The Language of Poetry
by Patricia Harris
it seems like poetry
is so out of reach,
the language oft
dark and deep.
the poet's soul
broken into metaphor
and need,
written in a language
only the heart can read.
Monday Poetry
Category: poetry
Wednesday Whispers
Pull the strings
by Serena Mossgraves
The political voice
spreading propaganda
is putting more darkness
out across the land.
It is time again for us
to light up the world
with a creative plan.
Turn on the light,
spread joy as far
as you can.
pull the strings
on the last lamp
and illuminate the lies
before they take hold.
Monday Poetry
The Mood has changed
by Patricia Harris
I can see
the shift in your mood,
the intensity
of things falling in place.
building the moment
stone by stone,
the mood has changed
and so have you.
from the way
you are stacking
the emotions up like bricks...
the wall is so nearly built.
Wednesday Whispers
The Veil
by Serena Mossgraves
the dead don't see,
the light removed.
The illumination is
taken as the soul leaves.
The veil is pulled
to blind the soul
and the grief blinds
those left alive.
Monday Poetry
Hidden Within Books
by Patricia Harris
everything is in chaos,
political awareness
is enough to drive most of us
to the brink of death...
so I have decided that I will be found
hidden within my books,
hidden from the news,
hidden from the fear...
hidden in worlds written
to create personal peace.
in a time when dystopia
is current events,
I will choose fantasy,
romance and poetry...
to carry me away.
It is time again
I actually waited longer than I usually do. Lost Notes is completely written and scheduled for release. I usually ask 5 or 6 poems from being done. Help me to choose the next volume?
Wednesday Whispers
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.
Monday Poetry
Identity
by Patricia Harris
Who am I, Really?
Hiding behind labels,
Lost in pretending
I understand who
I am supposed to be.
There was a time
When I was sure
Of who I wanted to be,
No labels, no questions,
just me and who I wanted to be...
Age has changed me
adding fear, adding wear and tear...
adding the questions
and the lost identity
that I find the need to chase.
Wednesday Whispers
Corset
by Serena Mossgraves
strangling
I struggle to breathe,
the tightness nearly
breaking me...
pull the strings,
tighter still,
for vanity demands
the corset drawn
to bone tight.
Monday Poetry
Perhaps forgetting is better
by Patricia Harris
Lost memories seem
to weave the idea of grief
into daily life,
speeding the thoughts
through the loom making
the blanket of heaviness
to weigh on the mind.
Perhaps forgetting is better,
a feather instead of stone...
the moment left alone
when the weight is less
on the shoulders than
Atlas knows.
Pattimouse 