Tag: poetry is not dead

P.A.D Day One

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2024-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-1

Ars Poetica Returns

Poetry
I don’t know if you remember, but in April I was posting daily from a poetry volume about poetry. I am going to be returning to that as one of the PAD challenges. I will be Posting it directly to the blog. Here’s today’s poem.

How strange it feels
to pick up the pen,
with the intent to write.
As if I could peel away my skin
and let poetry see the light.

Exposure of the soul
in a way that few would
understand,
leaving my pen sitting limp
suddenly in my once so eager hands.

I feel like it should not stop me
the idea that I might be misunderstood,
instead I will let flower the words
and see if I can find the art within.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Samhain

By

Patricia Harris

Rolling pumpkins
glowing eyes,
decaying leaves,
admist costumery…
candy sacks in tiny hands
haunting the streets
until the nights end.

The veil is thinned
on this night of revelry,
It brings the ancestors
to weave the joy into
all that might be .


Monday Poetry

Poetry

I turned the page

By

Patricia Harris

As I expected the world
To be a story worth reading,
When I found that I was
Not enjoying the day…
I turned the page.

The story is going to be
One that I chose to write,
And if I am ready to with
nothing to stop me,
I turned the page.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Trading with the fae

By

Patricia Harris

They told me
They could take my pain
And steal it away.

Trading with the fae
Is worse than
Dealing with the devil
Any day.

The promises made
Are sweeter than sugar,
And the result is naught
But disappointment.

Wednesday whisper

Wednesday whisper
Poetry

What the Dead Know

By

Serena Mossgraves

Regrets add weight 
To the soul,  
Leaving knowledge 
Of what life has been  
Stripped away 
From all that was  
Worthwhile.  

 Instead of fighting with 
What the Dead know,  
The living should be  
Thinking about how  
To live instead.

Wednesday whisper

Poetry

Hell

By

Serena Mossgraves

I read somewhere
That Hell was a place
Of fire and suffering,
I think not.

Hell is familiar,
That place you go
over and over again.

Hell is repetition,
and unending.

Hell is the moment
where the pain feels
the most like home.

Perhaps there might
be suffering,
but in the moment
would you see it so?
Or would you merely accept
that this is all you have
ever really known?

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Singularity

By

Patricia Harris

Perhaps I am not the person
I thought I would be,
So like everyone else.

Perhaps I am but a
singularity,
a lost note
in a song sung
by the divine.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

He is not My friend

By

Patricia Harris

He said he was my buddy,
My brother, my bestie,
Anything to get me closer.
He wanted me to want more,
Wanted me hooked on
What he had in store.

He is not my friend,
He is the chills in the
Middle of the night,

He is not my friend,
He is the last minute
Need to fight.

He is not my friend,
He is my dealer.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

In wildflower fields

By

Patricia Harris

when you come traveling
through the fields of flowers
pick ones far from tame
and lose yourself…

For getting lost in
The fields of wildflower
Is a music to the mind
that allows you to leave
all of your stress and worry behind.