I am Human
by Patricia Harris
The best idea of who I am
is found in the mirror,
flaws showing,
Dreams weaving into a form
resembling something divine.
I am human,
with all that it might mean.
I am human,
with the whole world laid
out in front of my feet.
Splash the ink
so carelessly,
give poetry freely.
for the world deserves
the best of verse,
with no thoughts
to the what ifs and such.
poetry is another art
meant to ease the disturbed,
and so I say it should be
written with abandon
to make the world better.
Why are all the poets tortured,
The artists starved,
And that somehow makes
The world go around?
Poetry seems to heal
The tortured souls,
And so I am inclined
to think that those who
Need it most create.
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.
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.
In Between
By Patricia Harris
Finding the middle ground
In between the same thing
I have already been
And the scary thing
that I am becoming…
Seems like it will tear me apart.
The question is will you be
Right there with me
As I evolve or will I again
Find myself alone?
Perhaps the reason why
I struggle with that middle ground
Is it is not where I should be,
Evolution is the best thing
For me…
Deja Vu
By Patricia Harris
It’s funny that I feel
Like I have been here before
Standing here watching
My life walking out the door.
It’s funny that I feel
Like I said that before,
Goodbye I love you more
Than you can even know…
Is my life stuck on repeat?
An unintentional loop,
Where I stand at the edge
Wondering
If I have anything left to lose?
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.
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.
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.
Pattimouse 