0012 Poetry Class

Two o’clock on a quiet afternoon, and the class file in for their poetry ‘hour’, brief daily slot in the packed week’s course in many things. We’ve been through ‘the basics’ – whatever they are these days; they’ve been told what, at least, they used to be; I try to keep all options open, say ‘this is what it used to be’, tell them it’s a great time for poetry now, no rules, just sincerity, the open heart, some models if they need them, so after this week, just read, write, as much as they can; and now, forget about achievement, just feel really good that you’re doing what you want to do, being what you want to be - yourself - saying what you want to say – feel more like a loving, expressive human being than you’ve ever felt before.. A few more basics, just as few as may be useful; then I say, here’s today’s offered theme, stay in the room, or find a place outside on this fine day, come back promptly please.. Forty brief minutes later, they return; would anyone like to read theirs, no compulsion? None of them want to be the first, in case… I wonder if they know just how much they’re loved.. I ask one, in the end; then of course they all want to read, each with an apologetic preface first.. At the end of the week, the inevitable request for a presentation; I’ve tried to shield these innocents from that. I say, it’s voluntary… they all want to read. And so they do. We chose ‘Childhood’ as the theme at 24 hours’ notice and just forty minutes.. perfect choice. The audience love them for just being themselves, and what they have to say. The one who pretends to be a mouse reads hers; her cheeks are pink with mingled modesty and sincerity. I catch the light on the corner of my colleague’s eye where a tear of sheer love is gathering. Poetry has worked its magic once again.