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.
The end is nigh
Or so they say,
Not a chance
That it is just a
Matter of perspective.
What you consider
To be the end,
Might be a bit
Of a beginning
For the next person.
Poetry is a long forgotten art
Often seen as stagnant
Except the rare ones
That understand why
Reading poetry has
Years of dreams written in short verse.
Hope Splashes
By Patricia Harris
Heaven has nothing
On the exquisite
Pleasures found here
Earthbound.
So much of what
People stress over
Lingers in the mind
After it should be
Sent on its way.
Hope helps us
Enjoy the
Simplicity of life.
When the wind calls you home,
I hope you become poetry.
When you have nothing left to say,
I hope you write poetry.
When all in you has been turned
Into the noise of the world,
I hope you find poetry to quiet it again.
And child,
When you have naught else
That you can depend upon,
I hope you have poetry.
Pattimouse 