I went to the Bookstore today
(can't do tablets or laptops
when smoking cigars
and
...also hate tv...don't like
the way it makes me feel
or other people look)
In downtown Boulder, Colo
Which, if you've never been
Displays fresh prints of Dave Eggers
And Edward Abbey
In an 1899 erected structure
That formerly hosted
Ballroom dances
Orchestras
And secret societies
It's not Powells in Portland, Ore
(old school state abbreviations...
deal with it)
But it's better for me
Because I'm here
And it was a beautiful day
Even after losing at chess
to a brilliant fool
just outside
I couldn't help myself
From browsing the poetry section
In its entirety
(Only here for the $3.75 copy of the Poetry Foundation's monthly)
And I noticed an increase
In fresh copies of Hafiz
Same for Bukowski
And Ginsberg
Keats was nowhere to be found
Typically, Shakespeare, Whitman,
Wordsworth...are everywhere
I wondered if the American compilation
by Garrison Keillor
is worhwhile
There were dozens
And dozens
Of masters
That I have not spent time with
Not "spent time"
Perhaps read a bit
But not, connected with enough
that I could say...I got it
Not a fully aligned get
But an education
And appreciation
To one who has pushed the craft
in their own way
Or left me weeping
at brilliance of love and language
But I resisted said temptation
Of rampant reckless bookbuying
And got my magazine
But on my drive home
In the far East reaches of the county
(Boulder's real estate no longer
grants us commons much access)
I stopped at tiny used book shop
Bought an old copy of
D. H. Lawrence poetry
for a few bucks
And by the time I got home
To take inventory of tea
Of coffee
Of wine and cigars
I was rather pleased
Pleased with myself
For I looked forward
To the read
To the sky
To living soul free
Once again
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
I went to the Bookstore today
(can't do tablets or laptops
when smoking cigars
and
...also hate tv...don't like
the way it makes me feel
or other people look)
In downtown Boulder, Colo
Which, if you've never been
Displays fresh prints of Dave Eggers
And Edward Abbey
In an 1899 erected structure
That formerly hosted
Ballroom dances
Orchestras
And secret societies
It's not Powells in Portland, Ore
(old school state abbreviations...
deal with it)
But it's better for me
Because I'm here
And it was a beautiful day
Even after losing at chess
to a brilliant fool
just outside
I couldn't help myself
From browsing the poetry section
In its entirety
(Only here for the $3.75 copy of the Poetry Foundation's monthly)
And I noticed an increase
In fresh copies of Hafiz
Same for Bukowski
And Ginsberg
Keats was nowhere to be found
Typically, Shakespeare, Whitman,
Wordsworth...are everywhere
I wondered if the American compilation
by Garrison Keillor
is worhwhile
There were dozens
And dozens
Of masters
That I have not spent time with
Not "spent time"
Perhaps read a bit
But not, connected with enough
that I could say...I got it
Not a fully aligned get
But an education
And appreciation
To one who has pushed the craft
in their own way
Or left me weeping
at brilliance of love and language
But I resisted said temptation
Of rampant reckless bookbuying
And got my magazine
But on my drive home
In the far East reaches of the county
(Boulder's real estate no longer
grants us commons much access)
I stopped at tiny used book shop
Bought an old copy of
D. H. Lawrence poetry
for a few bucks
And by the time I got home
To take inventory of tea
Of coffee
Of wine and cigars
I was rather pleased
Pleased with myself
For I looked forward
To the read
To the sky
To living soul free
Once again
