Visit, then home

The wheels of the book truck squeak as
it drives them home.
Long weeks, sometimes months of
being away makes them eager to sleep
on their own shelves again.

Tomorrow they'll hang over the back edge
recalling their journeys near and far,
sharing memories from the trip,
happy to be home, and ready for a rest.
Soon enough, boredom will set in;

neighbors' tales begin to grate.
Tired of hearing the same old story,
and longing for another adventure
each tries hard to attract, waits to be chosen.
Each dreams of new places to explore.

April 14, 2009

Conversations in a Library

Today's poem contains thoughts about a conversation I had at the library today.

Hearing that books will die
is distressing for one who loves them,
but is a distinct possibility
in a few generations.

There is no cause for worry
for the book is only a vessel
for the stories it contains
and those will live forever.

Our stories are comfort
and history and justice;
stories live in our memories,
our hearts and our souls.

Stories tell more about us than
we would like, and can be twisted toward
our own ends. Stories are dangerous
and necessary to our survival.

The book is a vessel
for our lies and our truths.
It is up to us to listen
and know the difference.

April 6, 2009