Word Jazz

inspired by CabbagesandKings

By Patricia Harris ©2017

Word Jazz
Not structured
Poetic improv

Pieced together
Thoughts, emotions,
Smiles and tears.

Word song,
Spilled soul
To paper
Spilled mind
To sight.

Eclectic,
And smooth.
Energetic,
Makes the heart move.

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Poetry, rules and rebellion

I have a confession…writing poetry with certain constraints has always made me antsy. I have felt like I was somehow not good enough to write following the rules. So, I have written copious amounts of free verse…avoiding the structure of any fotms.

Then, as I grew as a writer and a poet, I found myself saying I don’t write that way too often. Well why the Hell not? Am I a Poet? Or do I just pretend I am?

So, when presented with a form/structure poem idea, I start by looking up the rules. For me, this is my go to site.

Believe me, I feel like a high school student again. In high school I knew the rules and felt my style was better as free verse. I think that if anyone tried to tell me that I needed to follow rules with my poetry I even would blow it off with poetic license.

The rebel nature of free verse still appeals. I will likely never be the next Haiku or Sonnet genius. Poetry speaks from the heart, and mine is often chaotic and unstructured. The meaning remains though.

So, just out of curiousity, what is your favorite types of poetry? Why?

Rain

By Patricia Harris ©2017

Even perfect days
can end in rain,
Soft mists that barely cover
Or wrenching downpours
That wash away
The emotional bubble.

Dancing in the wet,
Playing with the moment
Much as a child unsupervised.
Pretending that all
Our troubles are forgot,
Yes, even a perfect day
Can end in rain.

Rain, though it symbolizes
Dreary, dark moments
Can bring a pause,
A simple time to let go,
To play as the clocks hands
Move across the tic tocking
Of adulthood.

Release,
Allowing joy to wash off
Stress, pain, tension,
And then to leave us
In a forgotten moment
In the lost minutes of
Childhoods hour.

Journals,  diaries and the journey of the damaged mind. 

        Lately,  I have been trying to do an exercise for my brain in the morning called ‘morning pages ‘. Basically brain vomit put in physical form. This helps me to clear the crap that weighs me down,  and recognize my problems so that I can address them. It actually is helping.  I used to understand the power of keeping a diary… Unfortunately people happened.  Said people used those diaries against me.  So I got out of the habit. I stopped listening to the internal therapist.  And the result?  I have a fair amount of issues that bind my self esteem in a knot.  So by starting to do this at least one time each day,  I am going to see so much of what garbage is buried in my brain.  And I will see what I am able to start working through.  I will be improving who I am.  

        Today I found that I was feeling like a failure because I was not juggling the numerous hats I wear as well as I want to.  Today I was kicking ass as a mom,  but my writing was not going as well as I wanted it to.  I rocked as a friend and I even did decent as a housewife.  But I was doing poorly as a crafter and small business owner.  I was an amazing artist but I felt that I was not a wonderful person…. Now… Read this again.  Today I was amazing but I did not feel like it. That is the place where the exercise helps.  We have to change how we see the world if we want to change the way it sees us. 

     What’s something that you can adjust your way of thinking about?  And how can you use it to make your world brighter? 

Life stories 

    How many times have you found yourself thinking about the past? I am guilty of doing it often.  We are all a collection of stories,  some that we do not tell.  The reason why we don’t varies some,  depending upon the story. Some we are ashamed of,  some we think are going to be boring to the world around us. 

         I am finding out that sometimes those stories are more interesting than we realize. I try to be open about my history and tell my stories,  but some of them do not really sit on the mind as something that I need to tell. Yet,  each of them are a part of who I am.  I am a unique individual who has seen some of the darkness that lives in the heart of man.  I am a survivor who has learned to make do with what I have. And I am a woman who has seen both good and bad,  and came through it ready to try to tell my stories. I don’t know if I will ever be able to write all of the stories of a life survived,  or even if I should.  Not all of my mistakes are ones that any one would learn from… Even me.  Still for now,  I will attempt to continue to dribble my story in small gushes to this blog,  and to my poetry.  Perhaps my journey will aid those who stumble across my words. 

Stranger than fiction 

My life has been unusual to say the least. I am not sure that I have it in me to tell every story of a crazy life lived with survival in mind. I have told some of my story. And I will likely tell more.  Still tonight I was talking to other writers in a get to know you kind of way.  I realized that to an outsider my life sounds like fiction. 

      Which is fine,  it is what made me. I have seen the monsters that hide behind the eyes of men. I learned how to survive,  after living with no running water and living homeless. I learned how to be adaptable for living with moving often during formidable years. Still learning.  I am now learning how to see my own worth through the eyes of amazing women who see me as being worthwhile.  They are strong and creative with amazing talent.  And I am a part of this group.  Over the next six months I will be in the Fiction expedition hosted by the amazing Debbie Burns.  By the end of it I will have Rust,  Gore,  and the Junkyard Zombie ready for my editor’s lovely care.