Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Poem: To write (For Jim Whitehead)

He was known as Big Jim for most of his life.
Standing six feet plus a few and well…big.
He played college football further down south,
and ended up an English major–then professor.

In the halls he’d ask, “Going somewhere?”
“Headed that way,” was my pat reply.
He was really asking of my conviction to the word–
to writing.
He had seen my weak heart and weak pen in class.
His method of motivation was honesty. He would say,
“This is God damned terrible, rewrite it!”

I don’t imagine Big Jim looking down on me with favor
or scorn from a cloud up above; I don’t believe in such.
But, when someone asks me, “Going somewhere?”
I now say, “To write.”


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