(I remain rich)

I remain rich
as long as I am surrounded by
books, music and art.

To Have and to Hold

Note: You can see the prequel to this poem, "A Johnnie for John," here.

If I can't hold a record or a book in my hands,
it doesn't seem quite real.
It's virtually invisible --
seemingly nonexistent.
While I can appreciate
facets of the digital world,
I want to hold art
in my hands.
I want to touch it.
I want to experience it
in a tangible way.
I want to own a piece
of the magic.
I want to commit to it,
like a partner,
like a spouse.
No cheap fling for me.
Nothing to consume quickly and
walk away from easily.
I want to invest in it.
I want it to mean something.
I want to connect to it
physically and emotionally.
I want to see it,
touch it with my fingers,
and hold it in the palms of my hands.
I want to engage with it.
I want to spend time with it.
I want to spread it out on the table
and study every inch of it.
I want to join myself
to the force of life and love
that created it.

One Fine Day

Note: I wrote this on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day last year -- a triply historic holiday.

On MLK Day,
inauguration day,
on the day
that a gay
Cuban-American poet
read a poem
to America,
I am moved
to tears
in the sunlight
of my study,
thankful
for the sunshine,
my books, and
the partner
our dog, cat and I
await, who will
join us after work
on this fine day.

(First day of autumn)

First day of autumn:
Reading on the porch with a
roast in the Crock-Pot.

(finishing the last)

finishing the last
glass of eggnog with the last
book of the year

(Happiness is a)

Happiness is a
personal library stocked
with books yet unread.

In This Wow

Have you ever
held a book
in your hands
that felt so right?
A book that
felt perfect,
and supple
and soft, but
firm in all the right places?
A book that
belongs
in your hands
at this moment;
at this time?
A book that
was written
years ago
but was meant
for you
right here; right now?
A book that,
in this moment,
makes time and space
make sense
in this place,
in this moment,
in this now?

Universe or Bust

I feel like
there are a million
helium balloons
inside of me
waiting to be released
into the world --
stories and statements,
ideas and innovations,
poems and proclamations.
They bounce against
the ceiling of my
heart and mind,
each bulging, beckoning and begging
to be next in line
to launch into legacy;
my life's legendry.

(leaving a bag of new books)

leaving a bag of new books
in the car -- almost as hard as
leaving your newborn at the hospital

A Rework of an Earlier Haiku

I think I like this one better:

first sniff:
got makeup on the
pages of my new book

First version:

got makeup on the
pages of my new book while
trying to smell it

Ink on Ink

I have a problem
marking in a poetry book.
I can use a pencil, mind you,
to underline, applaud or question
a passage, line or word in a book
of poetry all day long. But I have
some kind of curious aversion
to doing so in ink – as if adding
my ink on the page would
somehow dishonor the existing
print on the page.
Stranger still, I have no problem
using a pen in a work of fiction
or nonfiction. But
a collection of poems
somehow commands a sort of
respect, a sacred care,
a reverent response – like
a sunset or the miracle of birth.

(excited to finish the book)

excited to finish the book;
sad to see it
end

Nightdreaming

I want to stay up all night
and read books -- a book
about loving homosexuals,
one on how to help people,
and my poetry prof's latest
collection. I want to forget
about showing up at the
office at 8 a.m. and read
deep into the night, with a
strong cup of black tea with
sugar to start, followed later
by a mixed-berry-flavored
green tea, and filtered water
for a chaser. I want to read
and drink the hours away, full
of the wonder of words and
those who craft them.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(got makeup on the)

got makeup on the
pages of my new book while
trying to smell it

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Between the Lines and Me

I like to hold books and
magazines and CD booklets
in my hands. Electronic
versions don't allow
for handling and care
and communion between
the author, the pages,
the words and the reader.

I like to live in a book --
to touch and participate,
to make notes in the margins,
to bravo, to question, to laugh.
There is a quiet exchange
between the lines and me,
a silent interaction (though
sometimes I laugh out loud
or sigh with great delight).

Every new book is a
literary cornucopia --
full of wit, mystery,
inspiration, wisdom --
a word awaiting, a
new world to discover,
to experience, to embrace,
a friend to keep on the
shelf of my heart.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

I'm Becoming a True Introvert

My favorite evenings consist of
a big bowl of mint chocolate chip
ice cream and an equally tasty book.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Bliss

Sitting at home with
a new book,
new magazine
and two new CDs.

More Bliss:

All bought on sale.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Bookstore

The silence of readers reading,
the screech of the espresso machine,
the whispered conversations shared
between bites of bagel, biscotti and bisque,
each one a part of the quiet community --
learning, leaning and listening.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Another Work Poem

I write my best
poems at work on
company stationary
and company time
on rainy Fridays when
all I want to do is
escape to a coffee shop
or bookstore and sip
the day away surrounded
by books, magazines
and literary dreams.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall