A book sparks a child’s imagination,

Creating in them a fascination.

Are you made of wood? Tell me true.

Are you held together with bolts and glue?

Directions come. Follow them and read,

Oh, but some do not see the need.

Topsey- turvey, backward, and sideways,

Ill equipped, now cast aside it lay.

Raleigh is a capitol, North Carolina is a state,

Turn the page, oh I just cannot wait.

True the answer, now on to better things,

A bedtime story, gentle the night brings.

© Cynthia Clark

I stir deep into the endless pages

All I see are words unspoken

All I feel are leashe emotions

Too blank for a thought

Too open to hide

Too sacred to defy

So I stir with a broken spirit and an empty heart which was suppose to be filled with your love.

Wood You

Wouldn't you get wrapped up with words

While ink tells stories to a wooden boy

Wink-less

But so focused that eyes like a mirage

Quenches the thirst for words

That you wouldn't imagine a wooden boy reading

copyright Nicholas Gilbert

Reading .... What a concept.

Makes you use your imagination

Which causes you to think

Then you start to see

just what is possible

Reasoning comes into play

critical thinking on the way.

Opening up your mind

What will you find.

And it is all starts with

Reading!

Figurine

As I sit here in this creaky chair; so alone am I.

Time pass so, but it was a good life.

In this place now my home, I sit and wait for my final day.

The only folks that care are the employees working here and I only see them once or twice day.

Sure there is the guy I share this room with, but he only stares in pain at the window pane.

I reflect upon my past all the fun we had; but now am so alone my dear sweet wife is gone; I lost my boy in the war.

Now all that’s left is my daughter, Grace and her family, boy would I love for them to come see me!

Now in my life are few possessions, the one I hold so dear sat for years collecting dust upon a shelf!

Now I hold it every day while tears flow down my face, it’s a figurine of me that my daughter made so long ago.

It’s a statue carved of wood, of man lying down. His feet in the air bent at the knees. There’s a book in hand as the figurine appears to read.

Now you may ask why I cry so much over such a small toy, but you must understand this more than just a piece of wood in my hand; this is a symbol of what life used to be.

For you see my daughter’s gift reflects a time when as a family, my wife, our boy and girl and I would snuggle, laugh and giggle while we laid upon the floor as I read stories of folklore.

There were classics, mysteries, tragedies and comedies. Oh! What fun we had, I thought it would never end.

But alas it did.

Now I just sit here, like an old figurine, collecting dust lost upon the Shelf.

Faceless man reading a book

No one knows how he must look

All his expressions he keeps lock inside

As he takes an adventure on a word ride

To teach is to heal

maybe I could feel the words that they feel

going over the lessons and chapters again

maybe I could learn the meaning

tucked in the dog-eared pages

To teach is to heal

maybe I can smell the fragrance

of the rose safely tucked

in the pages of that book again.

To teach is to heal

maybe my soul can be reminded again

of the morals hidden in the

story of our life

without giving it all away

To teach is to heal

maybe I can be guided by the light I

'm carrying for them

maybe they become the beacon

for my lost soul

and show it the way home

To teach is to heal

maybe I get  a second chance in life

to redo all the stories

maybe this time

I can safely erase

all the hidden hurt and pain.

To teach is to heal...