Just when I felt my most alone,
Lost from my soul, unknown,
That is when discovery came.
Teaching me,
Learning how to lean in,
Learning to accept love
Growing, evolving.
Welcoming the arms
Of unconditional
Support wrapping
Self doubt,
Carrying the dream
Carrying the need
To be known.
Each one a star,
Shining brightly in
The darkness of the night
Of a soul lost and forlorn.
Stretching across the chasm
Of eternity.
By Patricia Harris ©2017
Even perfect days
can end in rain,
Soft mists that barely cover
Or wrenching downpours
That wash away
The emotional bubble.
Dancing in the wet,
Playing with the moment
Much as a child unsupervised.
Pretending that all
Our troubles are forgot,
Yes, even a perfect day
Can end in rain.
Rain, though it symbolizes
Dreary, dark moments
Can bring a pause,
A simple time to let go,
To play as the clocks hands
Move across the tic tocking
Of adulthood.
Release,
Allowing joy to wash off
Stress, pain, tension,
And then to leave us
In a forgotten moment
In the lost minutes of
Childhoods hour.
©Patricia Harris 2017
I shed my wings for you,
Tearing free each piece of
That which made me.
Ripping out blood and bone
To become that which
You have always known.
Making sure that I could
Never again take to the wind,
For to become the one
You imagined that I would be.
I shed my wings for you,
And then you turned away,
You said goodbye.
I am pleased to claim 19 of the 24 prompts given for the marathon. I have 20 poems now for Literary Drops. I hope to be publishing it in December.
Recently I asked for advice on my poetry… And it got me thinking. The advice was given that I need to add smilies and metaphors in my poetry, because there is no poetry with out it. Now mind you I added some images, but some poems just do not work with either. I feel like I am missing something by refusing to accept that all poetry must have either of the two options. But, then I start to question… Who is writing the poem?
Yes, I employ both in my poems, but not always. Some poems are just emotions in written form. If all poetry was just comparison then where is the original ideas? Images do not have to be a comparison to be evocative. Sometimes the more you compare the emotional state with something else, the more you lose of the original idea.
Do not get me wrong… I am grateful for the opinions offered, after all it made me look closer at what I was writing and add more imagery. I however am not sure that I am willing to completely change my voice because it doesn’t fit another person’s idea of what poetry should be.
What do you expect when you read poems? Which of the poetry styles /rules are a hard and fast thing for you? Please do respond. I would love to discuss this idea further.
Bare feet
And heavy dreams.
Atop the sky,
Life was eternal it seems.
Hidden forts,
Behind bleachers,
In the trees.
Running about pretending
That we would always be,
Friends and dreamers
In infinity.
Innocence a haze,
Setting the tone,
Childhood a state
Best when not alone.
Another day,
Just like the
one before.
Freedom a lie,
In the land of
the free.
Stolen from life,
Forced to live
this strife.
No longer human,
A bought toy
Forced to endure.
No one sees
What is left of me.
Nothing remaining
Except a commodity.
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The next time you see me
I will have changed,
Even if it is only a day
In between.
The next time you see me
My views of the world
Will have taken me
Down places that I may not
Even be able to explain.
The next time
you see me
Wish me well,
As I will you…
For you can never know
When the next time
You see me will
Be our last.
I wrote it all down,
All the hate, anger,
All the pain, emotional drain.
I wrote in ink on paper,
As if that made it less real.
I included the ecstasy,
And all the joy.
Then I folded it as small
As I possibly could,
So it would take less space.
I hid it in a box,
Away in some forgotten place.
The paper keeps the memory
That I was unable to truly bear,
Stored away from having to care.
You claim love equality,
With words that
match nothing
Of reality.
You still fail to understand,
I want nothing given from
A hesitant hand.
Tis not material
Items I desire,
Nor any attachments
Grand of wealth.
Reach for me just once
And tell me honestly,
That you are interested
To learn who I am,
Truthfully.
Parenting isn’t about
wealth or greed,
Or the material
That you can give.
Knowing one well,
Ignoring the other is
Just seriously unkind.
Pattimouse 