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Prose Poetry Angel Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Angel

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beautiful people

People make me smile the way 
their eyes shine when they talk 
about something they love 
when they feed me food. Or tell 
me how much they love me 
when I look into someone's 
eyes and see it I see that look 
in their eyes I see love in them 
When I see someone laugh and 
have fun in what they do 
The way they cry for there lost 
ones
When they give me a smile and 
tell me how beautiful I am 
People are beautiful well some 
are and I wish someday I can 
find someone who will look at 
me and say "you have that look 
in your eye"    what look?
"Happiness" 
I want to find someone so 
beautiful in the inside I can't 
stay away they amaze me with 
what they say an do how they 
will dance in the rain and know 
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a 
rainy day and just talk about 
the stars 
I want someone beautiful

Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Enjoying Love So Undeserving

What sustains Life like water? What is as fresh and welcoming like the countryside? And as sweet as a newly made confectionery baked with honey? I just found one well placed in all corners of your heart. A feeling encompassing the goodness of life. Is it the blissful visitation to the tenants of the deep blue sea? Or a radiant rainbow floating in the moist skies? Is it red roses, milk Sunflowers and other colorful plants in pink, green and yellow? Or the site of a happy set of little quintuplet siblings? Is it the baby chicks peeping out from their nest to spy on the first morning rising sun? They all are no where near the unbelievable goodness of your love. Sweetheart! You are a majestic glamor full of gracious providence. Not even the magneting beauty of the Queen Cleopatra can be compared to the pillars of your virtues which prove to overcome time's curfew eclipsing my heart totally as I soak in the foam of your passions. A natural habitat have I found in the gardens of your affection and a new existence from the deep baptism of your unequaled care. I never believed a star could be as near but here I am; with a being who outshines a galaxy. My soul has lost records of its bountiful happiness from this train of love with the wish its rails are never ending and its journey, everlasting.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Angel with a Broken Wing

Sitting alone again, wondering if you're okay.
being alone, i remembered how i wanted you to stay.
looking for something I can hold on to.
It's the pillow that reminds me of you.

Every time the clock ticks,
I would always find a way to entertain myself &
hoping i can do some magic tricks.
before i close my eyes & go to sleep,
every night , i hope, i can be w/ you for just a glimpse.

every time it rains, i would always go outside,
but i guess no one would like to hold my hand & be by my side
I touched my face & i was already crying under the rain.
will there be someone willing to cast away all this pain?

until now, no one would risk,to wipe off these tears.
The shadow of my past, well those are my fears.
i always want to hide myself from this world's madness.
I often feel that I'm inside a bubble or in a dark sanctuary,
where there is sadness.

I hope there will be a wishing star that will pass by.
I'll make another wish,to find the guy who cant make me cry.
i sat at the corner of my room, and in my hand, was a ring,
a question that even i cant answer,
"will i forever be waiting like an Angel w/ a broken Wing"?

Copyright © Marianne Nolido | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Empathy

As her eyes fell on the fallen bird
From its nest upon the tree down on ground
Her whole soul for some moments was in shards
The little girl lifted the wounded bird and rested it
In the bowl of her joined palms
She then collected some paste of turmeric
Mixed it with a little slaked lime
As she had seen her mother doing at home
When one got an injury from a fall
She gently rubbed the turmeric-lime paste
On the wings and breast
And placed the bird in a bed of straw in a basket
Out of the blue billowed some cloud
Will the young bird come round she wanted to know
Looked for someone to ask 
The cloud gradually took the shape of Jesus
She comforted the wounded bird and said
He sees us
____________________________________________
May 27, 2016
For Christian Poems - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Christy Teas

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Princess

Princess
Darkness all around, nothing visible,
All hopes down, nothing seemed feasible,
As i sat in an empty room full of thoughts,
Where actually i went wrong?
Answers for these questions i sought. 

I missed, i cared, i excessively loved you,
To the height of madness, obsessively adored you,
The beautiful eyes, the luscious thick black hair, 
Admired you so much, your softness so rare.

From the moment i woke to the time i slept,
Eat, smiled, laughed with you and even wept, 
All the time i wanted you with me,
Even if it is a little time i get free.

Initially u loved my maniac behavior,
All the time YOU, my madness never a failure,
Slowly you began to push me away, 
And started complaining about me in every way. 
''Possesive, angry, height of banishing freedom,
I feel like a princess imprisoned in a kingdom!
You dont understand me whatsoever,
My thoughts and views are nothing to you but haver. 
Don’t stick to me day and night please,
 I want my space for the stress to release. 

A gush of sorrow flowed through my heart,
In pieces it shattered and scattered apart,
Where was i wrong, i began to wonder?
Was loving too much, a point to ponder?
I only loved you with sky as the limit,
And wanted the best for you instead of cheap tricks and gimmicks, 
With a hope that you would be only mine,
As my wife and angel guarding me all life,
But your words don't show that your happy with me,
All the sacrifices i make are thus worthless indeed,
So whats the point of my loving you so crazy? 
When all you want is your space comfortable and easy? 
Am i a bot for romantic poems and care,
To cheer you up everytime and emotions to share? 
Or do you want me to love but in boundaries?
So that you have your own time and luxuries?
Or may be you want me to agree all what you say?
For your happiness each and every day, 
Because my love for you will always be infinte,
As no one can ever love you in the world as i might,
Or May be i am too dumb to know,
To love is to just bow down to the flow,
Because i want you in my life in failures and success,
Because only in you i will always see my princess.

Copyright © Suraj Grover | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I want you to know

I know a girl more broken than the aftermath of a bull in a china shop. She knows that her pain wont stop, so instead of trying to fix that, she only ever tries to make others happy. She puts everyone above herself and if life was a shelf shed be the ground. The most common sound escaping her lips is sorry. She cries herself to sleep every night, she has cuts on her arms as if too tally up all the hate she receives daily and if she could pay the bills in blood she would be able to afford a living. Lately all she's been doing is forgiving. 

	I want you to know that it's always darkest before the dawn, so if you have to wait another hour for the sun to rise, I will sit beside you with a watch and a red bull the size that two people need to keep them up just long enough to fall asleep together. If the weather is on our side or not, I will stay just to make sure you know you stay up long enough for that sun to rise. It's not a surprise when it does, and if it means you've gone a day without painting in blood, I will do what it takes to keep you from it another day. I suppose what I mean to say is;  

	Put it down. Just pretend its not there; let it disappear into thin air without a hair of a trace, because all it ever does is hurt you. those cuts mark the scars of your pain that will never fade. Cut into your skin, you don't remember the beginning, but you can find the end. Send a message to all the people that made you start, you're a work of art that just has a splatter; it doesn't matter, you can paint over it. Just sit down and look around you. You've built so many walls. You're trapped in a labyrinth made to keep people out but in turn you've locked yourself in. You can't climb the walls, all you hear is the echoed calls of your pain. 

	If you search for a while, maybe you'll find another face trapped in their own maze and you'll both smile; because it's comforting to know that you're not alone. Maybe that person you meet can give you a boost over your wall so you land feet first in grass. You don't need to ask, they're still there; trapped in the maze. Its sad how the price of happiness is almost always someone else's pain.

	PART ONE

Copyright © Will Ayling | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.


Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Smile

Kill a smile with a kiss
The demise of it will visit you in your dreams
Never will I let you
Drown in a pool of angry thoughts
I will be your unexpected smile
Every time I bring u roses b4 valentine
A wet poem I would recite for you

I would make you my 1st rhyme
your heart-beat will rhyme
Twist my beat box
Into a love song
A cartoon I would paint in your heart to keep you smiling
Your twin smiles I would define in vernacular
Though I speak no language from Peninsula
My parents will define your beauty as African splendor
Black mother nation
Smile please smile

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ANGEL WITH AN UMBRELLA

Encumbered with the walker
blankets for the wet bench,
sheets of water splashing the cement.
I ventured to my smoking spot
face hidden inside my hooded coat.

I light my fire stick,

letting drops of water 
reverberate on my hood.

My angel came walking by
called my name;

gave me her umbrella and kept on walking.

Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dad's Message To Daughter

Baby when you were born
 it was a pleasurable morn
 A baby was my only dream
 you came like a lovely gleam
 In your black eyes I got lost
 climate was cold with frost
 You looked like a beaming sun
 I enjoyed with you every fun
 Emptiness was filled with joy
 as I was gifted with a cute toy
 My garden began to bloom
 before you came it was gloom
 My heart was filled with pride
 your Dad was your first guide
 It was beginning of a new relation
 between Dad and new sensation
 Tomorrow if no more is your Dad
 promise my angel will not be sad

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Angel of Mundane

The lost little Angel fell into the urban slums
Walking aimlessly with nothing but her broken wings 
She turned herself into granules of dusts
Intangible as a vagabond and chose to be unseen

Escaped from the world of infinity, she paved her own paradise
Fell and be united with the mundane, she was breaking the dreams
Once the shield broke, her purity shone from the filthy damn cloak
The hidden sanctity glowed, illuminated those souls who ingested by the slums

She chose the uneasy part of life
Scars were the last witness which sealed her true story
Somehow she relieved 
Somehow it changed her destiny

Tracing every stitches on her flaw wings
Slums and filth open the other side, her humanity
She was meant to be an angel 
An angel among the damned

Risen from the slums, her wings were torn
The shield of a vagabond cracked
She paid the price in mortality
To be a human her last destiny

Note: this is the modification poem of my "Sestina" hope that you enjoy it :)

*Thanks to : Andrea Dietrich she inspired me to make this poem into a better form :D hug, Yanny

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Disciple

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Disciple
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  October/2014


I am
a living
Spirit,

from the
infinite 
sky -

I stand
in 
Solitude,

and
Holy Peace,

between
the 
spaces,
of 
time -

I Am that
 "Gap"

between
a
sunbeam

of
rays -

I Am
the hush
of
silence,

that lull
In 
the storm -

I Am
the pulse
and
flow

of 
rolling rivers,

that run
to wed

the
Infinite Sea -

My Heart
 and
Soul,

surrender 
to 
the breath

of the 
Great Spirit -

I walk
in 
the light,

of His
Divine
illumination,

that beams
out
from 
heaven.

I AM

a
Disciple,

a 
Messenger, 

from
the 
Most High -

 A living
Spirit,

Sent here
from
the Universe -


Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

God With Us

"What is your heart called, Elizabeth?"
'My Heart is called, Grief.'
"Why? Why is your heart called grief?"
'Because it's yearning, has been yearning, and will forevermore continue to yearn.'
"Your heart yearns Elizabeth? What is it like? Elizabeth, what does yearning feel like?"
 A lake, a river, an ocean, mountains, and trees were all around. The clouds, the wind, that heavy sense... I stared off into the distance.
'It's like out of empty darkness the sound of a sad, shattered, broken heart crying out. Yet depressed in silence and is in solitude. It sees all the secrets and lies... that lie in the dust.'
I turn to the little girl. 'How do you heal a Broken heart?'
"That IS deep, Elizabeth. Your pain.., now I can feel it. But--but you are single-minded Elizabeth, not knowing Emmanuel.' "
 The wind picks up my long dark hair revealing a tan naked back, and I once again look out at the ocean. 
'I know Emmanuel not, because--because I've become unfaithful.'
"I have heard of the pure in Heart' before."
I look down at the little girl, oh so beautiful. 
"And it's those who seek God."
The little girl looks into my eyes with those eyes, I cannot remember what color they were.
"And God they shall find."
I gasp.
The little girl then holds my right hand. "Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth, 'Pure in Heart' does not mean free of sin, but rather knowledge and understanding."
But my mind doesn't think of this. I can't let go of the thought of why this little girl talked with so much wisdom yet appeared to be about the age of seven. And then the selfish thoughts all come back to mind once again. Placing me in the deepest rabbit hole. To sudden terror, to extreme darkness. I hear my heart mourning. I can't take it any longer, I free my hand from the little girl, clash my own together and I fall right down to the ground in front of her, at her mercy.
'Can you!? Can You please free my Heart!? I have died already, I know I have! I wish some of the things I ever did never happened, I'm Lost, tired, angry, confused, selfish and bound in chains with every step I take! Please tell me what I must do to unleash myself! Please, I am willing to do the good, for the God I left long ago that I believe in so much.'
 The wind blows harder then ever at that moment, and takes my hair across my face. I see nothing but I shiver. And the shivering becomes trembling. I felt like I was being held, I felt like I was being cradled, I felt like the sea was rocking me back & forth, and I felt sand be...

Copyright © Elizabeth Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Trip to Heaven

Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.

Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.

People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.

A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.

All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.

Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.

I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Everlasting Love

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Everlasting Love
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  August/2015


           Sometimes, I muse over how
quickly time passes by.  We were like 
buds on a rose, when our hearts first 
met.

            God, summoned us together, 
when our live's were vernal, and young 
as the flowers of spring. 

            I remember those days frolicking 
merrily in the park with you for a kiss.
But, you held out for weeks before our 
lips would touch.

            When I think about it, our
courtship makes me smile.  Falling
in love with you, was the best time 
of my life. 
  
            God, sent me an angel, and I 
am blessed each sunrise to walk in 
your space; for I would be breathless 
without you.

          Their would be no mystic foggy 
mornings that we would share together, 
looking out at the ocean, and the horizon 
beyond the sea -

           We wouldn't be the two Inseparable 
love birds, caught up in an atmosphere of 
romantic charm;  marooned in an oasis of 
bliss.
            
            When we came together on that
hot August night, we professed undying 
love. Still, to this day - your love has been 
the warmth of a sunrise deep in my soul.

             Neither time itself, can asunder; 
our love is eternal.

             Through my eyes, you 
will always be that beautiful woman, with 
the long raven hair, blowing in the aquatic 
breeze down by the sea.

                     I love you.

             
       

               

               

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Like An Angel from God

Years passed with no attempts at finding the one,
The one to cherish forever and call mine.
My inner soul sometimes cried from loneliness
But was it a simple relationship I had been yearning for?
Or was I crying out something so much more?
I could feel the struggle between body and mind
The scorn, 
How it left my heart completely torn.
I began to think I would never taste,
But not a normal taste,
I began to think I would never get that real taste of Love.
Realizing Love was no abomination,
That it was possible
Possible for anybody…
And like an Angel from God 
I found my one
The one to call mine
I felt as if I had bamboozled Loves obstacles.
The one that I now call mine is like no other
She undoubtedly is something special. 
Our Love has only begun to bloom
But the tender touch of her heart against mine,
Makes the passion and Love for one another burn like an endless flame

Copyright © aj merlino | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Epiphany At Union Station


The Station was littered and in disrepair, 
'Out Of Order' signs bore witness. 
Discarded chewing gum and empty bottles, 
and the smells emanating from unemptied 
trash baskets... and in the midst 
of all this dislocation there he was,

huddled in his wheelchair, 
his tray of trinkets proudly perched 
on a cardboard box, a makeshift table. 
Always cheerful, greeting commuters 
as they hurried past, but they never returned 
the smile forever gracing his weathered face. 

One day I stopped to say hello. 
His eyes brightened as he said 
"Good day to you, good sir!" 
Can I interest you in any of my treasures?" 
I noticed he was shoeless, sockless, 
and made a mental note. 

"Right now I have to catch a train, 
but I'll return when I have more time, 
you have my word." 
"I'll be here, this is my world, you'll 
always be most welcome!" he explained, 
as I disappeared into the teeming crowd. 

Foregoing my schedule I returned the next day, 
anxious to peruse his wares, and continue 
our conversation. It turned out he was a Vet 
who'd fallen on hard times. I sat and listened 
while he told me his story. A man displaced 
by a society who would forever be in his debt. 

"I'll be right back," I said. I had a plan. 
Returning from the store, armed with sneakers, 
socks and a sponge, I cleaned his feet, 
pulled on his socks and laced up his 
brand new Nikes. He was overwhelmed, 
and by way of payment gave me a pendant 
bearing the inscription, 'Semper Fi.' 

"This will bring you good fortune, my friend, 
wear it, and your heart will be free of strife, 
and your days will be filled with sunshine! 
Remember me and treasure it, that is all I ask." 

Next day, as I was crossing the concourse, 
I saw he was no longer at his station, 
my friend, his wheelchair, and his tray of trinkets 
all were gone. I hoped that where he went 
he was cared for and comforted, and if he had shuffled 
off this mortal coil that he was in the arms of God. 

Was he seen by anyone but me? 

I believed with all my heart he was an Angel... 

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

More Than

More scared than faith 
heaven can wait.
Goosebumps more
 than Braille
Every tale of less than
proves we're blinded
by more than
socio-economic design
when we recite 
Jay's on my feet
and quit school 
cause of Shakespeare.
Certain that orbits 
eventually falter;
the course we're 
meant for
sometimes alters
Brimstone and sin
is where confusion 
 begins.
Took awhile, but
love seeped in
Peace came and went
left us spent albeit 
understanding
how fear was maiming.
One drop sent
a chilly ripple
through limps
we thought were there,
so when we stepped out
on faith, 
a nurse kept us
from falling 
on our faces.
We're recovering
from PTSD and
every acronym.
More embarrassed 
than anything 
to foolish to say
a thing.
Pride vs. bravado 
hearts more or less hollow 
A father's tail
a child bound to follow
Hallowed be thy name
A boy swallows 
as if standing on top a
skyscraper ledge. 
Taking a step
the crowd at Ground
Zero, gasps and says, "NO."
Hands up lifted
momentum shifted
More fall than wind
more fear let in,
Wings outstretched 
Catch air and raises 
No fear, just  praises.
Love starts falling 
Uncovering a calling 
more electric 
than lighting. 
Frightening 
what appears, 
when pen
is uninhibited
and flirts
around her name







Copyright © TS Lewis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Leah's Angel

The stale and dusty, lead filled air
Began to stir in widening breaths.
Pinpoints of light, ionic particles charged with power,
Picked up momentum, as reality stretched.

Excitedly, they began to spin in quickening orbits
Leaving sparkling tactile meteor showers.
Then flashed a brilliant light, so pure and white, 
It tossed me, crumbled, to the quaking floor,
For seemingly raw and unconscious hours.

Dazed, and disorientated, I feared the worst.
Was Death about to open Its ever-ending door?
But, around me grew a radiant hum, louder still it rumbled,
Until at last I braved to slit my eyes
To see, if only for a moment, what marvelous
Spectral filled the space, causing my life to tumble,
Twixt heaven and earth, twixt heart and soul.

There, mighty, glorious, beautiful
Beyond words or understanding
Suspended in the ether between heaven and earth
Was an Angel of Light, illumined by immense beauty and power.
Hand outstretched, She beckoned me, to rise and closer come.

I dared not breathe or blink my eyes, lest She disappear from sight.
But more than sight, or sound, or touch
Her proof was in the mighty waves;
Waves of Energy, radiating frequencies so high, they lifted me to 
Resonance; enough to see Her shape, Her robe of light,
Her all knowing piercing eyes.

Then She spoke to me in pictures, revealing in simpicity the very foundations 
of the earth, the moon and stars, and far flung universes.
She shared the truth of Power and Light, comforting me with the mere slight
Movement of her illumined, translucent hand.
She dismissed the dense lie of my earthbound body, and commanded forth
My own radiant, pulsing Body of Light, too beautiful to comprehend.

Then a voice so powerful, so filled with Love and Grace, 
Neither male nor female, without form or face,
Spoke to me from all directions and all dimensions of space.
As if to confirm my personal divinity, It said, “You are immortal, eternal, and 
Nothing can truly hurt you.  Remember always Who You are.”

At once, I feared yet dared to see. 
I felt release, expansive joy sublime;  
For there was I, a matching Light, 
An entity of Divine Peace and Love;
My spirit one with Her grace and poise,
One with all creatures; as below so above.

Her mission now complete, 
Her image slowly faded into everyday surroundings,
Yet Her Presence lingered still; the energy of the space She filled
Still crackled with power and beauty; the very thought of Her still thrilled. 

Copyright © Chula Fleming | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Waking Dream,

Life is such a fickle thing, ever changing and shifting as we are carried upon the down of feathered wings. How often I am greeted with a reminder of mortality's bitter cry only to see the beauty that nearly passed me by. Happiness, pain, all things time will rend as we step carefully through the maze of sins, and even now as I look ahead at the path made clear I fear the others will soon be here. Another left turn fallowed by a right or two as I seek refuge from those whos fun leaves me broken and abused. Footsteps now drawing near, closing the gap and still no end in sight to spare me an attack. Clip-clop the strongest grows near only to grasp feathers as I look back with a sneer, a brilliant light and a flutter of wings carry me out of reach and into the protection...only morning can bring.

Copyright © Zach Kelley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Angels

Does the angels exist only in the stories?
Their magical wand and that golden glow
is all that just  a piece of imagination?

i searched , searched and searched
till i had found them
they werent as i imagined
yet they were gentle .

i saw the angels,
in helping heart of person,
in parents’s eyes
after fulfilling kid’s wish,
in innocent kid’s smile
on sharing things,
in mom’s tears,
in dad’s care,
in friend’s support,
in sibling’s love,
in person’s  surprise gifts,
in carefree laugh,
in playful childhood,

Angels do exist but
in different human forms,
spreading invisible magical charm
making our life magical

come on , cross your fingers
make a wish
who knows may be there
will an angel waiting to fulfill that ;)

Copyright © aninitha sara | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

CONNECTION

I dreamt you
in golden threads of sunlight;
streaming, dancing, mingling with
azure waters...

dreamt you calling,
singing out my name in your regal orcan tongue...

dreamt you in each face that peered
from liquid silver seas...

dreamt your body's etheric touch
amidst cool tranquil waters...

dreamt our souls as one;
bound together; two spirit dreamers...

dream you now a foggy memory
since the whalers came...

but, as all dreams do;
you too soon…fade.

I awaken from this abysmal, astral realm…
reaching, stretching for your spirit.

Alone again, I will touch you again…
in another time.

Copyright, 2-20-14

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

WHY I CHOOSE YOU

your bright and out of  sight
have your way
thing you say make my day
love way you dress too
thats
WHY I CHOOSE YOU

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Blood Moon

When I saw that blood red moon
I saw it once before in a dream where
I felt you near me, the angel of death, I abhor.
Never have I feared you since I knew you'd come
someday to claim my gruesome body that has flown astray.
A thousand tears and pleadings is why that moon is red;
it tis a living symbol of all the blood you've shed.
Add me NOT I ask you, for I don't plead you see,
God sent you here to take me and with him I do agree.
For I have toiled and tarried and crawled upon life's road
and all I've found is falsehood, a despair I've always known.
And now the light of heaven has finally seen my frame, beaten
worn and tired of this pathetic game.
Spare me angel of darkness and fear not my disdain,
for adore I do that you have come to end my life and pain.

Copyright © Aime Ailean | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

love me

love me when im strong.
love me when im week.love me when im down.love me when im mad.
love me when im happy.love me when im gone.love me nomatter what mood im in.love me to the moon and back.






love jamie

Copyright © jamie turner | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Streetlight

You were a child,
without the hindrance
of responsibility
or doubt of what tomorrow
would bring.
A beast on the kickball
field, and yet a whining
baby when the streetlights
went off. Always fighting
sleep like it was the
neighborhood bully. 
You were a clown,
dressed like your 
daddy. Trying to
make your mother 
laugh like he did.
You got better at 
it every day.
You were a gift,
at least that’s what
your mother said.
And now she sits 
outside, on the porch
looking out toward the
streetlight. Waiting for
it to go dark, knowing
you won’t be coming 
home.
But,
You’re already there,
shining down from
a streetlight in the 
sky. Waiting for when
it’s her turn to come 
home.
-James Kelley, All rights reserved.

Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Year 3000

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Year 3000
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  October/2014





                          .








where will
we         be

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

lettre pour un ange


le ciel est proche
quand je sens
ta main
dans la mienne
et
j`ai envie
de voler
avec toi
la seule
au dessus de la mer

comme
un  Dieu
vole l`amour

Copyright © Gitlan George | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Loving people

Loving People
By Curtis Johnson

It must have been at least five years ago that I saw him for the first time
I must admit, his looks and the way he dressed, were not the inviting kind
He was quiet, presented no threat to anyone; and he never got out of line
I observed him and looked around to see if anyone else would pay any mind
So often, when a stranger or someone looks distant, we hesitate from being kind
We stand back and keep our distance, and start hearing things through the grapevines

Were there dress codes, or requirements to be clean bearded and freshly trimmed?
Why do we render judgments without knowledge, and verdicts  without evidence?
Why do we conclude that he doesn’t belong? We leave him alone; and we get tense
Why do we assume the worst?  Of  his guilt, we are rather certain, and quite convinced

Of course he was different, and some may have even said,  “He looks homeless      and out of place;  he’s not well dressed, and smells just like the rest of  them”.
Well, I must tell you my friend, that I refused to develop the mental pictures I took of him

I quickly erased those snapshots from the edges of my brain, and decided to get to know him. I could clearly see that he needed us; and we needed to look beyond his appearance. He had not only stepped  into a structural sanctuary, but also a sanctuary of people. He needed to be assured that this indeed was a place where living waters flowed; We needed to live up to our call to serve God, through serving and loving people.

The once distant looking gentleman, now radiates a sense of security and belonging
Eyes once dimmed and barely readable, are now sparkling with life and joy
Getting to know him has been a pleasure, and like all of us, he has a story to tell
I and others in the sanctuary are the better, because we are learning to love people.
cj07142015

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015