The Captured Verse

I sit to work and words come sliding at me. I’m at first base, over the base with an over sized catcher’s mitt. Other days, I’m at Pete’s place in Chalmette, Louisiana, with my daddy’s favorite Shakespeare Ugly Stick. They’re out there, but I have to work a little harder to catch the words meant for me.

Later, I look through my notebook and I find there, the words that paint an event, illustrate the emotions, and recall for me the reason I got them to the page. If I can still get a sense of where I was with them, those are the poems I work with.

I was asked once, by a close friend, if I wrote poems for my audience first. I told him no and added that I didn’t think that was possible.

Of course, the question stuck with me. I mull over, even now, some years later. The answer is still the same. Any audience I might have must be secondary—for safety’s sake.

Me First

It’s not selfish on my part—well it is selfish, too. (I don’t want to look like a complete fool.) And it’s to protect the audience from the raw stuff that I jot down when I’m fishing. I have to clean it up and pretty it up and format it so that they can read it the way I intended. After, they can take from it what they will. At my desk, I’m a whittler with my favorite whittling knife paring down the excess and repositioning content. It has to ultimately work for me, even after I work at it, before it can be eligible for sharing.

Laying Bare My Soul

I thought about putting the word “naked” somewhere in the section heading, since it’s as intense.

Before I share anything I revisit the verses with my audience in mind. They get the benefit of being audience to a piece only after it has met my approval. This doesn’t guarantee that the audience won’t get something crappy, only that I tried to give them something good. If that fails, it won’t be for a lack of trying on my part.

What Happened When I Let Go of My Poetry

This same friend of mine who asked about writing for the audience, was one who suggested that I publish something. My response was, “Why would anyone but me and a few friends and family members want to read this?” He replied to me, “Publish, and you’ll be surprised at the audience you gain.”

When it was time for me to publish, when it was in my spirit to share my work, I did it. Pebbles in My Shoes is the fruit of that labor. It didn’t matter if there were only the six people in my immediate family (me included) and a small group of others who read my work. I was happy I did it. It came to pass that my friend’s assessment was accurate. It took me a while to realize that I had gained a good audience. And now, 4 years later, I still smile about it.

Try This Guide

If you don’t have the time to write, do it anyway. If you have to do it for someone else, try it anyway. If you need what you can’t find, don’t spin too many lines, only relax and try anyway. What’s meant to come out will have it’s day. If you drop your baited line, you’ll hook up in time, with what you want to say.

What Happened to Me Recently

My dad died October 25, 2007. From the time he died, my mother asked me repeatedly would I write a poem for his funeral program. I told her no. “Are you sure?” she asked me. I tried to get indignant but there was none of that in me. I just couldn’t collect everything that was in my head and heart—it seemed so much bigger than me.

My cousin reminded me of the things that I told her about my writing and how I just let things come to me because forcing rarely worked. “It will come when it comes,” she told me, telling me what I’d often said. I was skeptical in this instance. So, I let No stand for my mother and went on with the rest of the preparations.

We were in New Orleans in the hotel and around the city getting everything together, running into one obstacle after another. Finally I was in FedEx Kinko’s waiting for a machine to copy the programs. I sat at my laptop and the words came.

Life Lessons

I remember the dancing spirit
the steadfast father
the undaunted provider in all times.

I recall the man who knew
how to be with
friends and family in warm companionship.

I learned that keeping people
means letting them be themselves
and being the best person I can.

I understood long ago
I am you in more ways than I can count.
You gave me the best of you.

For that,
I am eternally grateful
and humbly content.

Thank you, Daddy, for everything.