Lines are plentiful in this photo taken in The Long Room at Trinity College Library in Dublin, Ireland. At nearly 65 metres in length (213 feet), it is filled with 200,000 of the Library’s oldest books and is one of the most impressive libraries in the world. When it was built between 1712 and 1732, The Long Room had a flat ceiling, shelving for books on the lower level and an open gallery. In 1801 the Library was given the right to claim a free copy of every book published in Britain and Ireland, so by the 1850’s the shelves were completely full. In 1860 the roof was raised to allow for construction of the beautiful barrel-vaulted ceiling and upper gallery bookcases. The Library is also home to the famous Book of Kells.
A prolific amount of lichen moss grows on this wooden fence surrounding an old cemetery in Bay of Islands, New Zealand. In a place so synonymous with death, it’s ironic that the fence seems alive.
Deep into ever-dimming light
where dampness dwells on the walls
of what seems a bottomless well,
sinks an old wooden bucket
attached by heavy rope
to a crank turned with ease
by his big strong hands.
Down, down in the murky shadows
the bucket magically fills
with water before he hauls it
out of the darkness and into the light.
The bucket arrives full of clean, clear water
glistening in the sun where the reflection
casts playful spots upon my face.
A ladle hangs, as it always does,
from a hook beside the crank
which he dutifully dips into the water.
Carefully, as though the contents were a prize,
he brings the tarnished ladle to my lips
for a sip of sparkling cold refreshment.
This is how I remember it… decades ago on Grandpa’s farm.
The garden awakens! Not much is as lovely as the colors of Spring!
Just the thought of “Freshly Caught Fairies” makes me smile! I’m sure it would make my granddaughter smile too, right up until the moment she discovered they really didn’t have any, then she would be devastated! But still, it’s a very clever sign – enticing you to stop and check out the offerings at this market vendor in the streets of Galway, Ireland.
In the sluggish haze of morning I notice a door
which I cautiously approach and find is open.
I pause but can’t resist crossing the threshold.
Ignoring the lump in my throat,
I toss apprehension aside and begin to explore.
I sense I may have already been here,
in another time, another space, another “me”.
Soon I realize this is where I
neatly folded my dreams and packed them away,
finding them easier to forget than to pursue.
I gather my empty hopes and lost ambitions
then tuck them, one by one, into a box I once discarded
by the door. I think how fortunate it is that I stumbled
across them now, at this very moment,
when I need them the most.
I pass back through the door with my box of dreams,
a prized possession I clutch tightly to my chest.
A creak of the door tells me it has closed behind me.
A click of the lock suggests I’ll never be going back.
There is no need—I found my dreams!
This poem “A Box of Dreams” is featured on vox poetica today.
Thank you, vox poetica!