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Reading at the bar
Drinking at the library
         —Henry Chinaski
A haiku for Bukowski.
Henry Oct 5
Baseboards lined with spiderwebs
That shimmer in the slanted sun
Next to worn, wooden chairs
Feeling sturdier than ever
Shelves and shelves of
Outdated textbooks and encyclopedias
Crinkly and brown and yellowed
How many trees went into these pages
This forest rearranged
And defaced by movable type
Oct 5, 2020
Henry Oct 3
I sit in my school's dusty library
Like a picture taken on film
Full of grain and texture
Frozen beams of light
Through slanted venetian blinds
Capture and hold dust
Suspended like dew in a spider web
sitting in the library
Haley Protega Aug 28
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.
Haley Aug 21
If my mind was a library
You would always be there
Lingering, reading, memorizing me

If my mind was a library,
You would treat it so kindly
You would always return my books on time

If my mind was a library
You would have nothing left to read
You would’ve fallen in love with all my pages

If my mind was a library
There would be a whole section
All about you

If my mind was a library
You would see just how much
I love you.
this site is a library
often I want to shhhhh some of
your comments
whisper yell in the replies

“poets are reading”
then writing
“ ˢʰʰʰʰʰ”
you must remain silent
Moth May 11
wandering through the stacked books
with delicate frames atop a sloped nose
shoulder length locks of leather brown
your physicians fingers on a book spine
honey eyed glances thrown over to me

sweet lips mumble poetic pages to themself
I hear pages rustle and soft sweaters shift
as you close the book and come over to sit
hands clasped on the table we chatter
and hour will fly by enraptured by you
Just thinking about the life I dream of when asleep...
Leo Janowick Apr 27
A Library Burns.....
When Someone Dies.....
What Will I...Leave Behind?.....
Are You My Only, Lonely Witness.....
To A Life Gone Untold.....
Will My Legacy Unfold.....
Will My World Be Put On Hold,...Or Sold.....
To The Highest Bidder?.....
All My Laughter, The Tears.....
All My Triumphs, The Fears.....
All My Heartaches, Via-pain.....
Are You The Only Witness To Remember My Name?.....
A Whole Library Burns.....
When Somebody Dies.....
What Will I,,, Leave Behind?.....
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