Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
This morning I wrote a poem
about a yellow heart
pining for red fusion,
in a desperate attempt
to shake the fruit
that never
falls
And tonight I am alone
without tangerine lips
or the temptation of apple,
carefully watching familiar verses
unravel themselves
and fanatically dance around
like a final punctuation mark
or an overused cliche,
while my hands whittle metaphors
into a quick-witted instrument
sharp enough to scrape
the smeared imagery
off the sidewalk of poem,
Still I am not sorry
the fruit has not
fallen
to kiss my weary head,
it takes an overly cautious yellow
to see the perfect shade of red
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
Your tongue
suspiciously
spoke of constellations,
an unlicked sky gripping secrets
nonetheless, that mouth spat it's majesty
without ever stirring the air
proving no white stardust
really adorns
your tongue
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
I feel like a star
cast amongst this ambiguousness
of sky
and I'm hanging on
to vacant air
as all the saplings
and gawkers
slurp on lattes
and wish upon my misery
alas, when one of those whims
chooses to make itself
come true,
I'll shoot like a meteor
into nothing
but a tittle of dust
flickering
in someone else's dream
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
I am in stupid love,
a fish out of water
caught by a slimy worm.
Hooked by hunger
and evidently truth,
but this bowl is far too real
to swallow.
My freedom was stolen
and he just laughs
as I swim around
in ridiculous circles,
searching for a knob-less door.
My voice gurgles as I ask him,
Oh simple-minded fisherman,
why'd you go and snag me like that
and what did you keep me for?
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
I don't suppose
the white hums of summer
will ever out strum the blues;
but here before me,
two colors mingle
in polite harmony-
spouting about
like versed chums
over black coffee
so why do I stand here,
all cockeyed
and bashful
in these careful shades of yellow,
mulling over red
and its poignant way
of bruising my heart
a callous hue of indigo
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
Outside October perches it's little feet
upon summer's fading scenery,
replacing marigolds with mums
and swapping tiki torches
for dimly lit jack o' lanterns,
illuminating midnight
with another seasons mysterious approach
and I cannot help but wonder
if fall had a heart,
to whom would it belong
(a fallen leaf,
the moon's cycloptic eye,
or perhaps someone of human descent)
an owl gazing restlessly
at the cool, autumn sky
seems to be interrogating God
with the same, single question
who, who, who
but no one answers
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2007
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
Momma says I've got a poet's heartache
that I dally
among the gardens of malady
where briery thorns
nip at their own flimsy petals
and all the virile plants want to heal me,
but I'm saving myself
for some wild haired rose
who's only going to tear
my flowering heart........................apart
Daddy says I'm a rare bloom
with tender palms
and a golden stem,
in poetry I search for words
to bury my core within,
a tough little root
who beholds a mystical pen
that drips love for a man
she believes exists
somewhere between the lines
of her own making
But my loves,
I'm just a lonely pot
trying to fill blank space
with a poetic soil
so these veins will grow
into a substantial blossom
worth savoring
by thou gardeners
who give sun to thy soul
and a pause in time
worth reflecting
off the ground
of God's jaw dropping scenery
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2007
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
Love is not
for the weak-hearted
who fall
at the slightest gust of charm
no, it is not a fairy-tale
containing nothing but words
of white horses
and happy endings
Sometimes, love wears thorns
and cleverly hides itself
behind the gesture of a rose
or worse yet
a man with no flowers at all
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
I am offended
by your metaphors,
they're vindictive
the way they dangle themselves
above my heartstrings,
periodically plucking
when one gets tangled in the wind
they just hang there
like an untame pennon
waiting to flap
for blatant recognition
my, how you crave those squalls
with such ravenous gluttony,
gnawing at the pellucid air
as though it were chewable
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Melissa Wadkins Patterson Poem
There's something about the air in Fall,
it begets this chill inside
that longs to snuggle up with my pen
Summer is veering left
and I imagine myself rooted to the scenery,
a weeping willow
who sheds her sins
with a quick shake of the wind-
lest I peer down to find my own foliage
has settled with time,
think of all those secrets left unturned
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2010
|