Born in Vallejo and residing in American Canyon, California, I began writing poetry when I was 13 years old. Sadly, my first poem (about the genocide of Native Americans) , was lost within months of writing it. When I turned 16, my mother gave me a journal to write my poetry in - I still have it. Some of my poetry, I have put to music and some I have abandoned. Certainly, I have poetry that I deem unpublishable which, perhaps, no one will ever see. My poetry tends to originate under one of three circumstances: Elation, Depression or extreme boredom. Most of my recent writing has not been prose, but rather political and social commentary and letters to editorial columns under the pseudonym 'Michael Troy'. ('Divided And Conquered'* might give you some insight to my political slant.) [*I wrote this over a period of months. The original version contained a lot of adult language and imagery meant to evoke a visceral reaction (and hopefully self-reflection) in the reader. It has been routinely and unfairly censored by those with lessor minds and no regard for free-speech or poetic license. They are the architects of your mediocrity.] None the less, I still write an occasional poem or two and this is the first place you'll see them... Please feel free to leave your comments.
(Note to the reader: This is by far my least favorite poem! -But one that everyone seems to read first! The prose is overly simplistic and bland. If you want a real love poem, read 'A Picture of Love' and 'In The Waters of Life! ' Please don't judge my ability by this lame scrawling!)
Your name is sweet music
That rings in my ears
...
If I could possibly paint a picture
Of the love that I have for you,
It would contain the most brilliant colors
And the most gentle, changing hues
...
Here under the stars
Where both of us lay
With you in my arms
Where I want you to stay
...
(Another of my earliest works)
The longest poem without inspiration
Is like a laborer without persperation
...
The corporate ladder has many rungs
But the scream of freedom fills my lungs;
To leave this world of dog eat dog
And hike through a misty mountain fog.
...