Share your love of poetry

Tomorrow is International Book Giving Day

What better day is there to share your love of poetry than on Valentine’s Day?

I’m sure you have a poetry book or two hidden between the couch cushions or under a bed that someone would love to read.

Here are some suggestions for how to celebrate and share your love from the International Book Giving Day website:

1. Give a Book to a Friend or Relative.

Celebrate International Book Giving Day by giving a child a new, used or borrowed book.

2. Leave a Book in a Waiting Room or Lobby.

Choose a waiting room where kids are stuck waiting and there are few to no good books available. Purchase a good book, and deposit your book covertly or overtly in your waiting room of choice. The goal here is to spread the love of reading to kids, so choose a fun book, nothing controversial.

3. Donate a Book.

Wrap up a box of children’s books that your kids have outgrown and get them in the hands of children who could really use a book or two. Donate your books to your local second hand store, library, children’s hospital, or shelter. Alternatively, donate your books to an organization working internationally to get books in the hands of kids, such as Books for Africa.

Check out the website. They even offer printable book plates, book marks. and posters like this:

international-book-giving-day-poster-by-priya-kuriyan

I have oodles of books I could share. How about you?

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Author’s heart beat.

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The rhythm of words                                                                    
beneath a cover.

Author’s heart beat.

Wordsmith Studio Photo Prompt

Winter fire

While I continue to receive comments about the Oh-so-Weird-Poets from the 3-D world, I’m hanging around with my Oh-so-Weird Poets in the cyber-world. (For a refresher see Poets are Weird.)
What I have here is a loose Vietnamese luc bat poem. To learn the form, head over to Robert Brewer’s description. If you like to count, this one’s for you. You’re going to be counting up to six, up to eight, rhyming these, repeating. Loads of not fun.

I wrote it for Poetic Bloomings #60. Fire poem.

(Can you tell I’ve been reading ancient English lit?)

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“Winter fire”

This was home of my bones.

These venerated tomes of ash—
parched kindlings, mocked and lashed
by hands that knew one slash would shoal
my literary soul.

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My prized abode of scrolls lies seared
to the marrow, revered
poetic volumes speared by fire.

Should pardon be required
when reckoning inspires me more?