Soliloquy of the Bookcase

I might be the mere skeleton of a pine
with wood the shade of wet sand,
the whorls in my grain like flames.
I might wear the armour of a knight,
be small scaffolding filled with dreams.
Sometimes, you overload me,
and weighed down like a mule,
I'm all aching limbs. Still,
I sustain the words in which you
take solace on those winter nights.
Nectar of scholars, I hold ideas -
in the future, I may distill the concepts
of science not discovered this millenia.
I reflect a rainbow of subjects
but I'm only the stem not the stamen.
I am the last resting place
of the drunken, desolate poet
but I am not a heartbeat in ink.
I am the grave, see my lacing of crosses,
each a deathplace of eternal life.
I could hold the words of the world,
a thousand secrets and sentences,
if you let me.Some of you, bury
your sons untended in my valleys
for decades, I never forget them.
I am father to your orphans,
the unloved and lost,
the used and abused, the torn to bits.
I stand broad shouldered to heaven,
like Atlas, I hold your world.

Reviews

[Abhra]

This is marvelous! Such a wonderful wonderful read. It is playful in the beginning and achieved sombre and heavier note in the end. Reading your poem is somewhat like opening of a perfume. It has many notes. Many high points without having a low.
It is like a river, playful and gushing at the beginning and slow and graceful when it meets the sea (with the accumulated wisdom of her land). Loved reading it!

[bluessadmood]

yes there are whole worlds are buried there ..thoughts since ages long
been stored by minds ,desolate ,drunken and dizzy,little gone astray
i think its the whole world gone wrong that sent all those minds to think
think again ,is not there some other way for all,a turn ,take a turn
or reverse whats going on,all were so hurt that were sent like mad and singing with beautiful
labguage,to straighten up things again..is it possible,i heard lots of them crying
on those pages all over the ages,i swear,all were in deep hurt
sometimes they laugh ,or talk obscene,or taboos .all for a cause
they were never but restless souls trying to make it right
only trying ,but sure to fail ,so frail souls they are and just few
against a strong current that will never yield
lovely write..

[h d e rushin]

I think tat writers cafe is where one can come and not just submit poetry but
to learn from others the craft of poetry..I am learning so much each day and
especially from poems like this. I want my imagery to jump off the page like
it does in all your poems.Although I am not new to poetry I am new to good
poetry. I have learned so much from you. Fantastic work..your biggest fan,
hder.

[Donald Meikle]

miss you

[Chris]

Particularly well said.

[Gandré]

you had a precioius idea and you projected it wonderfully. also great coordination of the language. loved it.. hmmmm

[Etoiles]

What beautiful sentiment & fantastically written.
I really love the idea behind this.

:)

[MAC]

you are such a lovely person gifted beyond the words you write. love reading this piece over and over. if you can bring a bookcase to such levels imagine what your skills and love can bring to all that is life. adore your work

[fireblossom]

Classic in tone. I so few words for your poetry Sel. Sorry. It leaves me in vision not words. Really great writing.

[dieuxsansculte]

Little does the bookcase know the weight of words and worlds it carries.

I like how you look at it, though, as the "stem and not the stamen," as the support and not the propagator of knowledge. That job belongs to those special ones among us who are willing to take it on.

Excellent write. I don't think I'll ever look at a bookcase again without thinking of, and remembering fondly, this piece.

P.S. I noticed the "about" in your profile page. Just in case you're interested, Hendrix spelled his name "Jimi" if we're talking about the same one. Odd that I'd come across that bit. Last night I was listening on You Tube to some of his music and thinking of changing my screen name to VooDoo Child. The coincidence is kind of eerie, come to think of it.