I wrote this poem yesterday. Today I am seventy. It is never too late.
The inspiration came from a poetry workshop at Manchester Maggies on Thursday. Our usual leader, Clare Stuart had arranged for Reshma Ruia to deliver the session. She is an accomplished poet who is based in Manchester. I was there on ZOOM but had to leave early for another meeting, TEAMS this time. Covid has changed our world in unforeseen ways.
It was Covid that first introduced me to Reshma Ruia. Clare had led a lockdown session on ZOOM with Reshma’s poem, “When This Is Over,” and invited us to write our own Covid poems. This time most people were back in the room. I managed to stay long enough to get a flavour of Reshma’s life and one thing she said really stayed with me.
“Poetry: Don’t ever let it leave you.”
I thought back to the time that I had abandoned poetry and how eventually I had returned, and poetry was still there, waiting and welcoming. This is my thank you.
POETRY: DON’T EVER LET IT LEAVE YOU There was a boy who liked to sing and dance And draw and write and dream about a world Where danger lurked but rarely was a threat. And there was mystery and magic still. He was too young for wisdom, but he’d grow. Then broken voice and stumbling feet forewarned A fate were duty countermanded dreams And growing up meant also growing small. The magic was the last to leave him when He learned that cruelty still conquered all. No more a pilgrim on a golden road, Instead he fled, a refugee from hope. Older, not wiser, weighed by misery Until, remembering a boy who sang He was resolved not just to sing but write His songs, discovering what wisdom is. It is the poetry that never leaves you. Mike Stanton: written on the eve of my seventieth birthday. It is never too late.