this poem of course
is nothing more but
a batch of words
floating around
in my head with no
form or purpose

and as one
whom you believed in
i think i let you down

G.

I cannot seem to
figure out why
God didn't wait
and give you a
little more time

is He trying to
send me a message

that i don't have
long to stay here?

this poem of course
means that all that
is left is your words
of urging me, encouraging
me, and teasing me about
those black horses and
bagpipes to announce
your entry

G.

into the author's gates
beyond, where the rejection
slips no longer matter

where the critics and
the cynics can just
go their way--but you
said write, take no
prisoners, kiss no feet
and buff no butts

you said be sassy
be sensational,
be solid and
never ever let 'em
see you cringe

so i guess it's time
now for me to do some
redecorating tips

maybe some submissions,
some old files that
still have something
to say that have gone
by the way--get rid
of some of those old
fears that are never
once again considered
by my peers, and maybe--
too, G.

once my tears have cleared
i can see the vision you had
for me, my destiny. . .

i welcome and embrace
your strength and welcome
the adversity. . .

(see, i told you that this
poem is a batch of words,
looking for a place to go)

you won't see this
the seed you planted
in this writer's field
of dreams, but i'm glad
to be a bearer of the fruits.


cynth'ya lewis reed
copyright 2005
all rights reserved

Note: On my last post to G's site to his short story, "Catch As Catch Can" I'm not sure if he was even alive to see it. It was written hoping that he would see it, I could not fathom that my writing of my own drowning fears would actually happen to him (or may have happened without my realizing it.) We always used to kid around and joke, I would call when he had a recent struggle in an email he wrote me saying he was coughing literally "buckets of blood," and I called him on the phone just to hear his voice, and find out if he was okay. He wrote me and said he was tougher than some kind of desert creature boiled, maybe vulture, I'm not sure, but he was nothing less than courageous and kind.

That's how I'll remember him.

Gerald Grimmett