“A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, A Loaf of Bread—and Thou” — Omar Khayyam
“ Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested;” — Francis Bacon
“Hungry man, reach for the book: it is a weapon.” — Bertolt Brecht
“Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.” — Anna Quindlen, How Reading Changed My Life
Midweek Motif ~ Books
These days we read both P(Print)-Book and E(Electronic)-Book. We may be traditional (being raised on ink and paper) only interested in a physical book or be prone to more complex technology. We are the happy denizens of the world of Books.
How are you connected to a book? How is your book world? How was your first meet? You might want to honor a book special to you.
The material quality of a book that is the smell and feel of a p-book of the olden world or the pleasure of tapping the glass surface of an e-book might find its place in your lines today.
You might include anything that’s also connected to books: any place, person or time.
Share your experiences of this magic world:
The Reading Mother
by Strickland Gillilan
I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings--
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be--
I had a Mother who read to me.
My Days Among the Dead Are Past
by Robert Southey
My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the Dead, with them
I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead, anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.
There is no Frigate like a Book
by Emily Dickinson
There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human Soul –
Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—
(Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Holiness /Holy Day)