#Photography

Shattered Reflections

~ Patricia Tsouros ~ Leave a comment

 

Calligraphing en l' air #6

Like billowing branches

In a thundering tempest

Swinging

Back and forth

Going nowhere

My senses numbed

I scream louder and louder

The pain ripping into

The flesh of my throat

Clasping, gasping for harmony

My screams trail off

To nowhere

I sit up and turn on the light

Questions howling at my thoughts

No gentle whispers in the raging ponderings

My hair whisked

Around my sweat-streaked face

Fear pressed in close

My lifeblood  pouring from my

Veins

Forsaken.

 

The storm ascended

Following a time of eerie stillness and foreboding gray skies.

The wind is so fierce that I don’t know if I can stay standing

My body battered from the swaying branches.

I long for a fortress

From the taunting roars

The shattered reflections

The echoed breaths of – my home

 

“There is no faithfulness, no love, no acknowledgment of pain.”

Image @Riseart

 

 

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Micro Poetry

~ Patricia Tsouros ~ Leave a comment

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Micropoetry is a genre of poetic verse which is characterized by its extreme brevity. In other words, a micropoem is a short poem.

Micropoetry is a collective term for a variety of different forms of short poetry. As a poetic artform, it doesn’t really have any rules. Although it does consists of certain forms of short poetry with fixed rules such as haiku, tanka, senryu and gogyohka. There are also no real character length limitations either. The limits are set by the medium with which they are being shared, and also that invisible line where micropoetry becomes a regular length poem.

I have listed a number of such poems under this category.

Silence of the Lane

~ Patricia Tsouros
The dogs chasing the late autumn leaves
Fluttering down the lane way
The sound of the train as it passes by
Peaceful afternoon walk
The cottage walls and porches

Image Patricia Tsouros
Image Patricia Tsouros

Flourish of colour
Enwreathed with ivy green
Bellflowers, hollyhocks, hydrangea
Scents of lavender and sage
Evoke
Memories of childhood days
Visiting grandparents cottages
One in the Irish Wicklow mountains
The other in the suburbs of Athens city
The free flowing sound of the river
Smoke billowing from chimneys
The cottages have no pretense or grandeur
Just a sanctuary of comfort in the silence of the lane
Reaching the darkest corner of the soul