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,
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