
I Aspire
Ó 1995
'Saw Sweet Baby James on an am show this morning.
His eyes twinkled
at the love the crowd radiated as he
scanned their eager faces;
eager to hear him sing.
He reminisced about
stood on the stage
in the middle of
As I watched,
I wondered.
Would I ever evoke that kind of love for my words?
Would passers-by stop as they
came upon my book jacket
in the window of some Barnes and Noble?
Or
would they pass on by?
Would I ever make someone
late for an appointment
because they had to read
just one more paragraph?
Or
would they struggle through the first few chapters,
or even halfway,
then close the cover -
their expectations of a good story
unfulfilled?
Or
would they finish my book with a sigh
before placing it on the top shelf of their bookcase -
the shelf reserved for the cherished books,
the books to be saved -
for the day they would take it down
to read again,
or
maybe to pass on to a friend with a heartfelt
"You have to read this!" as they slide it across a table?
I wondered as I watched the crowd
hold up signs saying "Thank you, James,"
as they gathered
on that early morning
to hear a poet sing.








Comment Preview