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Jami Patterson Poem
In the hush between midnight and memory,
I drift—untethered, yet bound by the weight
Of an anchor, cold and silent, at my ankle,
Sinking me softly into an ocean of night.
The water is velvet, the darkness complete,
Yet I dream, I wander, I hope—
For above, far above where the moon used to be,
A single light burns, unshaken, remote.
I reach, as if my arms were made of longing,
Straining past shadows, through currents that pull,
Eyes fixed on that distant illumination—
A promise, a beacon, a fragment of soul.
Sometimes I wonder if the night will claim me,
If the anchor’s embrace will become all I know,
But even as I sink, hope floats beside me—
Whispering, “Rise. Let the light make you whole.”
For the light in the dark is the dream I keep chasing,
A shimmer that breaks through the black of the deep,
And though I am heavy with sorrow and waiting,
I reach for the light—and the light reaches me.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
Ode to the Ocean
All-encompassing, a vast blue might,
Billions of droplets, reflecting light.
Coral castles, where sea creatures roam,
Deepest trenches, a mysterious home.
Ever-moving, with rhythmic sway,
Fresh ocean breezes, greet each new day.
Glistening surface, a mirror so clear,
Haunting echoes, for all who draw near.
Immense and ancient, full of lore,
Joyful dolphins, leap from the shore.
Kelping forests, where life can thrive,
Luminous plankton, keeping dreams alive.
Mysteries hidden, in depths unknown,
Nature's grandeur, beautifully shown.
Onward currents, tirelessly flow,
Pristine waters, a mesmerizing glow.
Quiet whispers, from waves on the sand,
Rich biodiversity, across every land.
Salty essence, a taste of the wild,
Tidal surges, powerfully compiled.
Underwater wonders, a breathtaking sight,
Vast and vital, shining so bright.
Wild and free, where horizons extend,
Xenial waters, where life entwines.
Yearning spirits, forever it calls,
Zephyrs dancing, as each wave falls.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
Would it Have Ended Differently?
One
Raindrop falls,
Bare feet on stone.
Her silence, rain-soaked halls,
Prayers drift with the drizzle.
Candles flicker, uncertain, dim.
Her robe clings, damp against her skin,
Questions weep from the sodden silence.
If belief had bloomed, would she remain?
Or did her path always dissolve in rain?
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
A hush of gray descends, the world outside a blur
Of weeping glass and dancing leaves, a gentle stir.
The scent of wet earth and cooled pavement climbs the air,
As warmth from a steaming cup soothes away all care.
In her hands, a porcelain hug, the tea's floral grace,
Sweet steam whispers against the skin of her face.
The book on her knees, a weight of stories untold,
Its paper scent, a comfort, a history to hold.
The rhythmic drum of rain against the pane,
A soft, percussive melody to wash away the pain.
Each drop a tiny echo of a memory long past,
A life unfolding, too beautiful to ever last.
A sip of warmth, a bitter-sweet and soothing brew,
A taste of all the moments she has ever been through.
The cool ceramic on her palms, a solid, gentle feel,
The world outside is fading, but this moment is so real.
She closes her eyes and listens to the low hum,
The quiet symphony of the world she's come from.
The taste of tea, the smell of rain, the warmth within her soul,
The past and future merge to make her present whole.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
The old Ford's hum on a road so long
Every mile's a memory, where I don't belong
Left this town with a song in my soul
Never thought I'd lose all my control
The doctor's voice, a whisper of a storm
Shook the ground and left my spirit torn
So I came back home, where the fields are green
To a ghost of a girl I used to be
Now the steeple bell rings on a Sunday mornin'
A sound I haven't heard since I was a girl
It's a lonely kind of hope that keeps me goin'
A faded map to a different kind of world
'Cause I'm trying to find God in the space between
The what-ifs and the what-should've-beens
On this hard ground, where the truth feels real
I'm just praying for a faith I used to feel
Mama's front porch swing, it creaks the same tune
Underneath a pale and worried moon
She says, "Honey, just pray, He'll hear your plea"
But the words catch fire in the long, dark night in me
Used to talk to Him easy, like a trusted friend
Didn't know it was a road that could just end
Now I'm just a whisper in a silent hall
Wondering if He's listening at all
'Cause the steeple bell rings on a Sunday mornin'
A sound I haven't heard since I was a girl
It's a lonely kind of hope that keeps me goin'
A faded map to a different kind of world
"Cause I'm trying to find God in the space between
The what-ifs and the what-should've-beens
On this hard ground, where the truth feels real
I'm just praying for a faith I used to feel
The creek still runs behind the Baptist church
Where I used to sing with a simple purpose
Now I'm down here kicking stones in the stream
Trying to find a piece of a broken dream
Yeah, I'm just trying to find God
In this faded little town
Before the last light goes down
Before the last light goes down
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
My chest once was grand, full and Doule D,
A great weight, now a painful memory.
They felt always too much,
Beyond my light touch,
Now gone, lost to cruel oncology.
The diagnosis brought fear and such pain,
A life-altering, dark, heavy rain.
They were taken to save,
From a disease that did crave,
A sorrowful, permanent bane.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
In the quiet of a morning
where sunlight spills over the edges of dreams,
I catch a glimpse of the lost-
a girl with tangled hair,
a heart wrapped in a paper-thin shell,
her laughter still echoing in the stillness,
suspended like dust in a sunbeam.
She wanders through hallways of mirrors,
each reflection a question,
each scar a story,
the fabric of her skin stitched with shadows
that whisper of battles fought in silence.
What does it mean to be whole
when the pieces slip through fingers
like sand through an hourglass?
Outside, the world unfurls,
a carnival of colors,
the pink of cotton candy,
the blush of cherry blossoms swaying,
yet she feels like a ghost
wandering a landscape painted in grayscale,
wondering if she is the canvas or the brush,
the artist or the art.
In moments of stillness,
the heart beats louder than reason,
and she gathers the fragments,
the shards of herself scattered
like leaves in autumn winds,
wondering if she can stitch them back
into a tapestry bright enough
to warm the coldest nights.
But time, that relentless tide,
pulls and pushes,
inviting the tides of despair and delight,
and she learns to cradle her imperfections,
each flaw a petal in a bouquet
that blooms in defiance of the storm.
Perhaps it is enough,
to stand in the center of the chaos,
to breathe in the cacophony of life,
to know that even the broken
can sing a song of resilience,
a melody woven from the threads of wounds,
the chorus of "I am enough"
echoing through the valleys of doubt.
So she lifts her chin,
gazes at the horizon stretching,
the sun a promise,
the clouds a canvas,
and in that moment,
understanding unfurls like wings,
the weight of wonder
lifting her toward the vastness-
that to be imperfect is to be beautifully alive.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
She drifted past the spiral arms in white,
A shadow snuffing galaxies to dark.
She held the dying pulsars to her breast,
Like children, singing chaos into sleep.
"Do not be frightened," hummed to worlds of ice,
"The dark is velvet-deep, you are not lost."
She swept the dust of nations into glass,
Preserving lovers' vows before they broke.
There is a beauty in the sudden halt,
Perfection in the stop, like gravity
That waits to catch the ocean in its fall.
She severed light from heat, and form from mass,
A cold tranquility beneath the storm.
So infinite her mercy, grace so strange,
She wiped the seat of life from Nature's face.
For eons she has walked, the gardener,
Who plucks the solar systems like a bloom.
She does not take with malice or with hate,
She only opens wide the iron door.
And now she stands before your yellow sun,
To answer with a kiss the final call.
You tremble at her silence?
Fear the end?
You think she brings the night to kill the stars?
She weeps to see you breathe, knowing the truth.
She is not here to hollow out your soul;
She kills you now to save you from the Hunger.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2026
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Jami Patterson Poem
I. The CPU and the Case
My operating system is still 2.0, clean and fast,
A thousand tabs of future plans still run, no lag, no crash.
I'm streaming content, building worlds, the code I write is gold,
My digital footprint is massive, stories yet untold.
The avatar I manage, young and sharp, it holds the line,
A legend in the group chat, witty, zero downtime.
My mind’s a super-server, processing at the speed of light,
Still running on the impulse, ready for the midnight fight.
I've got the data, the perspective, the analysis is sound,
I know the angles, know the hustle, planted on solid ground.
But then I wake. The body is the case, and it's stone cold.
The chassis is obsolete, a decade too old.
The knee joint is an error code, the hip a silent ping,
The neck is frozen solid, refusing all I bring.
My brain sends high-speed fibers, urging: “Run the marathon!
Go viral! Hit the gym! Stay relevant until the dawn!”
The body answers with a stutter, a low-battery alert,
My physical bandwidth is throttled, every movement hurts.
I’m a flawless cloud environment trapped in a slow PC,
My spirit screams in 4K, but the screen is just a tiny three-inch tee.
II. The Broken Wi-Fi Signal
I try to move the laundry basket, my Everest today,
A forty-pound deadlift that my younger self would play
As a light warm-up set, barely a footnote in the log.
Now, every pull is leveraged by a thick, internal fog.
I think to launch myself up, quick as a dopamine spike,
To grab the high shelf item with a confident, strong strike,
But gravity's a troll now, throwing shade on every step,
A mandatory firewall against the promises I kept.
I’m scrolling through the fitness blogs, the Hacks and Routines they sell,
Convincing myself I can still master the youthful spell.
I punch the numbers in my app, the calories and reps I need,
The will is 5G fiber, guaranteed to succeed!
But when I hit the 'Go' button, the network drops the ball,
The muscles are on dial-up, refusing the service call.
I feel the hiss of the slow leak, the pressure starting to decline,
My hardware's running hotter, past the critical design line.
The map in my head is perfect, the GPS is locked,
But the tires are worn and flat, the engine's blocked and knocked.
III. The Forced Logout
Then comes the call, the face on FaceTime, clear and sharp and kind,
The one who monitors the flaws the aging cannot find.
They see the mess I can’t admit, the struggle I deny,
The slight tremor in my hand as I attempt a casual lie.
“I’ve got it handled, trust me, I’m good to go, I swear,”
I send the standard defense message, breathing thinner air.
They see the check-engine light I tried to clear with pride,
The truth that no amount of filters can effectively hide.
To have the brilliant mind, the soul that burns so fiercely still,
Yet need the help just to get dressed, to manage the steep hill—
It’s the final, brutal update, the terms I must accept:
That the high-spec body I was given, I could not have kept.
I am the CEO who’s lost control, the brilliant, fallen star,
My legend is still vibrant, but it’s running from afar.
I’m a mainframe powerful, but the power grid is down.
I fought the feeling, fought the thought, and scowled and wore a frown,
But the signal’s weak, the system’s failed, the error code is clear:
The warrior’s battery is fading, the forced shutdown is near.
I am a god in memory, a fire that won't die,
But now I must surrender the impossible, and simply cry:
“Initiate protocol: Help.”
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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Jami Patterson Poem
I step beyond my front door, shoes brushing dew
And the air is crisp, familiar-something old, something new.
The sky unfolds in pale gold, the sparrows sing the same tune,
And I swear, I've wandered here before, beneath the waking moon.
Sunlight dapples over lawns just as it always does,
Neighbors wave, dogs bark, the world's gentle hum abuzz.
Every scent, each rustle, is a whisper from the past:
The rustling trees greet me-echoes that forever last.
My feet trace the sidewalk cracks, memory's soft parade,
I know the way the breeze feels, the shifting light and shade.
Deja vu in every heartbeat, in every glance I steal-
It seems, like yesterday, this day was wholly real.
Yet, as I wander outward, with wonder and with grace,
I find new meaning hidden in every time-worn place.
Perhaps I've lived this day before, or dreamed it in the night,
But outside, in the morning sun, the world feels just as right.
Copyright © Jami Patterson | Year Posted 2025
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