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?
So much of poetry
Is a subjective thing…
Words, emotions,
Metaphors, and swing…
Sometimes catharsis comes
Just from the attempt
To find poetry in the way
Words come out on paper.
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.
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?
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.
Tell it True
By Patricia Harris
Without a reason
For the world to
Cover and hide,
I have found it
So much better
To just always
Tell it true.
Lying has no real
Use in the grand scheme,
Telling the truth
Means that you
Need never remember
What was said.
In putting the pen
To the paper
I may be committing
The darkest of sins,
For bleeding poetry
Is acknowledging
That the world
Yet can be used
To hurt the soul again.
It is not about the words,
The rhythm, or the verse,
It is merely about the truth
That only poetry can be
Made to let loose.
Pattimouse 