As I enter the ransacked library

a benign calmness rinsed over me,

faces turned to mine, some

inquisitive others with acceptance

and the hope that I am a friendly visitor.


Those many faces litter the dense carpet,

a group of irritable intellectuals,

sprawled, uncomfortably

deep in conversation,

some heavyweight, stoutly bound

curiously holding the attention of their peers

others radical fast-moving,

well-thumbed paperbacks, curled

pages flapping in the breeze

caused by my entrance.


A separate cabal look to be asleep

or resting at least, disengaged face down

in a random but nonetheless compact fashion.

I quietly right a chair,

my fingers passing over the disciples, that

now surrounded me

eager to join the conversation.


© Graham Sherwood 12/2017

◄ I am a poet, not a writer

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John Coopey

Mon 4th Dec 2017 23:33

I don't suppose for one minute it was your intention, Graham, but it evoked memories of the library in my home town of Hucknall before it was modernised. It was gloomy like an old station waiting room and had a forbidden side room where old men smoked, read the papers, played dommies and kept warm.

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Wolfgar Miere

Mon 4th Dec 2017 11:56

What a grim picture if taken literally graham

It somehow has me thinking of the destruction of knowledge and particularly the burning of books (I won't repeat the mantra).

The separate cabal is interesting, and suggests to me those who do not necessarily wish to share equally the knowledge contained within their pages.

An exclusivity which is destructive and damaging and certainly evident in some works of scripture. It has me pondering whether you may be alluding to religious pomposity and its exclusivity desired by some, though not all.

Of course I may be way off the mark, whatever it is it set me thinking, which is a good thing.


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