Where Inspiration Lives

In case of books, find your inspiration.

I only was able to read a passage in this book on an author who’s inspiration was his home town. He traveled the world to find himself back to the place that wrote him, and now, through his plenteous, sprawling antique and used book store, he’s rewriting his hometown.

I place this book on the shelves not far from where I found it. This is (one place) where my inspiration lives: The shelves of books.

 For this and other posts and pictures by me about words and books, check out my other blog incaseofbooks.wordpress.com


I am always

(I whisper this in your ear)

(I am always walking around

with secrets in my jacket pockets

secrets that only I know 

for only I feel

just this way

about the sound the moon makes

in the water

about the taste

of the air in October

about the feel of

my own blood

running through my

own veins 

like a silent river

about the feel of icy metallic 

door handles 

about the smell of the candle 

flame’s smoke and glimmer)

(this is the secret:

the way that eyes feel when their glances hold you

the way that dreams slip through our hair, cascade down our shoulders 

and this – the way that wonder rolls like a boulder from a grave

and salvation steps out alive – victorious and scathed. 

this is the secret – the knowing 

ever in my pockets I am holding.)

telling secrets.

the love of the taste of words

It’s the love itself

The love of the taste of words

The love of feeling them crawl across your fingers, and up your arms and neck,

of feeling them kiss you and bite you

and get in your bloodstream

of feeling the words transform you

by your reaction to their power

of feeling them sizzle and hiss and scream and giggle

and knowing ourselves and our world and our God

because of these

because of these



but more than that…

because of this

because of the this thing that cannot be held…

because of the love itself


when the wide world is lost in this great cavern of doubt
when we know not what we sigh for
nor where-from the sigh is issued …


by our dreams now dashed?
by our minds whose ambitions have been smashed
in jaded stones made from the remnants of
the idols of the passion of our love.