Sickness
By Patricia Harris
Though I have no reason
Why I can’t do what I need done,
Today I feel like the sickness
Has won.
On the day
When I have
So much to do…
And I don’t have time
To just be laying down
Struggling through…
That is when my body gives in.
Pick up the pen,
Bleed the verse.
Try to find the best
Words again.
Perhaps repeat
The actions to find
The answer life has to give,
But each poem is different.
Living
By Patricia Harris
Living,
Unlike dying,
Is a way to
Splash hope
everywhere.
Dying is the end,
No way to start
The attempt again…
Living allows you
To pivot to another
Direction for the
Light to shine on.
What is poetry for?
Poetry is to heal the broken,
Poetry is to reach the disturbed…
Poetry is to give wings
To those who are falling
Into the pits of despair.
What else is poetry for?
Poetry is to comfort those
Who are desperate
In need of a dream
In written form.
Poetry is to let
Those who have
Suffered know that
They are not alone
In this world.
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.
How many ways
Can I write about
Poetry?
Holding my heart
Out on my sleeve,
My pen has more
Poetry to bleed.
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.
Pattimouse 