“I NEVER SAID I WAS A POET”
Just get busy and get to it, don’t be so prone to scare;
even those with little to say, very often they do dare.
With pencil and paper, or his keyboard and thought,
he wrote or typed – not always sure what he sought.
He pontificated and scribbled; here and there he fumbled;
he mightily moved forward—stood back up if he stumbled.
Words upon the page, after many agonizing tries, they came.
He edited quite carefully. (Don’t let them all sound the same!)
Many times the story fell together; its people and places,
Families and houses—neighborhoods and new faces,
groups, creeds, religions, and all those fellow races.
And after all that he still found himself a little stuck,
thinking … gosh, I really do hope to hell this won’t suck.
One day he was finished; he said all he could say,
he hoped for something better to write the next day.
–Trent St. Germain, 12/12/16