Poet: 1) a person who composes poetry; 2) a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression.

Am I a poet? It seems to me there are some missing pieces to complete this puzzle. I’d love to own the romanticized title, but sometimes… most times, I just don’t know it. Am I truly a poet of some kind or just an imposter? I gotta ask because…

You won’t find me sharing my new born written words freshly delivered off the typewriter… or notebook… or iDevice

And you won’t find me presenting a new poem to the world every day… every week… or even every month

And you’ll rarely find me pondering my lines of rhyme in some hip bookstore or corner coffee shop

And you won’t find me putting out chapbook after chapbook filled to the gills with my prolific words

Only once in a great while will you find my name in forums or in crews spewing out what’s currently on my mind

And far and few between will you find me free flowing poetically baring my wares for all to see

And almost never will you find me reading classical or modern or anywhere in between works of poetic masters

And you won’t find me riding the train of quatrains or riding on the schemes of sonnets and things

However, you will find me hiding between letters and words and allusive alliterations in the scribbles and riddles flowing from my thoughts, my feelings, my experiences, my dreams. Sometimes I succeed and find a rhyme scheme. Sometimes… I don’t.

Sometimes I’m inspired by all the things I see that come to me on muses wings and deemed to be called poetry… by some.

Sometimes my futile attempts fail completely but the act alone is therapy and even if no other eyes see it but mine… it was well worth the time.

And sometimes it all comes together in the beginning, unravels in the middle and then falls all apart in an orgasmic ending, exploding and creating something new in this world. And it is then that it ends and I lay down my pen and nod my head and answer my own question… yes, I am a poet.