Brief Note on Inspiration

by G.T.

Those who must actively search for inspiration, turning every unturned stone and peeking into the darkness of every nook and cranny of life in the hopes of discovering light, lack the skill of observation. No map exists where you can simply follow a trail leading to a certain X that unearths such a treasure that gives rise to creation. As I believe writing to be more of a talent that chooses its recipient rather than the recipient choosing it, inspiration shows itself to those who are distracted with life, and life bears the gift of inspiration to those willing to receive it whenever it appears before them.

This is just mental wandering that overcame me this morning after my friend Roger sent me a poem via text messaging. At 5:46am, he wrote:

The bright burning
end of a stogie
rises in the sky.
Wisps of cloudy
hover over it. The
faint scent of
cedar hangs in the

At 5:55am, I replied:

“The weather has since warmed, and I too have been thinking stogies. A fine verse, my brother. How are things?”

At 5:57am, Roger said:

“I’m alright. I’m actually on my way to bed soon, but I had a morning smoke and the slowly reddening sky caught my eye, so I figured I’d write a little poem.”

The poem reminded me of my text poetry, which if you were to ask what was behind my inspiration for that, I’d answer that it was a combination of things: a suffering social life, a bottle of cheap Greek wine, insomnia, and a guy from California that I’ve never met but indirectly suggested something along the lines of short verses of poetry sent via text message. What pleased me about Roger’s poem was that it was born out of a simple view, the sky, yet it was a view that touched him. Inspiration needs no visitors because it is too busy seeking our company. It is just a matter of how welcoming you are.