Writing As History

The other day I had a thought an idea if you please
It started out simply indeed
A question was posed to the writer in me
When a work of mine had gotten its newest read
This person rest assured was no reader for sure
But alas they wished to read the poem on my screen
Though far from being finished or ready for review
What could I do but say sure have a look
Myself I removed from my seat
And allowed them to take a read
About eight lines in they turned to me
Can’t you say more with less?
How long is this thing?
A little stunned I began to say
This poem is pages long for it has to be
You’ve only begun the journey.
To understand the motive you must read,
A work like this through in its entirety
Between the screen and me they looked
But who wants to read this much about one thing?
Ah at lass this question is one we must all ask.
I pondered a moment for words of response
Then this thought emerged.
Another chair from my office I took.
Reaching eye level it’s much easier to discuss
Matters as dear as words of a poem
Your right my recourse begun,
It’s quite a lot to read not your standard poem
I’ll concede, buts as you can see there’s nothing standard about me
You see when I write it’s not a form I seek
Writing to me has always been a way to record history
Some writers chose make believe, others social history,
Many rhyme, making harmony of words that you can see
Then there are writers like myself we are of another breed
We take the essence of life, love, history, heritage,
So many things from our personal experiences
We close our eyes and left our feelings grow
Till we are there in that memory with all the imagery,
The feelings we felt feel all new again.
Only this time we know it’s a memory we take up our pens
Our tablets, our tools of the trade
With a memory living in the room around us
We record our history, every sight, and emotion
We want to guarantee that when we are done
Our work is as accurate as can be.
The form we follow is our own.
Sometimes it may rhyme; sometimes it’s only a few lines
Though most of the time just as in real life
It’s a journey for you those compelled to read
Whatever your motive to read might be
Our work our living history will be there
For you in your time of need,
That’s the reason sometimes maybe just maybe
We could say less with more.
Then it wouldn’t be a true account of our history
My friend looked at me with his hands upon his knees
Now do you see why I write and I write?
It’s not about money, perfection, or greed.
It’s all about the history, the human need
To connect to your past however many that may be
Then to share it with the world so all can see
That though we are separated by walls, oceans,
By color, station, religion, so many things
In truth we all share the same thing
If our history teaches us anything
It’s that united is the only way to succeed
So if my trials my tribulations,
My loves and my losses can unite just a few
Then I’m doing my part to change history
To right the wrongs that has been done
To give the people a voice a connection
That exceeds the lines of society.
Our work is often met with questions just like yours
Why so long? Because its history and history takes more then
A line to convey the complexity of life’s many ways.
anamikanta anamikanta
Dec 13, 2012