POETRY

The Reading

I stood before the whole world

“You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say .” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

I stood before the whole world tonight to share a poem with those who might care though it’s not my nature to seek the lights and I really did not want to be there.

I spoke quietly through the first stanzas nervous and halting, each line a query then I recalled, the poem held the answers and I raised my voice for all to hear me.

As I hit my stride, I had something to say reciting the lines with confidence plumbing the depths where honesty lay and hauling the truth to the surface.

Just then, a voice from the back of the room a grey-haired lady, wearing a shawl “I’ve heard enough,” she said as she stood “I don’t like where this is going at all.”

I asked her what was so upsetting “Are you even a Christian?” she accused. “Your words hint of danger and blasphemy they leave me uneasy and confused.”

Why do you fear these words I have wrought? It’s not their fault if they blow up your life I only measure and stir rare thoughts it is you who would bring the dynamite.

A bespectacled man started to shout, “Your rhymes are frayed and the meter is torn you can’t expect us to figure this out if you don’t follow traditional forms!”

When I read a poem, it paints a scene a view of the world, an image bespoke can you not discern what this painting means without obsessing upon the brushstrokes?

Another man said, “Your poem is obscene! only the cursed curse, I believe those four-letter words should be deleted we don’t speak of sex in my family.”

Sometimes the most delicious aromas are spiced with sour secrets and pungent smells enjoy the human fragrance around us. But he showed me his finger as he left.

As the reading resumed, more of them fled some looked angry, some frightened, some confused only a few remained till the end to hear the rhyme’s triumphant conclusion.

But what had they thought to gain from that poem? Some came to be forcibly enlightened others to hear rainbows and unicorns and a few to have their bland lives brightened.

Most were disappointed in their own ways even those who heard — not least of all, me compressing a lifetime onto a page is a fool’s errand, anyone can see.

I stood tonight in that enormous hall to read a poem for those who might be there but only four of them stayed for it all two lovers, a lost soul, and a dreamer.

Only those four left with more than they’d brought and strangely, to me, that seemed quite enough.

Jim Dutton © 2022

Sometimes, this is the way it feels when publishing online.

Thanks to the Paper Poetry team and especially Carolyn Hastings for inviting me to participate in this excellent prompt in celebration of World Poetry Day.

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