Friday, September 28, 2007
An Ode to the Walking Reader
I sing an ode to you
the walking reader
I salute you kind reader
though you can't see it
what with your nose in that book
I salute your love of words
love that you love them
as much as I do
love that you prefer their imagery
to what goes on all around you
I love that you love the stories they tell
more than you love your own mundane reality
I love that they tantalize you
with all irresistible alliterations
I love that they get you stinking drunk
with their grey coats of bleakness
painting a pain so pure
it busts up your own moderate depression
I love you you lover of words
though you can't see my arms open for you
oh you querulous lonely thing
I love your quest for knowledge
in the form of other people's opinions
I love that your passion is so enraptured
you simply cannot break eyes with your lover
until you know where she is taking you
and still you thirst for more
maybe there will be a sequel
I love that though I can see you
we exist on two different planes
you are in some far off misty glen
in some jet fighter from WWII
you are searching for your ex-wife
deep in the taiga of Tatarstan
you are the last of the geisha
or the first woman to build a mosque
I am in the world of sidewalks and streets
you are wrapped up in words
And I love that they lift you up
tickle your elbows knees and colon
seize you in a seismic fit of laughter
at the unexpected twists of irony
the layer upon layer of imagery
spinning heavenward inside your head
I sing an ode to you
my Walking Reader
your unbreakable affair with words
is the reason why I write
the walking reader
I salute you kind reader
though you can't see it
what with your nose in that book
I salute your love of words
love that you love them
as much as I do
love that you prefer their imagery
to what goes on all around you
I love that you love the stories they tell
more than you love your own mundane reality
I love that they tantalize you
with all irresistible alliterations
I love that they get you stinking drunk
with their grey coats of bleakness
painting a pain so pure
it busts up your own moderate depression
I love you you lover of words
though you can't see my arms open for you
oh you querulous lonely thing
I love your quest for knowledge
in the form of other people's opinions
I love that your passion is so enraptured
you simply cannot break eyes with your lover
until you know where she is taking you
and still you thirst for more
maybe there will be a sequel
I love that though I can see you
we exist on two different planes
you are in some far off misty glen
in some jet fighter from WWII
you are searching for your ex-wife
deep in the taiga of Tatarstan
you are the last of the geisha
or the first woman to build a mosque
I am in the world of sidewalks and streets
you are wrapped up in words
And I love that they lift you up
tickle your elbows knees and colon
seize you in a seismic fit of laughter
at the unexpected twists of irony
the layer upon layer of imagery
spinning heavenward inside your head
I sing an ode to you
my Walking Reader
your unbreakable affair with words
is the reason why I write
Labels: Poetry
Comments:
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I love all the different images of people you manage to touch on here.
And the notion of having an affair with words is fantastic.
And the notion of having an affair with words is fantastic.
That was really good. You could subtitle it A Tale of Infinite Worlds...
I remember doing that, walking a mile from my nearest used book store with some well-loved paperback treasure, or sometimes a barely cracked, almost new hardcover. Or the DMG...
Yeah, those were the days... Now I'm a driving reader, which isa much more exhilarating form of multi-tasking...
kidding (mad cackling ensues)
I remember doing that, walking a mile from my nearest used book store with some well-loved paperback treasure, or sometimes a barely cracked, almost new hardcover. Or the DMG...
Yeah, those were the days... Now I'm a driving reader, which isa much more exhilarating form of multi-tasking...
kidding (mad cackling ensues)
PP: thanks, glad you enjoyed. i've had a love affair going with words for most of my life.
Eric: Yeah, I've been the Walking Reader myself many times.
TWM: Oh yes, I believe it. He's probably one of those guys who reads a map while driving too, only to drive right over his destination and the people in it ;-)
Eric: Yeah, I've been the Walking Reader myself many times.
TWM: Oh yes, I believe it. He's probably one of those guys who reads a map while driving too, only to drive right over his destination and the people in it ;-)
This has little to do with the poem, but I think I am bedevilled with words.
Found a new business in Nemarket ON (Just perched atop Toronto).
Said "Al Porno's Pizza".
I presume that a pizza out of a place like that would just turn around and eat you.
...I think I need help.
Ivan
Found a new business in Nemarket ON (Just perched atop Toronto).
Said "Al Porno's Pizza".
I presume that a pizza out of a place like that would just turn around and eat you.
...I think I need help.
Ivan
# posted by 
: 6:56 PM
: 6:56 PM
yes, words will do that too, Ivan. but in your case, as i've mentioned, i think you're being attacked by bad karma. it's not your fault though. you're being punished for the acts of lusty eco-terrorists of the 1960s. best thing to do is get the hell out of newmarket, fast. and whatever you do, don't go to yorkdale.
Toast: hmmm, not quite frustration. more bemusement. i find it delightful when people do this, and funny too, how whatever they are reading becomes more important than anything else. i've been there myself.
I am bereft and mourning the completion of a book that has travelled with me to Georgia, Armenia and through the Caucasus Mountains. I have revelled in the juxtaposition of the words placed so carefully on the paper to allow me to share in the love affair created with this remote region of our planet.
I love the sentiment of your poem. I stop everything but never walk and read.
I love the sentiment of your poem. I stop everything but never walk and read.
Kissa: woe is the poet who loves life and reading about it equally, and can never compromise either lover in some taudry threesome, thus must choose between the two, and do but one at a time.
1. I think words got me pregnant once. I am more careful now. :)
2. I wish I could send Ivan the picture I HAD to take in NYC last week of LaHore's.
3. Instead, I will send it to my Nana. We have this running joke that she whores around. She's almost ninety and we call it her "niche marketing".
4. Benjibopper I miss you!
5. I liked this one, I like to read things a few times so I hate blogpoetry. You come back, and things have moved on. Scrolled away.
2. I wish I could send Ivan the picture I HAD to take in NYC last week of LaHore's.
3. Instead, I will send it to my Nana. We have this running joke that she whores around. She's almost ninety and we call it her "niche marketing".
4. Benjibopper I miss you!
5. I liked this one, I like to read things a few times so I hate blogpoetry. You come back, and things have moved on. Scrolled away.
# posted by : 8:46 PM
: 8:46 PM
Lynn: 1. teehee, I believe it.
2. Love NYC
3. nice euphamism.
4. I've missed your lists and it's good to see you here.
5. Thank you. Of course, you can always scroll down ;-)
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2. Love NYC
3. nice euphamism.
4. I've missed your lists and it's good to see you here.
5. Thank you. Of course, you can always scroll down ;-)
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