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I am most truly perplexed

 by a bookless room.

To encounter a living room with nothing to read-

can that be living?

A sense of growing and breathing, silent vocalizations is encased in papyrus-

Pages.  Pages. Pages. One after another, I am turning over new leaves,

new sheaths.

Think. Think. Think.

Workmanship, artisan life of the mind,

brain-engagement on paper.

In my home, stacks surrounding me like a circle of friends and mentors

Lest the intellect of the mind be kept at bay,


ideas flow between the covers,  awaiting my beck and call;

awaiting synthesis, reflection, application

a forging of iron-mind sharpening, of friction,

a shaping, a sharpness, a shifting –

potential energy unharnessed and nuzzling, waiting to ride

Inviting and patient,

Waiting to give, waiting to inform, waiting to teach and inspire, or


to tell a story.

The best hosts, the best guests,

excellent  and most lovely companions in a room.

But maybe that’s just me.

                                              A. Locke 2013