Carolyn O’Connell
The car turned by the church
inside a brass tray

reminded me of the craft and the man
who loved literature.

The sun scrolled over the statues
as we commenced to write

laughter filling the silences of our creativity,
occasional applause,

and the walls seemed to imbibe our words
to mingle with others

who had written in rooms before us.

Food was collected refreshing us
with talk,
tethering our tasks of creativity, bonding

freeing words inscribed
strong as the oak tables – the books we breathe upon –

a cartoon of him has watched
listened to us with blessing.

Stephanie Acton
The car turned by the church
and through the dappled shade of the trees,

the entrance!
The crunch of gravel, pleasing to the ears

as the library rises to view.

The oversized table, fit for a banquet
dominated the room –

Though not my style, if ever