the authentic reader
I wrote the old woman down
and thought, for one foolish minute,
that the words were mine.
She sat there holding her afternoon together
with a shopping bag, a blue coat,
and a patience only from cracked hands.
I carried her home in a notebook.
A theft, if we are honest.
A rescue, if we are vain.
Years later
a stranger opens that page.
The old woman rises again.
Not as I knew her.
Never as I knew her.
The reader gives her another face,
another street,
another loneliness.
The blue coat becomes green.
The shopping bag disappears.
The bench becomes a railway platform
where someone's mother waits for a son
who has already forgotten the way back.
What authority have I then?
I supplied a handful of words.
The reader supplied
the rain,
the distance,
the son's silence,
the mother's final hope.
I brought a spark.
The reader built the fire.
And perhaps the old woman herself,
who never knew she entered a poem,
stands somewhere beyond us both,
smiling at our arguments.
For poems are not written once.
They are written
by the eye that first suffers them,
and again
by every eye that cannot leave them alone.
So let this signature remain
at the bottom of each page.
Ink needs its ceremonies.
Yet the truest author
may be the unseen reader
who takes my small wound
and bleeds from it
more deeply
than I ever did.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 4th, 2026 05:17
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Doggerel Dave, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments10
A deep write my friend from start to finish, much enjoyed
Many thanks dear friend 🙏🏻🕊️
most welcome
Lovely my friend so much said in so little an allegory and a lesson. We often think we are stealing or that someone steals from us but ideas are free and belong to no one they may be altered and perceived in different ways. Only direct copying of a work is plagiarism if not done with proper citation and credit being given. A lovely write my friend cast so nicely in example it softens the blow of taking from another. I have always felt that the highest form of flattery was someone taking what one did and copying it, a fave
Thanks Soren, much appreciated. 🕊️🙏🏻
My pleasure my friend
Brilliant.
Cheers, Thomas 🙏🏻🕊️
Yes, I took your book and bled - dang paper cut! lol.
Paper cuts are the worst!
nicely written
Thank you Friendship, that means so much 🙏🏻🕊️
You're so welcome🌹
Many a time I've Read a Poem and thought: 'That's a good Idea'. But wrote it in my own words of course. A good Write.
So true, that's the way it works, many a time 🙏🏻🕊️
Here in rich poetic form which was a pleasure to read, you have made an observation which has universal applicability.
A message created by its speaker/author travels through time and space and may reach the recipient in good condition, or may have been damaged, even transformed during the journey.
This is a proposition which needs much greater awareness when engaging in any form of communication.
Its importance deserves a fave.
Here's to more awareness! Thanks my friend 🙏🏻🕊️
This one had me nodding, arqios. I may know what I brought to a poem when I wrote it, but I can't possibly know everything another person will bring when they read it. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Exactly! I didn’t used to bother with that then for awhile it was completely bothersome but over the years became very inviting. 🙏🏻🕊️
Wonderful words Rik and so true for us who write poems.
Andy
Many thanks, Andy 🙏🏻🕊️
Interesting 🤔 interpretations do differ from person to person for sure 👍
Most certainly, thank you dear Safina🙏🏻🕊️
you are always welcome
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