Television

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

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Mama's Legacy

MAMA'S LEGACY

When I was just a little girl
I lay in Mama's bed
To listen to the fairy tales
From the little books she read.

Of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Cinderella and her Prince
Of Rumplestiltskin-Puss 'N Boots
And Aladdin and his tents.

I couldn't get enough of them
I'd ask her every night
But sleep would always conquer me
No matter how I'd fight.

I'd recite the words along with her
I knew them all by heart
She'd read to me from anything
Some knowledge to impart.

She taught me about the world around
From books she read aloud
She made my life worth living
And made me live it proud.

When I had children of my own
I read from those same books
To teach my children that in this life
You need brains, not just good looks.

Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline


© 2006 Ms. Caroline (All rights reserved)

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Mama's Legacy

-- * MAMA'S LEGACY * --

When I was just a little girl
I lay in Mama's bed
To listen to the fairy tales
From the little books she read.

Of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Cinderella and her Prince
Of Rumplestiltskin-Puss 'N Boots
And Aladdin and his tents.

I couldn't get enough of them
I'd ask her every night
But sleep would always conquer me
No matter how I'd fight.

I'd recite the words along with her
I knew them all by heart
She'd read to me from anything
Some knowledge to impart.

She taught me about the world around
From books she read aloud
She made my life worth living
And made me live it proud.

When I had children of my own
I read from those same books
To teach my children that in this life
You need brains, not just good looks.

Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
10-27-05


dedicated to my mother
Wilma Ford
4-16-1912-4-19-2009

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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.

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He Had Planned To Read

He had planned to read. Two or three books lie open,
books by historians, by poets.
But he read for barely ten minutes,
then gave it up, falling half-asleep on the sofa.
He's completely devoted to books
but he's twenty-three, and very good-looking;
and this afternoon Eros penetrated
his ideal flesh, his lips,
an erotic warmth penetrated
his lovely flesh
with no ridiculous shame about the form the pleasure took....

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TV Addiction

I recall when books were read
Television's now watched instead
Down the tube our culture's heading
Brain paralysis is what it's spreading

We're fed commercials on demand
In our great star spangled land
'Oh-oh say can you see'
Something good on TV?

If we sit and stare at those TV soaps
We can kiss goodbye to parental hopes
Children drown in this dumbing abyss
All kids deserve much more than this

Hours of staring at TV screens
Can blow our brains to smithereens
Why not read some poems and fiction
And lay to rest this tube addiction

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My Hundred Books

A thousand books my library
Contains;
And all are primed, it seems to me
With brains.
Mine are so few I scratch in thought
My head;
For just a hundred of the lot
I've read.

A hundred books, but of the best,
I can
With wisdom savour and digest
And scan.
Yet when afar from kin and kith
In nooks
Of quietness I'm happy with
Sweet books.

So as nine hundred at me stare
In vain,
My lack I'm wistfully aware
Of brain;
Yet as my leave of living ends,
With looks
Of love I view a hundred friends,
My books.

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Francis Bacon

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.

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Francis Bacon

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.

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Carl Sagan

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.

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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.

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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.

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Supervision

The teacher prayed to God above for wisdom day-by-day,
For only He had perfect love and insights to relay.
The teacher saw the vision come and looked at it amazed,
For it was meant for all not some, yet not a word was phrased.
From clouds on high, the book birds flew about the teacher's head
And some of these the teacher knew, for they were fondly read.
Then other book birds circled round with titles yet unknown,
With treasure chests as yet unfound, with cherished truths unshown.
Imagine books left on the shelves, unread, unshared for years...
Deprived of these to help ourselves, no thoughts between our ears.
What use would Mankind ever gain if great books were not read?
The teacher thanked God for the brain that chose not to be dead.
And so it was, the teacher smiled! The course ahead made sense.
From now on, books for every child, for families and friends.
In every language known to Man, God's Word can preach Good News,
If we but do the best we can to help each student choose.
The teacher's heart was filled with hope with all God had revealed,
For books would help the students cope, as if each were a shield.
Both fact and fiction serve us well, if willing we would be
To learn the lessons that they tell, for truth shall set us free!

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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.

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Carl Sandburg

I knew I would read all kinds of books and try to get at what it is that makes good writers good. But I made no promises that I would write books a lot of people would like to read.

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A book.

Shelves of books with variant topics:
Medicine, Engineering and comics,
Languages, Management and Marketing,
Tourism, Text books and Computing,
House hold, Carpentry and plumbing,
Trucks, Driving and operating.
Must choose one to taste,
Read regularly to last,
A full term of life and love,
Nourish it with the dose of care,
Can buy it from the stores,
That sells New, second hand and old,
When the new book is bought,
The smell itself fresh and great,
To remember for the life throughout,
Keep it as a Holy book and enjoy,
When the used books are purchased,
Rarely used books, never opened,
A few half read and half left,
A few stained and battered,
A few has the quotations underlined,
When the old books are bought,
The papers are oxidized and yellow,
Touch it, fragile, handle with care,
Though the contents may be good,
Prints are washed out and hard to see,
Heavily tainted of weather.
Whether you buy the new or the used book,
Make sure that you choose the right book,
Then read chapter by chapter leaving no nook,
Sometimes it thrills and shrills,
It is hilarious and comical,
If it is full of mysteries,
Try to solve it with your knowledge,
Don't slam and tear it,
Not touch it with your drug fingers,
Not read it with your spirited mind,
You will misunderstand the contents,
Promise yourself you will not make,
Your book an used and neglected book again.

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Ray Bradbury

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.

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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.

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The Counselor

As they sit behind their made up desks
As they try to counsel one and another
While putting the blame on the world itself
Which includes everyone, except for each other.
They look at their diplomas upon the wall
Which brings a smile upon their face
Now they believe they are better than one and all
So now they tell you why, you had your fall from grace.
They look in their books and go in a deep thought
And give you sympathy as they do speak
They are sorry for the feelings inside your soul
But for you, they are here truly for your belief.
They might stand up and then pace the floor
And maybe think as they scratch their head
Telling you the reason for the problems you have
And that all comes from the books that they have read.
They laugh and they joke as they converse to others
Who has the degrees on the wall like themselves
Where they analyze everyone that does come around
While inside your soul, they say they have felt.
So as they dive so deep inside your mind
As they try to understand your ideas and thought
They too have problems many of their own
And that too is the answer that they had sought.
As If you could look inside their very own soul
And for that, a diploma you do not need
You might find something that you weren't expecting to find
Which will be a little bit of you, or a whole lot of me.
As they are people just you and I
And that a diploma on the wall anyone can earn
As they have the problems just like everyone else
But I guess in this life, they believe it is their turn.
So as they sit behind their imaginary desks
Thinking the deeds they did and asking themselves why
As they read their books and stare at their diploma on the wall
Remember with problems, they are no different than you or I.

Randy L. McClave

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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.

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In Hell

You live by the book of wonders,
The book has hell on it when opened.
The inferno carries pits too grilling,
The grills are offered by devils,
Contagious diseases are handed over
To the body and bones, full of hatred.
A hell of books is opened by the librarian,
You choose a simple verb to read,
Then this verb is read, the verb that signals death.
Your death must never come by reading books,
Long scrolls so wonderful,
Of books the world is made
And the reason for books is reading,
Not living in Hell.

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