Calling Cards

Calling Cards

old-books1

Across pages hundred
footprints of ideas,
worlds within, shut-in,
choked from chains of dust,
caress each corner down
binding torn and worn
open page, set free
captive verse and thought.

Hands reach
quench thirst
starve ignorance
whisper with ages
share secrets with souls
letters and inkblood
of hearts gone
to grave.

Travel, unencumbered
by purse, light or heavy,
sleep-lagged
unable to leave such friends
whispering loud from page
voices of dust walkers
stories, wisdom, spilled–
spilled for any, all.

Pages, thousands
a transforming
sojourning
from finger to hand to mind 
to heart, back to hand,
open, bare…
reach again.

Current landscape, changing
from words, millions–
enlighten past
enchant future
engage present.

Calling cards on the shelf
an invitation, personal
the dance, royal
the conversation, great
the journey, spectacular.

It may cost me some time
But not one little dime
To enter library and look
And check out a delicious book.

*

I wrote this poem either in 2009 or 2011 (I can’t remember which), and revised it just a little bit for today’s post. I’m submitting this poem for a current Tweetspeak Poetry prompt, which is a Thank You note to “Books”. Above is my “thank-you”… without using the words “thank you”.

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