Teaching your child to read
Is one of the greatest gifts
You can offer them,
Along with love of course.

Instilling a love of reading
Opens their innocent eyes to
Exploration
Excitement
Adventures  
Dreams and
Limitless
Possibilities

It enables them
To find a way
To articulate
To visualise
To create
their own magical world
Borne of imagination,
But no less real for the imagining of

Enabling them to create
A vision and a realisation
Of a whole new world
Borne of imagination
And ways of being
Of futures anew, and
Ones of their making
And choosing

A quiet, calm, serene place,

contrast with my heart's pace.

Gently slipping into silence,

just like plush, soft and dense.


The smell of books my spirit sedates,

new or old, they are the gates

of my comfort castle, made of words,

where pages fly instead of birds.


Safe and warm, paper and pen,

I can write, this is my zen.

For paper puts up with a lot,

every line, curve and dot;

with each word I lay on the page,

I'm one step outside the cage;

Outside myself, this prison of mine,

the chaos spills into written line.


Away from problems, light and free,

peace at last, in the library.

When the eyes saunter past each line,
The frame begins to paint my mind.

With every bit of knowledge my brain is fed,
I grow wiser of what's alive and what's dead.

With each book I read, I add every tale
To an infinite-capacity weighing scale.

Each tale pulls weight on the spectrum,
Bearing their own different conundrum.

Each story at times tip the scale left or right,
Or even set the scale as still as silent night.

Sometimes I wonder if all this reading,
All this adding, never-ending, has meaning.

I think that moving from book to book,
We approach the new with the previous look.

With every book that we add to our souls,
Comes a new colour, a new world, new goals.

I leave this work untitled
Like every book on the wall
Like the wall, I hold these works on me
No names, no faces
I look into the mirror
I see no face, no name, no title
Just a book, an unfinished piece of work
No work on this wall is complete
And thus, deserves no name
The untitled works, the poems and novellas
The epics, the short stories, the sagas and chronicles
All unfinished, all untitled

It’s hard to find a piece of writing
When the covers are all the same
All white, all blank, nameless
If I set fire to this room
It would be like nothing had been destroyed at all
They sit on their wall; waiting
I lay on my bed; waiting
Waiting
We are waiting

books—
filled with bookmarks,
always line the shelves
of a dusty house...

Hold them and get lost in their world
Much more real than the real-world
Their smell holding a promise of something new and fresh
Magician,princess,king,dragon
Warrior, pirate,cowboy, pigeon or rabbit
Whatever you want to be
Afraid,you don't have to be
Fairylands,sands,oceans, deserts
Castles,moon,sun go wherever you want to be
Afraid,you don't have to be
Dead words making us lively
Making us what we have to be....