Off The Shelf

I first saw spine poetry a few days ago, when the Strand Bookstore posted a picture of a creation on  their Instagram in celebration of National Poetry Month. Since April 1st, they have been posting a new spine poem everyday. I have since discovered that "spine poetry", a poem made up completely of book titles, is quite a popular thing. They are all over many book blogs, Tumblr, and Pinterest - so I decided to dive into my bookshelf, and try some of my own!     Here Today , If I Stay , Between Shades of Gray Forget Me Not When Broken Glass Floats.   It ended up being harder than I thought, as after throwing a bunch of books that I thought made sense together into a stack, I realized the poem they created made no sense whatsoever! I found myself wanting to cheat a couple of times, thinking if only this book had a "the" in the title, or this one needs a different verb tense. But part of the challenge was making what you ha...

Spring has arrived. The season took its time this year, waltzing in a week or so later that its scheduled date. But, never the less, it has come. And, with the calender telling us it is April, I thought I would also take a moment to point out this month is National Poetry Month. The following is the poem O Sweet Spontaneous by e.e. cummings, written in 1920. Many reviews of this poem I have seen read in to this poem much deeper that its surface meaning - relating it to society and its problems - but I like this piece for its ease. e.e. cummings describes spring's beauty without ever actually describing it. He doesn't embellish the blue skies, or the smell of the lilies. He doesn't listen to the bees buzzing or the robins chirping. The sun does not warm his face, nor do the new emerald green leaves give him shade. To him, spring just is. O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of prurient philosophers pinched and poked thee ,has the na...

I am now beginning a new series of posts entitled "Something to Think About". These posts will consist of a poem, or passage from a story in which I hope you will take the time to think about during your very busy days. I might even share my own thoughts as well. We'll start the first post off with... The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear. Though as for that the there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and age...