
Time to pause,
As all good poetry is
but a practice of
Metered thought
and the rhythm of
how practical verse can be.
So, with genteel caution
thrown to the wind…
write bad poetry…
then pause to write
good poetry once again.

Time to pause,
As all good poetry is
but a practice of
Metered thought
and the rhythm of
how practical verse can be.
So, with genteel caution
thrown to the wind…
write bad poetry…
then pause to write
good poetry once again.

Full of pomp,
circumstance,
and prayers,
It is time to turn
the ink from tears
to the poetry
it was meant to be.
Pick up the pen,
put it to the page…
and let the verse
expose the differing
emotions that hold you
as a slave.

Is it a sin
to give gratitude
for the win?
Being able to convert
all of life's little hurts
into form and verse…
For me that is enough
to be grateful for,
that poetry exists.

Give me the pen
My brain is alight,
It is time for me
to write poetry tonight.
Perhaps I should pause
for the verse speaks
volumes and more,
but I think it solves
the internal war.

Humanity
By Patricia Harris
Define for me
That which makes us human?
The bits that keep us from
Being defined as animals
Or monster…
Remind me,
On my dark days,
That all that is within me
Is still humanity…
Even if I wonder if I ever
Was human at all?

In the middle of madness
Lay the verse,
Written down to try to explain
Something dark and perfect.
That the world can be seen
With eyes shaded by dark things,
Or overgrown with flowers
That bloom in nightshade.
All of this is just an expression
Of poetry and the truth from
What a heart can bleed.

Words detached from the heart
Spelled into the pen,
Creating from the energy given
The poetry given to the world..
Perhaps I could do something more
With the energy than shaping it
Into the verse so fair,
But the perverse nature of my heart
Says that I must make the poetry.

The words flow
To form the flower
Of poetry petals.
Though I have
Ink for a soul,
I leave petals
Of poetry
everywhere.