Memory
By Patricia Harris
It is such a funny thing
That which memory brings,
Sometimes it is just a
Sound, a smell, or a word
That triggers the return…
Other times it is a waterfall
Of sensation washing
Over the overstimulated brain.
How many ways
Can I write about
Poetry?
Holding my heart
Out on my sleeve,
My pen has more
Poetry to bleed.
Create Better
By Patricia Harris
When you find
The whole world
Is at a downward spiral,
Create Better,
Make it a place
Where hope can thrive,
Make it a place
That feels alive!
And when you feel naught
Except for doubt,
And your mind is
Full of darkness and clouds,
Create Better,
Teaching yourself
To believe that you have
All that you could ever need.
When is the poem
More form than thought?
Complicated rules
To dictate the way that
Words are written on the page.
The poet’s soul
Should not be limited
By the meter and the rhyme.
Writing poetry is
Freely bleeding on the page,
And choosing rules
Part of the time.
Love can still hurt
By Patricia Harris
Just because I love you,
And believe that I do…
That does not mean
Words slung in anger
Will not hurt all the same.
Love is not the salve
That ends all wounds
Nor the fuel that
Launches you
over the moon…
Love can be the tie
That binds if you
Actually want to spend
Trust and time.
*poet’s note: this is the prompt that I usually skip. He does it for every PAD challenge and I don’t normally know what to write. It’s always a Tuesday thing… love or anti love. This time it sparked. So… some of the prompts just hit differently at the right time.
Tears of ink
In poetry form,
Cried until the poet
No longer has tears left
With which to write.
Then what should the poet do?
Pluck out the heart and
Serve it dry?
The Birth of a Child
By Patricia Harris
For Mama the birth
Is a major event,
But who is to say
That it’s not a major
event for everyone else?
It is a moment when
The universe celebrates
A definite win.
So, every birthday is
An excellent excuse
For the universe to
Celebrate.
Writing poetry is
Just another art
Pick up the pen
And bleed the
Colors of your heart.
Your soul will be
Painted in your verse,
Clear and consise
In flowing words.
If writing poetry
Was all that I could do
Perhaps I would find
That I would find
Moments of bliss
Written in the verse.
Achieving happiness is often
So much of a wishful thinking
That when we stop to try
We often forget to do
What is needed to be done.
I think that for me
Writing verse
Might be the way
To find the happiness
I seek.
Minimum
By Patricia Harris
When is the minimum done,
Not enough to be acknowledged,
Not too much to be a overachievement,
Just a small start to what will be.
And somehow it is all the world
expects of me?
That feels so wrong,
Like I am just skating along.
If I cannot exceed
Even my own expectations
Then what is the reason
Why I should even begin?
Pattimouse 