I am a poet

I am a poet. Not really sure when I accepted this fact but quite thrilled with finally having a title. I write whenever and wherever about whatever. I have written one children’s book about “The Angier Mouse”. A true story(?), regarding a mouse that resided at an elementary school. The art work was done by the students of the First Grade class. I am a poet. I have in some manner participated in the decimation of the Rain Forest. I have a 37.5 shooting percentage when tossing those crumpled Rain Forest leaves at the waste basket. Recycling will not atone for the hours spent, words wasted, ink spilled, and curses collected in consecutive collusion. I am a poet. My mind is a gold panning tin rocking softly, seeking a word, a phrase, allowing the silt to settle and the sun to reveal another day. I am a poet. I see what others say is not there, hear the softness within the din, taste the edge of bitterness amid the sweetness, feel the lifting of a hawks wings, the sadness of a dry tear, the joy of an old woman’s wink. I am a poet. I am not a wordsmith shaping the edges of reason with doubt, testing the malleability of the readers minds, the juxtaposition of their souls, the depths of their poetic prowess. I am a poet. Therefore, I laugh when people call me “a poet” for as such I am but a conduit, a channel, an instrument of the poetic winds blowing gently across a frosted page. I am a poet and my one great joy and regret is that… I am a poet.