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Haley Protega Aug 2020
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.
JM Romig Aug 2019
Lee was posted up in in usual spot
back by the stacks,
with his phone on life support.
Its umbilical cord was knotted up like a nest,
and held together by electrical tape.

It sat next to his vape
box and a stack of books
about the GED, twenty-fist century
side hustles and back issues of Ebony.

People come in and out of the library
and everyone says hi to Lee,
He is the man to see,
He asks about their lives and gives sage advice –
How you been, my man?
How’s the kids doin’, girl?
How’s married life treatin’ you, my dude?

My man, you gotta do this.
Babygirl, look into that.
Don’t wear your hat like that,
Boy, ya look silly.

Lee lives in a van
that he parks nearby
so he can job-hunt on the free wifi
even when the place is closed.

If you feel sorry for me, don’t
says Lee
I’m the freest now I’ll ever be,
so, don’t you dare take pity on me
I’m doing all I can do,
being all I can be.

Everything’s  temporary.
Tomorrow I could be you,
you could be me
we’re just one bad day,
one scratch-off lottery ticket away
from swapping places, my man.

Yeah, I live in that van
parked outside the library
but if you think I’m sad,
you’re thinking wrong,

Won’t see me moping, or doping
floating along
you won’t see me frowning,
or drowning,
singing a sad song.

I’m happy with all that I got
who wouldn’t wanna be in my spot,
I’m The King
of the Library Parking Lot.
*Disclaimer: Lee is a fictional character. Any resemblance he may have to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chris Saitta May 2019
Books are like the sun’s rays,
Still giving off fingertip warmth,
Though long cut off from the source.

Books are sunlight and Greek silence
Captured in glass firefly jars.
Iz Oct 2018
I live in a nowhere town
Doing nowhere things
In my nowhere clothes
On nowhere days
With my nowhere friends
In our nowhere cars
We watch the nowhere sunsets
And sit in nowhere sands
We walk the nowhere preserves
And we read the nowhere magazines
But maybe one day I’ll crawl out of this nowhere hole
And I’ll be somewhere
ah! the title catches your eye
just enough Sun sneaking through
you have arrived
where few have ventured
take hold of these pages
and turn slowly
so as not to allow the dust
to choke you
yellow corners and broken binding
only serve to add
to the moment
alone here
discover the dreams
locked away
in this forgotten room
wipe your spectacles clean
for the light is dim
and the air is thick
pull up the chair that has awaited you
these many years
absorb these words
for here you can think
here you can feel the story
share with me your thoughts
my soul knows yours
my dormant heart reborn
the air stirs as you turn that first page
read for me my kindred spirit
let me hear your whisper
echo down these solemn halls
06/07 - revised
Stefania S Oct 2017
i touched the buttons
actually having to
erase needed time
reading instructions

as a child the card catalogue
an escape hatch
saturdays spent in dark corners
our local library a getaway
a reprieve
a sanctum

but now everything is online
and the single floor of books here
in the basement, confined, kept hidden
moving tombs their home

i started with the term feminism but landed elsewhere;
phenomenological studies of women
journals not older than i
but long outdated
historically sad

the library made me cry
i wanted to read everything
but also bring it home
a little girl in the patchogue library once again,
alone and crying.
Alia Sinha Sep 2016
I just read this article
on how to make people
love you instantly- look long into their eyes/ twitch less/ smile slowly so
they think you will only ever smile at
them thus


We guarantee. That. Even though
people are now text
all text, all binary coding
-connected, yes- But numbers have always coexisted happily
the point is:

if by some chance
you meet a person/ smell their scent/ watch the light pooling
on their dusty skin

you now know how
to make them love you
(instantly and forever)

I've learnt only a few things
these past years (not instantly)

living people leave their ghosts everywhere (you know this)

Art is a good way to forget you're not special.

Along the way there are stories and putrefaction and sometimes both
at once

And libraries. So many libraries.

But with all of this, I still wish I'd known
back then
how to make you love me instantly,
not a small wee bit that one
that one
that long time ago.
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