Book End

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Lost in an oversized raincoat, she sits outside the library;

an old book, out of print in a dog eared dust cover.


Through thick prescription glass, puddles ripple

with memories leaking in the autumn rain,


spreading as oil dripping from a rusty sump;

time worn colours swirling away in a wet breeze.


Jaw set, head tilted, she tries to stem the flow,

but the past slips and she drifts beyond the familiar.


Untethered thoughts escape, leaving the emptiness

of shelves where once a life’s collection had been,


and while damp pages are ripped from random chapters,

a life story is pulped on a Tuesday afternoon.



Picture credit: Marie-Lan Nguyen (wikicommons)

◄ This Work Is Done

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Jonathan Humble

Sun 28th Apr 2019 08:25

Thank you Vautaw : )

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Sat 27th Apr 2019 19:27

Superb. Your muse is a lovely lady indeed. 💖

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Jonathan Humble

Sat 27th Apr 2019 18:56

Thank you Peter and Keith.

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keith jeffries

Mon 22nd Apr 2019 08:45


Thank you for another highly imaginative poem. Your writing has the ability to conjure up scenes. As I read this poem my mind flew back to a library of which I was a member when at school. It was in Lancashire, a victorian building not dissimilar to a Wesleyan Chapel with iron railings and an entrance with ten steps leading to the front door. Once inside there was a different world which was shrouded in silence and filled to capacity with books on a mezzanine floor. I often found people sitting on the steps outside and wondered why.

Thank you indeed for this. A fine piece of writing.


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Peter Taylor

Mon 22nd Apr 2019 08:11

beautifully wistful, a really lovely piece, great to start the day, thanks Jonathan.

Peter T

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