“A Book of Verses
underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, A Loaf
of Bread—and Thou” — Omar Khayyam
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| Source |
“ 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)
