Painting Poetry Extras Contact


Howling Bloody Hell
Homage to Marcus Slease
ARCHETYPE Sonnet No. 42
Guernica
Love of Rarest Vintage
Once Upon A Lifetime
Overtones of Holmes
Life's Indelible Beat
Sonnet No. 36–Citation
Chained Tears
Ode to a Bookshop
A Grain of Sand
Europe's Decline
Celtic Vibrations
L'Oeuvre
Morning Mists
Cymru (Wales)
Old Men of My Village
Salt of the Earth
Windy Frenzy
Recognition
Where the Hand, Human, Went
Sensations
A Love Song
The Chess players
Love Is So Unwise
The Triple Muse
Spring Rain
Winter Sunset
Always 'There'
Angels in the Sky
Imperishable Essence
Worlds
Urge of Creation
Paris
Collector's Items
Child of Delight
Cleaning out Attics
The Artist
Love's Sublime Echo
No Borders
Honest Song's Measure
Sappho's Echo
Fullest Moon
Sonnet No. 19
Links
The Lovers
Mythologies & Deities
Overtones of Robert Frost
Sonnet No. 9

ODE TO A BOOKSHOP
George Whitman's Leaves of Grass
and Sylvia Whitman's feminine seeds

Part I

Tea chats on a Sunday afternoon
hail, rain, or shine there looms
a golden moment outside time,
where tea and cakes await
visitors and friends, who meet,
exchange stories, ideas: become
part of a magic circle, spun
from a man's generous mind;
to welcome as a family,
all kinds of strangers passing thru
a city, full of ancient lore;
whose whispers live as souvenirs
within stones and pages of books,
in a shop unique of its kind,
where George Whitman's dreams
hide among leaves
of other people's lives !

Part II

There floats today a silver cloud,
with wings spread wide,
as wide as her smile;
she's her father's guardian angel,
welcoming crowds who browse, and while
away happy hours, in this house
of many mansions, which harbour
sails of diff'rent ships
seeking secrets buried deep
inside their souls
not always understood, though felt,
within this mythic space;
hoarding untold treasures,
of a thousand and one adventures,
mystic pheromones stacked on shelves,
souvenirs of a man's desire
to leave some trace to futures,
of his created child of love and grace !

Panmelys, November 12th, 2010
For George Whitman on his birthday.

Muse of poem is twofold – that of his shop and daughter,
which George said to me were twin souls of his spirit; and
is the inspiration behind this poem.

 

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