Miles Falworth - Buies Creek, NC (USA):

This book gets up later and later every day.

Sarolina Shen Chang - Canton, Michigan (USA):

This book is the one-tenth of a rainbow, a barrette to gather
    the wind, the whisper of heaven.
This book is the one-tenth of a rainbow, a thread to mend
    the tear, the break of heart.
This book is the back of the Minke whale that parenthesis the
    philosophy of the universe.
This book is the clock that went backward after the earthquake.
This book holds the breaths of the roses trapped inside the ice
    sculpture.

Katherine Borghardt - Ottawa, KS (USA):

Like the old masters
who recognize beauty at face value
light playing with the features
shadow emphasizing the hollows
this book recognizes the beauty of us:
Alfred and Sarolina, always there in the poetic sense,
Tim, the funniest one-liner in the book,
Karen, the most novel of approaches,
Kevin, Sandeep, Bob and Peg, the weave and weft of the Library,
Mary, the flower of poets,
Lars, perceptive,sensorial,
Dale, singularly beautiful,
Penelope, are you all right?

Kevin W. Grossman - Santa Cruz, CA (USA):

This book was too easy to forget, but after three weeks the
    library notice arrived announcing that it was now available for pick-up. I
    was ready to go and complete my delivery when the volunteer coordinator
    called, her voice solemn and reverent.
My book buddy Bill died today. We never really got a chance
    to bond. A violent storm had been brewing in his mind's Bering
    Sea for days, maybe years, they can't be sure - suddenly. When
    I met him, he had been bedridden in a convalescent hospital, pleasantly
    restless. He was a ravenous reader eating through stacks of library
    books from morning 'til night, words crusted in the corners of his
    mouth.
I had only seen him a few times to bring him new
    books. We shared brief words, mutual wonders and local war stories about
    Santa Cruz business shenanigans. He had a sister who had lived in
    Visalia where I grew up. He had liked listening to the
    northwest roar of Art Bell's didactic late night chatter. He had told
    me to listen some night. I might enjoy it. I never did.
My book buddy Bill died today. We never really got a chance
    to bond. I walked down to West Cliff and watched the sun
    pass over the bay and into the hills and houses beyond the
    university and Highway 1. The sky seemed make-believe with melting black eddies.
    Waves pounded and pasted the rocks with thousands of pages of tiny
    printed words.
Sea lions barked warnings and thunderheads roiled along the horizon, so I
    bolted home and called my parents because my Mother has a new
    library card. We've got a lot of reading to do before the
    next storm.

Susan Meyers - Summerville, South Carolina (USA):

This book worries when it's out late
and overdue.
It longs to thumb its way home,
whistle down roads
of marginalia.

John Glowney - Seattle, Washington (USA):

This book contains all the words we should have said
when we should have said them; and all the things we should
    have
done but didn't; and look here, where the dog has chewed
the last 10000 pages to shreds, leaving only yesterday's instructions

Bennett Rader - Plymouth, Ohio (USA):

This book was found in the pot of gold at the end
    of the rainbow.
This book kept opening the shades in the library for the sunshine.
    It was a book about spelunking.
This book used the fire escape to sneak out of the library.
    It never got to meet any of the new books and
    it was bored with its neighbors.
This escapee book bar crawled through the seedier side of town and
    picked up some bad habits.
This escapee book eventually found itself in rural America where it
    settled down to a life of work and taxes.

MARY P. ELWELL - SUNRISE, FLORIDA (USA):

This book is about the Homeless. I am one of them. I
    am a frail woman holding a shopping bag Hair all askew looking
    like a hag Searching through garbage cans for something to eat cast
    off clothes to wear old shoes for my feet Looking for things
    carelessly tossed away by those who don't care My clothes are all
    shabby and torn, tis true What else can I do? What would
    you do if you were me? My home is a dark alley
    under some stairs surrounded by pie
ces of torn cardboard and a torn plastc curtain that once hung
    in a shower My bed is a cast-off pillow and a piece
    of lumpy foam This is my home.
What would you do if you were me Would you offer me
    a warm room and a comfortable be on which to sleep and
    rest my weary head? What could you do? What would you do?
    We are the young couple eith our lives torn apart by the
    greed of others with stone cold hearts We strive each day for
    a place to shelter our family What are our decisions for me
    to be? I am the friendly, bleary-eyed man with tattered clothes who
    asks for a dimeor two from you. I was
once well dressed and wealthy just like you Would you take me
    home for dinner too? I am a lost and forlorn teen I
    wander the streets alone. Would you offer me the shelter of your
    peaceul home? When you simply ignore the homeless and their children's faces
    and frowns and go about with your life as if they do't
    exist and are not around You are rong! They need your help,
    your empathy For the plight of the homeless is a reality They
    are your responsi
bility They need your help, your empathy It could happen to you
    It happened to me What would you do if you were me?

Tere Starr - Miami, FL (USA):

This book brings me back to my childhood days when my soul
    appeared through reality’s haze, most often in guise of the
    words on the page of this book.
With this book in hand, I climb with Naruda to the heights
    of Machu Picchu. Pablo and I stand in silence. We watch
    lifetimes evolve, his and mine. Even the stones remember.
This book is about the trickster and the ways he enriches our
    lives. How we see him depends on our cultural view, sometimes Hermes,
    Loki or coyote. He’s always crossing boundaries, it seems, and to me,
    he brings fun and insight.
This book, the oldest in my collection, is a voice from the
    past and deserves introspection. As I turn each page, words unfold.
    Thoughts are carried away on the wind.
This book describes chaos, poetic disorder that’s affecting the cosmos. Meeting at
    boundaries, strange attractors craft order. They’re the very distracters that lead to
    the meeting of minds, to creative touch that infuses a spark, that
    explosion of light.

Alfred J Bruey - Jackson, MI (USA):

This book has been translated into 27 different languages and it's poorly
    written in all of them.
This book was written by a famous inventor. If his inventions were
    as bad as his grammar, he would have starved to death before
    he was 30 years old.

<< 1 2 3 >>