Troy writes poetry.

All of the words, illustrations, photographs, and other works of art posted on this site are his, in as much as anything in this world is owned by anyone, which is to say they are not. Ownership is an myth. Attachment is a sickness. Ideas and works are illusions on temporary loan from the Universe.

In other words, feel free to use all of this.

The Rain & The Mountain

From the unknown deep,
Where monsters and beauty conduct a dark theater,
She rose and took to the skies
Majestic as a dragon.

Ever the old man, he sat,
Practicing the art of not doing.
Watching.
Waiting.
Listening to the crows.

Then, in the distance…
A spark!
An approaching storm lights the horizon
And crickets recalculate.

Flash, chirp, chirp, boom.
Flash, chirp, boom.
Flash, boom.
FLASH-BOOM

And just like that, she kissed him
And everything came alive!
And so it was that the Rain and the Mountain embraced
At the intersection of Earth and Heaven.
And the Mountain loved the Rain.
And the Rain loved the Mountain.
And everything grew better.

A hidden park now held the waters
And she soaked in the surrounding granite;
Reflecting the Sun, the Moon,
The Sun, the Moon,
The Sun, the Moon.
The Mountain enjoyed the permanence
But winds blew
And so the Rain knew.

“Time to go,” She whispered.
He sat and smiled.
“Time to go,” She whispered again.
He sat and smiled less.
“Time to go…”
Her whisper receding into the sound of a gentle shower.

Magical. Mechanical.
A rusting exfoliation
Carried softly
Down the hill,
To the stream,
To the river,
To the sea.
Together.

An Ode to Arya

Arya, poor little Arya.
I can picture her still. Standing there. Alone
and bundled up, as if wearing a great white winter coat.
She was so sweet. So innocent. So cold. So stiff. So frozen.
Arya, poor little Arya.

Then I Met You

I fell in love once,
Many years ago,
And I never thought I should again.
I never thought I could again.
I never thought I would again.

Then I meet you.

Cotton of the Night

The cotton of the night
still holds the sweet perfume
of your tendril frame;
walking me gently,
back into a dream.