RSS Feed

Category Archives: poetry

Tiny Poems

Sometimes you get a few lines of rhyme in your head and you just have to get them on paper. But then that’s it. What do you do with them? I don’t know, but here are a few of mine:

The mirror on the wall

It never lies

It reflects my fears

and all the lies

Jan 10, 1998

Will you be my resting place,

When my days are long?

Pick me up and carry me,

When I’m not so strong?

March 12, 1998

i’m drowning in a pool of misery

all i am and want to be

suffocating, i cannot breathe

the undertow, kills me

3-11-98

What a pretty calamity!

A beloved gone to waste…

Who would have given it all up

For just one little taste…

…yet now in solitude.

10-8-98

I still have dreams of you,

Nightmares actually.

But I can’t change that past,

It’s now a part of me.

11-28-98

Soothing thoughts stroke my brain,

Promising to rid all my pain

3-?-99

I wish I could get away from myself,

Spend a day in the life of someone else

Spring ’99

Make me believe

in make-believe

While you hold

My heart in your hands

Spring ’99

All of the above poems were obviously written by me, Terri Klaes Harper

Throw Away Children

In the last couple months, I’ve been questioned as to why I haven’t been, and urged to begin again, to write. It is something I love to do, so why has it been so hard?

I finally figured it out. Writing is my release of feelings, and I’ve been keeping some in for far too long. The result, my constipated writing. Why should I hold back any longer? If I want to write again, I think I need to let this go.

Throw Away Children

I pray daily that I can forgive you for what you've done,
but so far that battle has not easily been won.
Did your advisors tell you a new one would "validate" tossing the others
 aside?
Are you hoping maybe you can actually do this one right? Yeah, right!
In raising your sweet little girl, according to her, I became her mother.
And with my parents raising your son, does that make him my brother?
The kids don't need or ask of you now and probably won't even past twenty,
So if you love them at all, leave them alone as the damage you've 
 inflicted is plenty
You should try to walk sometime in someone else's shoes,
though it's clear the only ones that concern you belong to you.
You affect concern and dole out unwarranted, nonsense advice,
but they haven't even seen you in Christmases thrice.
You thought they'd think your not wanting them, yet starting over with 
 another would be good news?
An obvious piece of evidence of the good your exit from their lives now
 proves.
Some things, believe it or not, are more important than eating bananas
Or the price of avocados in Florida.

dsc_0453Terri Klaes Harper 2017

Oh, and congratulations on being so tolerant, you know, except when it 
came to raising your own kids.

I Would Take You Everywhere

I’ve never really considered myself much of a poet, but sometimes I just have to write them. No judging my first draft, but here goes…

I Would Take You Everywhere

I long to show you the world,
so you can understand its diversity,
and know of all the beauty
God created for us to see.
Your sense of wonder and adventure
deserves a chance to experience more
than this small corner of the world
can ever provide your mind.
If you were mine forever,
I could take you by car,
by train, plane, or boat
To learn of the lands you ponder
But if I cannot take you
by land, air, or sea,
Travel there by books, my Dear,
Passports to adventure anywhere.
Don't let anyone tear down your dreams,
or tell you they're sorry but they just cannot be.
I see you for who you are,
and its more than some will ever see.

My Writer’s Block Poem

so just write

I haven’t really done much poetry in years. Somehow the perfect storm of discussing writer’s block and reading the poetry of a few talented kids made the following today:

I can’t start to finish

when I can’t even begin.

Lack of inspiration

may be all in my head.

But I can’t seem to find the words

to get me through a line.

Do I have it in me,

to write a verse this time?

Empty words are dulling me.

Nothing now has meaning.

I don’t want to be a writer

with no substance, no feeling.

With my head in my hands,

I let out a monstrous moan.

Yet somehow I have done it.

I have written this poem.

 

Terri Klaes Harper

Copyright 2015

TBT: Words are Life

Cleaning our home office has yielded the discovery of many treasures, such as this poem. I had long forgotten its existence, but when I found it, I remembered the point when I came to the epiphany that in neglecting my writing, I had neglected a part of who I am. It’s not always easy to find time to write, and the world around me often leaves me unable to sneak in even a few sentences, but I need it as often as I can. I need words.

Words…

wrought with anger,

dripping with tears,

pure intensity.

 

The salvage of me.

And who am I?

Don’t you see?

 

I am Frankenstein’s creation…

dead pieces melded together.

Now bring me to life!

 

A perversion of self,

no longer who I used to be.

Now bring me to life!

 

Can I again use words

to find my inner self?

Can words bring me back to life?

 

My soul has no voice.

My heart bereft of inspiration.

I need the words…life.

 

Terri L. Harper

Copyright 2005

words poem

TBT: Random Poetry Bits

I have notebooks and folders scattered and tucked into dark places throughout my house, and most of the time, I forget they exist. I’ve been on a cleaning and organizing binge as of late, and I have found odd, mysterious little treasures. Many writers save everything we’ve ever written, not so much because we really like most of it, but because we figure there’s a chance some of it will strike inspiration into us later.

I don’t know how inspiring these little bits of poems actually are, and I have no recollection of actually writing them, though it is undeniable that this handwriting belongs to me. Perhaps there never was an occasion for the words, but rather an idea for characters in a story I locked in the back of my mind. I don’t even have any clues to when I may have written them. Anyway, here they are, just for fun.

Sweet and serene,

I found an old photo of you and me.

Nobody knew back then

How close we were to

stumbling

off 

the 

edge.

…and…

The silent waif of yearning

hungers for a gentle word,

a soft caress of love,

to help stop the mourning.

200!

It’s my 200th post, and I’m cheating.  I guess I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not.  Honestly, I have so much going on in my head right now I know I should be writing it out, but I just can’t articulate it yet, for several reasons. so in the meantime, I’m sharing an old poem I wrote in 1995.

Life Is Like a Box of Chocolates
 
Life is like a rose when it slowly blooms.
The bud is childhood
Closed tightly. Unaware.
And innocent.
 
One petal at a time it opens.
At this stage
Life is delicate. Hopeful.
And frightening.
 
In full bloom life is at its peak.
This is the time
To live.  Happily.
And beautifully.
 
Finally the rose is doen with life.
Old age and death.
The rose turns brown.  Withers.
And petals fall.
 
 
-Terree L. Klaes—
1995