A Growing
I kept a good home
But only for my books
Neatly shelved
In my own strict order;
While all around was chaos
And the squalor of indifference
What was not born of me was easily borne
But my books, hard-won
Over the years,
Sheltered and cared for,
Equally loved, whatever they held.
I held them, stroked,
Smoothed open and buried
My nose in the sweet pages
With untutored glee.
They gave me myself;
They bore me.
With hard nurture
They made me grow,
Gave me my thinking
And with my growing thought
They grew
At home with me
And wrote my biography.
Submitted by Marian
(2004-02-27)
Comments
Dear Johan,
How I felt when I received your wonderful email, telling me I had won your
contest...... was BEYOND WORDS :)) one of the few times in my life that I
was lost for words !!!.....I could only gasp ... being astounded, stunned
and very, very delighted !!! I thank you so much for the opportunity.
Please select what you feel best from the following for the comment to add
to the poem:
My Dad inspired my love of books. My abiding memory is of him leaning over
his little table, a little light on, intent on his reading, surrounded by
cats, which he stroked intermittenty and absent-mindedly.
People are naturally poetic. It is a natural necessity for people. We
think metaphorically. We explore words. Dylan Thomas said he could taste
words. I also see words in colour.
The quotes you circulate are inspirational poetry, 'the little winking
Byronic lights' (Auden ?) or the 'passing on the torch' (my Dad). I feel
privileged to share a presence on your site with those who inspire
generations.
You have given me the boost of confidence I needed to continue writing.
So....watch this space.....I'll let you have any more great news on this
front :))
In return, thankyou for those sentiments and I wish you the same ... Peace,
Love and Light.