RSS Feed

Tag Archives: poetry

Perspective

Birds are known for their symbolism in literature.

In my warped world, I find myself humming Bob Marley and then internally reciting lines from Poe all in the same day, and for no reason.

My point?

I don’t really know. I just realized an illustration of perspective, I guess, and probably a difference in the drugs they each used.

Poe's bird

Poe’s bird

Marley's happy little birds

Marley’s happy little birds

Perspective.

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

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

Throw Back Thursday: An Empty Space

My parents both come from fairly large families, yet growing up, there were a consistent few family members outside my immediate family that I really saw, and my Aunt Georgia and Uncle Bud were two of them (I called them Juju-Bud; I am uncertain as to the spelling because I couldn’t spell yet when I called them this… obviously, I could barely talk). My Uncle Bud passed away nearly twenty years ago now.  At that time, I wrote a poem for my Aunt Georgia.

An Empty Space
Losing someone special
leaves an empty space.
Suddenly what filled your heart
is missing from this place.
 
It seems that even when
something new enters your life,
that void in your heart
continues to cause you strife.
 
And the dear one who is lost
you can never replace.
But you always have the memories
of what once filled this empty space.
Terree L. Klaes 1995
 
I wish I had a picture of them together, or something cute from when I was little with them.  My mom has some, I'm sure.

I wish I had a picture of them together, or something cute from when I was little with them. My mom has some, I’m sure.

Almost a month ago now, my Aunt Georgia passed away.  It had been years since I had seen her, but I suddenly had memories of holidays and trips to Disney as a child, which revolved around time with my Aunt Georgia and Uncle Bud.  I now dedicate this poem to the both of them, my Juju-Bud.

Throw Back Thursday: I’m Feeling More than I Can Write

I believe this poem was written not long after I first left home to go to school.

chiro-gil.deviantart.com

chiro-gil.deviantart.com

I’m Feeling More than I Can Write
 
Nothing…
Is that what I feel?
I don’t know.
Maybe I’m scared.
Maybe I’m lonely.
I miss my old life some,
yet begin to love the new one.
But it’s not getting back to normal
the way I thought it would.
Everything has changed for me,
and nothing can I predict.
I’m moving on.
I’m changing…
being changed by my surroundings.
I’m getting tossed along,
doing what I’m forced to do.
I used to feel in control;
I chose what shaped my life.
I now welcome the unexpected,
though it scares me.
No one is here to guide me,
to show me my mistakes.
But I know I’ll make it through
this test of independence.
I am strong,
but I’m still afraid.
Each choice I now make
determines bits of my future.
Much like a puzzle,
the pieces are there.
But without the final picture,
I’m only guessing where they go.
 

Terree L. Klaes 1997

Throw Back Thursday: Sinister Eyes

A Throw Back Thursday poem from 1994, when I believe I was a high school junior.  I once attempted to translate this into Spanish for a class assignment, but I cannot find that and it was probably all wrong anyway.

Retrieved from   the-indu-drawer.deviantart.com

Retrieved from the-indu-drawer.deviantart.com

Sinister Eyes

There once was a man

with sinister eyes

that could pierce your body through

 

He lived in the darkness

in his own little world,

but longed for something more

 

There came a day

when this sinister man

knew Death was at his door

 

He tried to fight back,

but could not succeed,

then collapsed from an awful disease

 

Now his sinister eyes

are tightly shut,

his arms folded over his chest.

 

It is hard to believe

such a misfortunate man

could have such a tranquil rest.

 

Terree L. Klaes copyright 1994