Under my head
By
Serena Mossgraves
the stones are poking
so painful today,
the box is broken
under my head.
I was laid down
and told to rest
in place filled with
glass from my memory
grounded.
perhaps it was supposed to be
soft silt for me to lie,
but due to the chaos of my broken life
shards of stone and hatred
are poking painfully
under my head.
Sympathy
By
Patricia Harris
lost in the notes
of overwhelming sympathy,
the pages flooding over me,
I am struck by the reality
of the dreams we leave behind.
Perhaps the story we hide
is to protect both me and you,
from the truth
we rush to headlessly.
Stained Glass burial
By
Serena Mossgraves
bury the urge
in my soul,
to be perfect.
I am broken glass
from a stained glass window
only in the shades of gray.
Crimson drops reveal
the fault lines
that deeply carve into
the soul released across
eternity .
the November pad will be 2 poems a day for me and I have been doing well with my Drawtober posts. so I wondered if I should do the posts like that or like the current Monday /Wednesday poetry posts ?
Samhain
By
Patricia Harris
Rolling pumpkins
glowing eyes,
decaying leaves,
admist costumery…
candy sacks in tiny hands
haunting the streets
until the nights end.
The veil is thinned
on this night of revelry,
It brings the ancestors
to weave the joy into
all that might be .
Poetry is designed for politics. Have you read mine?
Decompose
By
Serena Mossgraves
Don’t know what is
Eating at me,
Clawing into my soul…
Opening up my
Memories at the end of the knife.
Pretending that I will be
Okay after all is
Said and done…
Eventually.
My Wings
By
Patricia Harris
my wings were clipped
before I had grown
strong enough to fly…
so I crashed as they said I would
crawling upon the ground
trying to reach home once more …
I had to recreate my wings
from the bones of the soul
they burned within.
Breaking Down
By
Serena Mossgraves
the news speaks
of another death,
a child found in tragedy,
and the thought begins
that society is
breaking down.
perhaps it is but the symptom
of the design,
a disease of the collective mind.
darkness seeping from each corner ,
so the only ones that see
the ones that suffer,
are the childlike.
Society is
breaking down
and not a soul
notices…
I turned the page
By
Patricia Harris
As I expected the world
To be a story worth reading,
When I found that I was
Not enjoying the day…
I turned the page.
The story is going to be
One that I chose to write,
And if I am ready to with
nothing to stop me,
I turned the page.
Pattimouse 