I became a good writer when I saw the age of forty coming at me

Pat Mora

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I did realize, as do you, how blessed I was to know bookjoy, the private pleasure of savoring text.

Pat Mora

Tags: reading

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.....and I smile
and know
why people write music and paint and dance, lifted as if they can fly,
because this ache
crashing inside
needs to be free.
sometimes, love
becomes a melody
others hum for years.

Pat Mora

Tags: art love poetry

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Our Private Rhyme

I wish we could go back in time.
I thought you'd live forever.
I feel I'm only half our rhyme.

You left and somehow I must climb
back to live without your laughter.
Can't we please go back in time?

I try to smile, pretend and mime
I'm fine, survived disaster,
but know I'm only half our rhyme.

Will any spring or summertime
shine without your teasing whisper?
I wish we could go back in time.

I hope that you'll forgive my whines.
I'm trying to be braver
So lonely being half our rhyme.

I feel you near. We're intertwined.
Your spirit makes me stronger.
I know we can't go back in time.
I'll strive to be our private rhyme.

Pat Mora

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You're Beautiful

Like the green romance of a bud
and lily's pink, gentle sway.
You: more beautiful than yesterday.

Wildflower's blue surprise.
Daisy's white, sunny play.
You're more beautiful than yesterday.

Orchid's purple mystery
Mum's bronze ole`
You: more beautiful than yesterday.

Rose's orange perfume,
even tulip's yellow secrets say:
You're more beautiful that yesterday.

Poppy's red, teasing lips,
but YOUR beauty will never fade.

You: more lovely than yesterday,

You: my dazzling bouquet.

Pat Mora

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Mysterious

My paper shines
White, like snow,
but the paper looks empty.
I could decorate it
with tiny spiders
or stars or sketches of me
looking at a blank page,
but the clock ticks,
and somehow I must write.

I like the sight
of untouched snow.
Gentle, slow, silent,
it drifts and swirls,
layers itself, and I see
a new world of mysterious,
inviting shapes. I walk in its white
whispers, susurrus.

I drift
back to this paper that feels
hard on the disk, and I begin
to listen-
to the story I tell myself.

The paper is a white, patient place,
my private space
for remembering,
saving: spring sun on my face
venting and inventing,
arguing with my mother,
wondering: who am I,
wandering through cobwebs of old dreams,
crying, sighing at people who don't see me, hoping to write music so blue
listeners forget to breathe,
playing the sounds, jamming with myself,

changing
....into the me I can't quite see.

Pat Mora

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My Song

So many memories,
and I'm still young.
So many dreams,
my song's just begun.

Sometimes I hear
my private melody grow,
then the sound vanishes,
but returns, I now know.

I've heard my heart break;
wounded, I've felt alone,
but slowly I learned
to thrive on my own.

I want to keep learning,
to depend my song;
in whatever I work
may my best self grow strong.

It's still the morning,
the green spring of my life.
i'm starting my journey,
family and friends at my side,
my song inside,
and love as my guide.

My family wonders
where I will go.
I wonder too.

I long to discover
how to protect the earth, our home,
hear world sisters and brothers,
who feel so alone.

Hearts and hands open
to those close and those far,
a great family circle
with peace our lodestar.

No child should be hungry.
All children should read,
be healthy and safe,
feel hope, learn to lead.

It's still the morning,
the spring of my life
I'm starting my journey,
family and friends at my side,
my song inside,
and love as my guide.

I'm take wrong turns
and again lose my way.
I'll search for wise answers,
listen, study and pray.

So many memories,
and I'm still young.
So many dreams;
my own song has begun.

I'll resist judging others
by their accents and skin,
confront my life challenges,
improve myself within.

Heeding my song-
for life's not easy or fair-
I'll persist, be a light
resist the snare of despair.

Mysteriously,
I've grown to feel strong.
I'm preparing to lead.
I'm composing my song.

It's still the morning,
the spring of my life.
I'm starting my journey,
family and friends at my side,
my song inside,
and love as my guide.

Pat Mora

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