Wasteland of the heart
By Patricia Harris
Perhaps dystopian tales
Have it all wrong,
The apocalypse will not be
Some huge global catastrophe…
Instead I think that
It is going to be
A slow decay of the social
Heart and mind.
That has already begun
With man no longer caring for
The fellow man…
The wasteland of the heart
Has already started to form
With the world not decaying
Just falling apart silently
From within.
When does all of the noise
Become poetry again?
The darkness seems to
Overwhelm the senses,
Making poetry seem
harder to hear
Harder to write…
But eventually
The cracks let in
The light.
Poetry will return
When it is given
Time to flow.
Tropes
By Patricia Harris
Writing based
on the expectation
Is harder to explore
The openness of creativity.
Tropes in poetry
Tend to be
Writing love
And nature poems.
I’m not a poet
That leans towards
The tropes to hold
My writing up.
No two poems are the same
Even if written by the same hand.
Because the poet sees
The day differently
With eyes shaded by the
March of time.
So instead of worrying about
Why the poetry is different,
Perhaps the best thing to do
Is enjoy each poem
Individually.
My Best
By Patricia Harris
As I ramble,
I gathered praise
But all I could hear
Was the need to improve,
Because I thought all that they saw
Was the flair in my eyes.
So I lifted my collar
And set myself up
I was going to do more
Until I was not able to bear it.
Though I had already
Done my best.
When the poetry
Doesn’t flow
What is the poet
Supposed to know?
For if your whole world
Is built on verse
Then what could be
Any worde
Than the lack of words?
When Hope Ends
By Patricia Harris
The beginning of all things
Is when we decide that hope ends.
Because Hope is the thing
That keeps alive the what ifs.
Realism means that you look
at what life offers
and don’t look away
when hope ends and the world
shows you the darkness
in sway.
Pick up your Pen
open the vein
enter the memory
through the ink again
you are the art, poet.
Regrets
By Patricia Harris
In the moment when you seek
a reprieve from your own mind
or the uneasiness of your own skin…
that is when regrets sneak in.
The emotional toll is heavy indeed,
for regrets are weighty when the
soul is most in need of relief.
*Poet’s Note…Though I have been Keeping up with the PAD Challenge…I failed to post yesterday. I apologize. My Daughter is very ill, and I have been trying to keep up. I was at the ER most of the Day yesterday.
Can one write themselves
In verses open?
Poetry is supposed
To be such a good device
For showing the truth
Without saying it plain…
And I have to wonder
If it would work for
Description of the complexity
Of self and identity?
Or is poetry only a tool
To describe the truth
When it comes to playing
With politics or something
Along the similar vein?
Pattimouse 