From One Book Lover

I have a crowded nightstand. And that's not the half of it.  Hello, Goodbye, Hello — Truman Capote meets Peggy Lee, Peggy Lee meets Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon meets Elvis Presley... it's a chain of 101 meetings.  The book blends from one encounter to the next seamlessly with well-recorded conversations and comments from reliable resources: published accounts, diaries, third-party accounts, all verifiable, all more honest than one would expect. Winds of Marble Arch — A not-easily found collection of Connie Willis' short stories. (Well, some not terribly short. In fact, most I've read have been rather long. Not quite a novella, but certainly a long tale.) I like her, and I like her stories. I can't wait to see what bite-sized nugget (or substantial snack) comes next. Wolf Hall — I have both of Hilary Mantel's books in this trilogy. (The third one is in production.) I really like them: a little rambling, but one wants to be in the heads of her chracters...

Little Night Prayer   Lord, I’m tired, the bunion on my right foot is throbbing, I worry about myself. Who is this anguished man, Lord? it can’t be me, so woeful and sluggish. I would like to trust quietly, but like waves in the ocean, tempers bubble up in me. I try a smile, but some hairdespair impedes me. This isn’t all right, Lord, feel pity for me, be scared, reward my endeavors. Evaluate things with me, delete with my own hand what isn’t needed. Taste with me what needs to be tasted, and say to me: this is sweet! this is sour! Remind me of the small red car, of something that was good. There was a lot that was good, wasn’t there? a lot of sunken islands, crumbled glamour. Place a net into my hands to fish with, in the past and in the present. I’m a fish too, in the night, puckering silver, bubble-lifed. Turn me inside out, freshen me up, throw me up high and catch me! What’s it to you, Lord? If you must, lay dow...

Enjoy this poem and accompanying artwork by cartoonist and cat poet Francesco Marciuliano (author of I Could Pee on This And Other Poems by Cats , which was previously featured on this blog ).

Poem in Your P ocket Day is April 18. Get ready by reading this tidbit, my personal favorite po cket poem. What's yours? Let m e know ! Small Frogs Killed On The Highway Still, I would leap too Into the light, If I had the chance. It is everything, the wet green stalk of the field On the other side of the road. They crouch there, too, faltering in terror And take strange wing. Many Of the dead never moved, but many Of the dead are alive forever in the split second Auto headlights more sudden Than their drivers know. The drivers burrow backward into dank pools Where nothing begets Nothing. Across the road, tadpoles are dancing On the quarter thumbnail Of the moon. They can't see, Not yet. by James Wright courtesy of  Poetryconnection.net

Courtesy Amanda Patterson

Beauty Beauty is seen In the sunlight, The trees, the birds, Corn growing and people working Or dancing for their harvest. Beauty is heard In the night, Wind sighing, rain falling, Or a singer chanting Anything in earnest. Beauty is in yourself. Good deeds, happy thoughts That repeat themselves In your dreams, In your work, And even in your rest. by E-Yeh-Shure' Thanks to Karen for sharing!  Have you sent me your favorite poem yet? What are you waiting for?

Courtesy Visual ly

Welcome to National Poetry Month! Here's a poem to start April's best festivities. For full -on poetry lovin', visit Hedgehog Lover , where it's all poetry, all month. Piano, New York Anywhere, like Idaho, women like our aunts would save quarters in cups or sell pies to buy one like this. They'd put it in a parlor for hymns and rub it with lemon oil each week, but here an old piano comes with the apartment, and no one will pay movers to hoist the beast out the window on ropes. We think we've no choice but to saw into its side that shines like the side of a horse. We save the real ivory keys in shopping bags and yank out the rack of purple felt mallets. Behind it all is a harp, tall as the whole piano and sprayed with gold. When wing nuts are loosened, the strings twang then hang slack. We stop for a moment, then rasp through its frame with hacksaws and drag the thing, piece by piece, down three flights of stairs to the street where ...

When I grow up, I want to be a cool librarian — like these folks! And these folks: " 10 of the Coolest Librarians Alive " from Flavorwire