101 Books, Number 2

Favorite Books Throughout My Life

 

the books I read looked like these

2. The Lord of the Rings, 1937–49), by J. R. R. Tolkien (1892–1973)

Let’s go back to the seventies—

I ate these books like chunks of cheese.

Consumed them with a fury, Yo.

Like fresh-baked bread from sourdough.

I read them several other times.

(Oh, not the worst of human crimes.)

My wife and son would love them, too—

And his sons (both!) would follow through.

The movies? Well, we saw them, sure.

And loved the look—so true and pure.

But we had no addiction, no—

We had no Frodo overflow.

My son and grandsons? Different tale.

The stories are a holy grail.

Again, again they screen the things.

And each time just more pleasure brings.

I read some other fantasies—

Le Guin and others—and was pleased.

But transformation to a freak?

It didn’t happen (not this geek).