Tricia the Artist

Expression of my perspective.

Poetry by T. L. Drover

A collection of poetry written by me over the past few decades of my life.

Please, enjoy!

Mission Statement

What does it mean

‘inherit the world’

To receive on a silver platter

Our parent’s throwaways

Mountains of Styrofoam

Drenched with acid rain

Soon the only trees will be

On display in glass cases


‘Take this world and make it better’

They throw us the torch

But the flame is gone

Already extinguished

They want us to revolutionize

To recreate the fervor or the sixties

But don’t they realize –

We are the same as them.


We will smoke ourselves

Into a stupor

We will lose our

Youthful optimism

And sell out, drive miatas

Look to our children

As a means to our salvation


How can you change a world

Caught in a cycle of

Vision fading into desire

It is an impossible challenge

To slow the disintegration of

Our revolving orb –

To make the world a better place,

For our children,



I am full of youth and vigor

I have boundless, groundless faith

I will take up the torch

And relight it

I will finish what I start.

Death will be the only obstacle

I will not overcome.

An Afternoon at the Art Gallery

Buildings reflecting buildings; surrounded
by a dull murmur of conversation
held over neutral jazz easily ignored;
the din punctuated by angry horns

Dappled sunlight peeking
past the towering concrete giants
as a cool breeze lifts white tablecloths
and stirs the newly formed leaves.

An inky crow alights, looking knowingly
at crowds of people rushing by to nowhere
as the gold afternoon sun dips
past the artificial horizon.

A man walks up – a pause –
then into the restaurant he strides.
Following him is a wild looking beggar
who steals all topics of conversation.

And in my mind, my thoughts
drift back to melancholy places
tomorrow’s fears mingle all too well
with yesterday’s well aged regrets.

Ten Reasons I Love Waking Up

Number ten would be the sunshine
peeking through the blinds.

Nine would be the birds calling
exclaiming o’er worms they find.

The eighth is the knowledge that
I have a full day ahead of me.

Seven is the mat beckoning
for Yoga - to help me be free.

The sixth reason is how I manage
to crawl out from the sheets.

The lure of fresh coffee and breakfast
a banana, or Cream of Wheat.

Five is brushing away the
fuzzy morning breath that lingers.

Four is watering my plants and
checking the soil with my fingers.

And the top three reasons morning
is an easy time for me to greet.

Are all because of you, my love
for with you each morning I meet.

Three is your smile, always ready.
Two is your touch, always loving.

And the number one reason I
find the promise of morning so moving:

Are your beautiful, sparkling, radiant
and wonderful, captivating, deep
soulful green eyes that so easily
pull me from the seductive land of sleep.

Ceaseless Orbit

Ceaseless Orbit

Never a pause

In the fluid motion

Of the electric world


Everything from emptiness

Nothing is all we are

But we are still made

Of stars, you and I


No such thing as

Yesterday; tomorrow’s

Promise is ruined by

The eternal present


When life’s flimsy mirage

Is consumed by time

All that is left – if

Anything is left at all


Is the memory of

True unfettered ecstasy

Eternity is found in life’s

Orgasmic moments.

What is an Artist?

To define an artist first
One must define art
What is art?
Is it a depiction of beauty?
An expression of perspective?
A representation of a view on life?
All of these things – and more –
Art is the best of all that
Humanity has to offer.
It is how we redeem ourselves
For war and destruction.
Some use paint on canvas
Others needle and thread
For still more, it is the
Written word they manipulate
to convey the meaning
inside their heads.
Each of us has
an artist inside
and we all find our ways
of letting it out.
Through dance, poetry
cooking, singing, carving;
each of us has a deep
expression of beauty within us.
To keep our sanity in
this brutal world of
take and take
we must find our muse
and let it guide us
to whatever makes us
more whole, more complete.
We must each of us
find the artist within,
for what is an artist
but simply
someone that allows
their real self
to speak.

Poetry From Days Gone By

Alone - January 2002 


What does it mean?

Surrounded by people

Who say they love ME

Why should they love ME

Do I love


I can't love who I am

I don't know who I am

Thoughts - floating - going nowhere

Always in my head.

Apathy - not hatred.

You cannot truly hate what you do not know.

Only what you do not understand.

Am I even worth understanding?

I feel shallow, transparent.

It's all an act.

I can't disappear to discover myself.

I simply pretend. No one is satisfied. 

I claim to be content.

I desire a partner so they can define me

Because I can no longer define myself.

Fear is a part of my soul and it is

Growing larger

Every day.

Will I ever be happy again?
Will I ever laugh again?

I am not depressed. I am repulsed.

I feel stuck.

If I could find myself. If I could love myself.

If I could understand myself -

Find joy in who I am.
I am stuck in a cycle.

Vicious circle.

Looking for meaning in a world

That never makes sense. 


 In A Crowded Club - March 2002

Alone - in a crowded club

Music beating

Faster than my heart.

I almost wonder - has my heart stopped?
I don't feel human.

No, wait - I feel human.

Everyone else seems unnatural.

Alien. From a planet with no worries.

I am too old to be nineteen.

Too young to be a woman.

I was more of a woman when I was in love.

In love - with life, with men, with women.

With myself.

Do I want to be oblivious again?

Can I be happy and aware

Of life's hypocrisy? 


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