A Book is like a Seasoned Oak

A book is like a seasoned oak, a fortress strong

A growing tower to climb; to puzzle from its pages

Green leaf in drought, fresh hope in trialed life:

Strength from another’s, shared written vision

Hard substance, yet made of the stuff of dreams    

As a forming fabric in unknown casks of aged wine:

A vineyard in the depths of an old oak, an old book

Drink to be decanted, poured into any willing vessel

With no wasted word, for those who climb to read 

Through their upward lifted, pierced hands and feet

Poem from a Sequence:

A Rain of Booklight
Part 1  # 35

© Judith Evans Deverell, 2014

The Bookmark Project

Through Veiled Realms of Swiftlight

Out of the things which were first, the greater part of purple palaces

Inner castles graced with ivory towers and the amaranth within

The amethyst flowerets mystic pale with milky light 

All fused with royal red and blue

Casting from the windows of my sight

The firstling things I have within

To speak instead in silent gems of the veiled realms of swiftlight

Of the breaking parts of truth that slowly fill with love and unravel here

Out of the things which were second, the amaranthine tumbling spires

From which my inner-writing banners flew

Out from my highest tower my hooded tercel tossed skyward

Flung from a seamless gloved hand

Set free to gather its beloved prey and return to me the longed for news 

That from afar they would hear and in that oneness promised

Draw near and I would know that from today

I was not alone