Now I’m an author. I’m also an editor. And a poet. Basically, if there’s anything I want to be I just call myself one and say that I am. But judging from some of my writings (like that last sentence), REAL writers would probably want to disassociate themselves from me.

But that’s the beauty of blogging, you can just excuse stuff like that because “I was writing stream-of-consciousness!” Conscience. Conscious. Conscienceness. Konshunce. Konchunceness. See, I’m doing it right now.

Anyway, I enjoy immersing myself in constructing deep poetry. The difficulty in being a male poet is that poetry requires a deep connection to intense feelings and emotions, and we all know that a male’s strong point usually isn’t a connection with his emotional being. So I have to really dig deep, look down in that hidden and secret place, try to find those elusive male emotions.

I’ll let you know if I ever find them.

I write by the “inspiration” method. I don’t usually just sit down and decide to write a masterpiece, I have to be inspired. For instance, I’m working on a poetic masterpiece about eggs. I like eggs, and one day inspiration struck me and inspired me to write an inspirational work on eggs. So I am.

A similar reason was behind the following masterpiece. One day I was inspired to write a poetic work on inspiration. Here it is for your edification and inspiration. Thanks to Crystal and Merry for their valuable editorial assistance.


One day the thought occured to me,
While musing on the arts,
That I should write some poetry
And maybe warm some hearts.

I thought it really would be fine
To write myself a poem,
A soothing way to while the time
Just sitting here at home.

I got a pen and sat right down,
The words began to flow.
For inspiration came and found
A muse prepared to go!

The words, they fell and formed the lines,
They just were meant to be.
The rhythm came along with rhymes,
It flowed right out of me!

This inspiration thing is great,
I thought triumphantly.
My poem and verse will be first rate,
I’ll write prodigiously.

That inspiration kept its surge,
And I was on a roll.
Then it stopped.

Tom Troyer