What I’ve Read Makes No Difference

I’ve all these books

on a shelf—paper, leather,

young and old—

aligned and in a guided row

their spines steel-gauge

as if they know

I lean on them

in times like these:

chamomile in my tea,

a yellow daffodil

for my hair,

an egg yolk I swallow

whole, raw knuckles bleed

red, red leaves

of paper, sheaves of knowledge

to disregard. But these books

they’re hard—solid on their

sturdy shelves, and the case is closed.

Love has left.

© Grace Black

imageNational Poetry Month: Day 11


Prompt: Write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does.



30 poems in 30 days. Do you dabble in word play as well? Let’s create 30 in 30.

Love and Ink,


  1. Wonderful poem; I’ve read it three times today and each time come away with a new insight. I feel compelled to write a response “What I’ve Read Has Made All The Difference”

      1. On first read, I saw the books as comforting; while love has left, they remain sturdy, steadfast, strong.

        The second time through, I saw things as empty, almost like a modern Ozymandias: “See the great things I’ve accumulated while things fall apart around me!”

        The third time through, I asked myself “Why can’t it be both?” Often humanity finds a sort of solace in the empty, fleeting things.

        1. Thank you for sharing this. I often wonder what others think as they read through. The insight is as valuable to the creative process as the words or art itself at times.

          Thank you again for taking the time to read and for your thoughtful comments. (Indeed it’s both.)

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