become a library.
There are books in every room
and not just one or two,
but dozens and dozens of them.
Everywhere you go;
there are books here and there.
Now I must down size
and my problem is
which ones do I let go,
and then I think
I might want to read a couple of them.
I am confused at what to do.
I know if I don’t do it soon
we won’t be able to
even get into the loo!
19 April 2009
Author’s note:
Loo is a word we use instead of saying Toilet. And, yes, I have that many books and I do have to get rid of some.
DVH
poem by David Harris
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Futility
Dusting my books I spent a busy day:
Not ancient toes, time-hallowed and unread,
but modern volumes, classics in their way,
whose makers now are numbered with the dead;
Men of a generation more than mine,
With whom I tattled, battled and drank wine.
I worshipped them, rejoiced in their success,
Grudging them not the gold that goes with fame.
I thought them near-immortal, I confess,
And naught could dim the glory of each name.
How I perused their pages with delight! . . .
To-day I peer with sadness in my sight.
For, death has pricked each to a flat balloon.
A score of years have gone, they're clean forgot.
Who would have visioned such a dreary doom?
By God! I'd like to burn the blasted lot.
Only, old books are mighty hard to burn:
They char, they flicker and their pages turn.
And as you stand to poke them in the flame,
You see a living line that stabs the heart.
Brave writing that! It seems a cursed shame
That to a bonfire it should play it's part.
Poor book! You're crying, and you're not alone:
Some day someone will surely burn my own.
No, I will dust my books and put them by,
Yet never look into their leaves again;
For scarce a soul remembers them save I,
Re-reading them would only give me pain.
So I will sigh, and say with curling lip:
Futility! Thy name is authorship.
poem by Robert William Service
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Dad and Me
Inside our house you'll find crannies and nooks.
Crevices and cracks and fissures and books!
Books under the bed and on the floor,
Books around the table and beside the door,
Books on the bookshelf and surrounding it,
Books all over the house, every single bit!
Not a one of these books are non-fiction,
Different worlds are their depiction.
Fictional, sci-fi, dark and fantasy,
Horror and happy, more books for me!
Books belonging to my father,
Or belonging to me as I rather.
My father and I in bookworm heaven,
Until mum cleans up around half past seven.
She throws the books in a huff,
Says it's a mess and to clean it up!
Well dad and I try to clean,
But on the work we quickly wean
And in one of the larger nooks
You'll find dad and me reading our books.
poem by Lenore Lee
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Manticor In Arabia
(The manticors of the montaines
Mighte feed them on thy braines.--Skelton.)
Thick and scented daisies spread
Where with surface dull like lead
Arabian pools of slime invite
Manticors down from neighbouring height
To dip heads, to cool fiery blood
In oozy depths of sucking mud.
Sing then of ringstraked manticor,
Man-visaged tiger who of yore
Held whole Arabian waste in fee
With raging pride from sea to sea,
That every lesser tribe would fly
Those armed feet, that hooded eye;
Till preying on himself at last
Manticor dwindled, sank, was passed
By gryphon flocks he did disdain.
Ay, wyverns and rude dragons reign
In ancient keep of manticor
Agreed old foe can rise no more.
Only here from lakes of slime
Drinks manticor and bides due time:
Six times Fowl Phoenix in yon tree
Must mount his pyre and burn and be
Renewed again, till in such hour
As seventh Phoenix flames to power
And lifts young feathers, overnice
From scented pool of steamy spice
Shall manticor his sway restore
And rule Arabian plains once more.
poem by Robert Graves
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Books in a large university library system: 2,000,000. Books in an average large city library: 10,000. Average number of books in a chain bookstore: 30,000. Books in an average neighborhood branch library: 20,000.
quote by Anthony Burgess
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The mystery and the misery of a phoenix
We saw a beautiful bird flew from a stream;
Just a moment ago she was drenched in ashes,
Because she was formed from ashes and wind-
Ashes that resulted from the sacrifice of her parent.
Her aged mother fed up with life, set herself ablaze;
After several years in planet earth she'll have to go;
She needed a companion but nature denied her one;
She could only have one after she's turned to ashes.
poem by Olawale Ogunrinola
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Phoenix
A dream of the whole age
Is hidden only in one kiss,
What should I tell in which hearth I placed
The wood of fate-line of the palm,
And turned it into ashes.
Your agony like phoenix
Gets rebirth from ashes,
And resides in my inner-being.
One kiss that composes my life,
Every evening I placing it on my lips,
Entrust to an eye of imagination,
And come into life again and again.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The House That Cee Built
Introducing ladies and gentlemen
the young man that's had over thirty-five soul classics
Among these classics are tunes that will never die
Tunes like --
"FUNKY!" "I get +Raw+"
"Set It Off" "Ain't No Half-Steppin'"
"I'll Take You There"
"Yo
song performed by by Big Daddy Kane from It's a Big Daddy Thing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are Old Now.
when i step into the room
i could have told you
but you are the one always speaking
'the king can do no wrong'
i look at the pile of books
silent damn books
i am following your footsteps
into that
hateful anonymity
when time brings us all here
we are told
we have not really done anything great
the books of our lives
will be consisting of empty pages
you were so engrossed in speaking
and i am lost in my
boredom
i was thinking of those that have not arrived here
those who have also given
hope like me but they are still in some unknown places
i turned off my cell phone
this time i must confront the void
into speechlessness
into my failures
for what i have not done
before i left the room i took one book
it is not that the king can do no wrong
there is no king.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From The Ashes
From The Ashes
Realities of the nightmare
freedom threatened by corruption
smoke rising from the ashes
two towers total destruction
fight for freedom
From The Ashes
fight for freedom
From The Ashes
join together and fihgt the tyrany
a world united as one
feel the wrath of the phoenix
nowhere to hide nowhere to run
rising from the ashes a world united as one
on September 11th the Phoenix was awoken
poem by Aaron Morris
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Style, no matter how outrageous it is, is still an expression of someone's personality. And my personality is somewhere stuck in the classics.
quote by Liev Schreiber
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Style, no matter how outrageous it is, is still an expression of someone's personality. And my personality is somewhere stuck in the classics.
quote by Liev Schreiber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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