Am I just a fool
for wanting to write
the verse freely?
to weave the words
into the poetic,
pick my pen up
and let poetry flow.
Ars poetica April 1
Category: Women Poets
Monday Poetry
Involuntary Movements
by Patricia Harris
Remaining still is easier said
than it is for me to do,
I am made of gelatin and
thoughts straight from the
ocean's waves.
Involuntary Movements
are almost expected
when you are as chaotic
as I.
Wednesday Whispers
Snuffed
by Serena Mossgraves
the candle flickered softly
till the snuffer was brought forth.
the illusion of knowledge
given to the world is stripped
as the light fell from the eyes
of the innocent when truth was seen.
perhaps the snuffer has uses,
the world darkness does need…
the light has uses and knowledge
can be gleaned by leaving
the innocent to see.
Monday Poetry
forgetting
by Patricia Harris
I am working on forgetting
the importance of my life,
for I am more than what I
can remember myself to be.
instead I want to remember
the importance of those I love
and the way I want to eventually be
instead of focusing entirely on me.
world poetry day
Hindsight
by
Serena Mossgraves
The way hindsight blinds,
kindness hidden by fear,
and friendship torn apart
by the illusion of what
the mind perceives.
Perhaps hindsight is twenty twenty,
but with no light to illuminate
seeing through the dark
can be an impossible thing.
Wednesday Whispers
Under the Street Light
by Serena Mossgraves
the cold sets glistening
the ones that live
under the street light.
with no roof above them
the light exposes the
darkness below.
no home, no warmth,
the night is just another thing
to harry the broken soul along .
Monday Poetry
The Past
by Patricia Harris
the past is gone
forgotten,
repeating.
it leaves so many
feeling defeated.
it is not even happening
in a different way,
the past is gone...
so we will have to
live it all over again.
Wednesday Whispers
Shame
by Serena Mossgraves
sitting in the dark
thumbing though
shame drenched
memories.
Wishing I had
a light to
illuminate the
truth in what
was just me.
Monday Poetry
The Problem with the Pen
by Patricia Harris
the poetry seems to flow
when the pen is no where
within my grasp,
inspiration striking as sleep
begins to take ahold.
I wish my memory
was set to be
as perfect as writing
the words would be.
Then I would have never
lost the words that crossed
my mind you see.
Wednesday Whispers
When Death came in
by Serena Mossgraves
we welcomed him with a smile
for the cards had laid clear,
when death came in
we all awaited him.
now please don’t worry
please don’t fear,
death was not the end at all
it was the choice to start again.
when death came in
the walls would fall,
and the ghosts would be
no longer drowning us
in a waterfall made of
memories and sin.
Pattimouse 