Different Shelves: A Saturday Poem

Different Shelves

Brown cried out, Hey, I'm a movie all of a sudden,
did you hear? Heard, saw and slept it, said Rowling,
adding, Sorry Dan, but the popcorn was more exciting!
They never quite translate, I find, opined Patterson.
Bug-eyed and scary slick, King shouted from a stack,
I am still the king, you fuckers! Hah, sneered Clancy,
prove it, Bangor-boy! A grinning Grisham asked no
one in particular if they had ever seen a 1990's hit-list.
Meanwhile, filing her nails, Danielle Steele turned to
her right and quietly vomited something green onto the
left shoulder pad of an unsuspecting Anita Shreve.
Three aisles down, a peace was in progress.

How happy is the little stone that rambles in the road
alone, and doesn't care about careers, said Emily to
Edna, who agreed, adding, Life in itself is nothing,
an empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. Browning
looked to them both, nodding, That damnable racket
yonder causes me to rue my birthday, girls. Just then,
as Rupert Brooke was about to speak, a hush, allowing
only the hum of a ceiling fan, fell upon everyone --
listening. How can my Muse want subject to invent
while thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
thine own sweet argument, too excellent
for every paper to rehearse?

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009