Day 2 – rereading + most read

Quite probably a topic I shall return to again & again …

five repeat offenders: re-reading

It is far, far better to read one book six times, at intervals, than to read six several books.
— D.H. Lawrence, Apocalypse

going back into the depths of time
Blyton survives despite mild dating dilemmas 
her Five will always be Famous

Anne of All the Different Idyllic 
19th Century Canadian Places*
glorious masterpieces all

for twenty years Tolkien was Christmas
holidays to me with repeated rereads
giving as much delight as presents under the tree

gosh, it’s getting hard down this end of the list
why did I set myself only 5 when 8 or a dozen 
would’ve enabled far more faves 

there’s newcomers like The Princess Bride
quirky Thursday Next, & Pullman’s Dark Materials
but I guess I must really mention oft-reread big guns

Austen outshines the Brontes; & Shakespeare, Dickens; 
earthy Lawrence over elegant F. Scott, & the Greek 
playwrights are repeatedly visited but all here are intimates

we are today overwhelmed with such quantities of books
but these are valuable as jewels, or a lovely picture, 
into which I can look deeper & deeper 

— & yet still have a profound experience every time

*****

Factoid 2 – best selling books

best sellers

several sites agree
on the three best-selling 
books in the world

the Holy Bible
the Harry Potter series 
Quotations from Chairman Mao

one i’ve read a couple of times
one at least seven
& one never

as Meatloaf semisang
two outta three ain’t bad

*yes I know they were written in the 20th century
but the first ones were set at the end of the 19th which sounds better so,
poetic license

Day 08 – poem about gifts

Blue_Moon_CROP

Arrrggghhh! Can’t seem to shake this subject. Despite several poems worked on today, the two I was considering for today’s post somehow didn’t seem to stack up, so had to go for this fallback. New subject matter tomorrow, I promise (I hope).

the gifts of the luni

every night the moon leaves me gifts
like a cat depositing nightkill on my mat

this week on the wall by the back door
a rectangular jewel box, waiting to be buried

above the kitchen blind, a sliver of laser light
as i stumble out for an insomniacal glass

repainting the window in my bedroom
into a mirror which reflects undreamt dreams

on the drive home it rezones the countryside
into a dimension far beyond the fourth

even its gilding of the boxangular city
until it is almost beautiful enough

to star in its own fairy tale