AngelSeeker• Show poetry

I’m very excited to announce that two of my poems have been published in "Eyes of the Poet" along with so many talented writers from AllPoetry.com.  You can find a copy of the book at my Amazon store astore.amazon.com/thesilverstor-20/102-2357741-1409733  

I am trying to raise money to pay for my infertility treatments and I hope that if you are looking to purchase ANYTHING online you will take a few moments to look at my Amazon store.

I also have a  CafePress store “A Muse Me” where I have t-shirts and other items featuring my work.  It located at www.cafepress.com/amuseme    

Another project I’m working on is a book of my infertility poetry.  I hope to have it ready within a few months.  I’ve had quite a few requests for this book from other women who suffer from infertility, but until recently I did not have enough poetry on the subject to put one together.

It seems like I’ve always written poetry; and I hope I always will.  Sometimes I will work on a poem for months, and never be happy with it… Other times it seems like a poem was just there.  In essence, waiting for me to find it.  It will start in my head and I have to write it down… NOW!  Most of those poems seem to be almost perfect from the start.  I always wonder, if it's the same for other poets.


Patti



Paint my picture
on eternal stone
hardened by passion’s fire

Blaze in red
the burning heat
the flames of vast desire

Spread vibrant colors
Orange and gold
Blend them with delight

Lacquer them forever
Like silver stars
That conquer night

Place it in the Louvre
On the wall
So all may see

The timeless love
That’s echoed there
The heart; that beats in me.



Patricia Gibson-Williams

Inspired by “Paint my picture” by NurseChilly



I write on a variety of subjects, and I like to think of my poetry as being eclectic.  


For several years my muse has been My Joe.  He is my husband, my love, my wolf and my soul mate.  Before I met him I was broken and lost after a marriage that left me without self-esteem or hope for the future.  Joe revived me and convinced me that I was worthy of love and respect.  Ours has been a hard journey and much of it has been chronicled in my poetry.  Some is literal and some is figurative.  
Love is like a stone


She told him that she couldn’t love again
That loss, had stopped her heart just like a clock
She feared the pain so fiercely held within
and added that her love was like a rock

He told her, that he didn’t think it true
for love is not so jagged; broken; scarred
He poured his love so that he might renew
faith to a heart that had so long been hard

She told him that his love was wasted there;
he may as well have poured it on the sea.
But he cried for all her pain and her despair
and swore his heart would never set her free.

He told her that his love was like a stone
and that it would forever withstand time
she had been feeling (God) oh so alone
but at his words her heart began to chime

She told him that love is a fragile thing
and men don’t often reckon up the cost
Of heartache that to her it’s death would bring
and next time that her soul, would too be lost

He told her that he’d surely sooner die
as he wept for all she’d suffered in the past
then to ever have his heart, her love deny
and she opened up and loved again at last


Patricia Gibson-Williams
December 16, 2004



Joe and I have been trying to have children for over 4 years.  So far we have not succeeded.  Neither of us has ever had a child of our own and it’s our dearest wish to do so.  We started our quest for children a little late in life. (for me my ex-husband kept telling me that we’d start a family soon, but 12 years later he decided that “we weren’t going to have children.  For Joe it just never happened.  An ex-wife did have a miscarriage, but she left him shortly afterward.  He does have a step-son who he raised from the age of 8-17 and is very close to.)  We’ve been to specialist and spent thousands of dollars on drugs and treatments in our quest to be parents, but so far we haven’t had any success.  The truth is we’ve run out of funds (insurance doesn’t cover it) and we’re quickly running out of time.  For as long as I can remember I dreamed of having children and being a Mommy, and I’m having a very hard time letting go of that dream. Much of my poetry reflects our struggles and the ups and downs of infertility sufferers.  



I couldn’t be an Angel
and work for God on high
I couldn’t bear the suffering
I couldn’t watch her cry.

I couldn’t stand silence
while she writhed there in despair
I couldn’t leave her praying
to wonder if I care.

I couldn’t be an Angel
and listen to her screams
I couldn’t find the emptiness
to annihilate her dreams.

I could not permit her barrenness
to over shadow trust
I couldn’t watch her faith and hope
molder into dust.

I couldn’t be an Angel
I’m not made of chiseled stone
and I’ve felt the vacant haunting pain
of infertile flesh and bone.


Patricia Gibson-Williams
August 17, 2005


Joe and I both have an affinity for Wolves and you find that I have a selection of poetry about them and their spiritual and fantasy counterparts below.



Joe is a very passionate man and since I met him I’ve discovered that I have a passionate side too.  He inspired me write poetry that was more sensual then I was used to or frankly ever thought I would.  I don’t consider this poetry to be in your face erotica, but it is less tame then your average love poetry.  


Hot nights in our lovers bower.
Our bed, a mat on the floor.
A candle flickering gently,
Mirrors cover the walls and the door.

The music you play, echoes round us.
With you I know perfect trust.
The songs replicate our emotions.
As the mirrors reflect our lust.

You cover me here in our love nest,
With a kiss or nibble and nip.
I undress in the light of the candle,
And the mirrors watch as I strip.

I live for your burning caresses;
(As I grasp the bar on the wall)
And the desire you let rain upon me,
As into the mirrors we fall.

Great passion is shared in our boudoir
Sometimes it is almost profound
The look in your eyes as you watch us
Exposed… for the mirrors surround.

So come here, and worship, and love me
Where our ardor cannot be denied
Here in this room made for dancing
Where mirrors… leave nothing to hide

Patricia Gibson-Little
July 30, 2001






The world is full of poetry. -The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness. —Percival.