Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Prose Poetry Beautiful Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Beautiful

These Prose Poetry Beautiful poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Beautiful. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Beautiful poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

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 
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?
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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Think of Me

Think of me and smile
Our time was shortly spent
Think for just a while
Of all the things we meant………
To each other we were Love, 
Laughter, Smiles and Joy
Think of all those things
Then think of us once more

Remember our first kiss
Remember our first time
Remember I was yours, 
Remember you were mine
The things that we would say
The things we use to do 
I heard you sing a song
I wrote a poem for you
Didn’t think we’d be together
Didn’t seek, but we did find
A precious hidden treasure
A love so true and kind

Now when the Angels come for me
My home now in the sky
Don’t hang your head in sorrow
For me don’t even cry
I will send a signal
And you will know the sign
The Sun will shine its brightest
The humming birds will sing
Midnight will be the darkest
Think of all those things

The wind will blow so gently
I’ll Whisper in your ear
You will smell the roses 
And feel my presence near
For you have known my spirit
For you have only seen
The beam of light now shinning
A dream that came to be
So just in case you’re wondering
It’s not because I’m free
But that I caught you smiling
And I knew, you had thought of me.

Patricia Templeton

"Women Only"

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A beautiful Story

Here it is...a beautiful story about us....
The theme of us has been
written about for ages.
Love missed us,
Personal tragedies,
Shared but not shared,
shaped us.
We did our best
To live,
To survive,
Different kinds of battles
But battles none the less.
Bloodied, battered,
Life taught us how
To survive and we have.
Our worlds were so much the same
But different.
You have always been in my heart,
That's simple to say.
Men can be so transparent
And I am not so different.
Early on I knew 
I was a romantic,
A sensitive,
A poet,
An Actor and Singer.
But war changed that for me.
At fifteen I saw your beauty
And innocence.
That is what I've had in my heart
to this very moment.
This is so fun....
Your have seen so meny
Coastlines from yaughts
and Mohitos.
while I have driven through the jungles
and marches of Honduras
to see the same sunset.
And yes....
You there with me...
Something like Hemingway
I am to you you've said to me..
I like the comparison.
Battle tested.
Well traveled
And read.
Yep, that's me.
And I can cook too.
Baby, your life is the stuff
of million dollar movies.
The glamor of Hollywood,
The Red Carpet
Doesn't care about last
Nights fight.
But you are a fighter.
Your Father taught you lessons
In his own way as did mine.
We share that.
My love.
We aren't from 
different social worlds.
Our values are the same,
We complement each other
If you can get past my long hair.
I love you.
My love,
You have given to me 
a most precious gift
these past few days

Copyright © Randall Smith

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My God on Earth: My Mother

A heart that cries more than me 
in my pain. 
Whose congenial and benign teachings 
make me sane. 
A warm touch that dispels from me 
the gales of worry. 
Whose proximity ensures me that I'm 
protected by her under furry. 
A helping hand that always hold me 
whenever I'm about to lose. 
& my first teacher who makes me to 
distinguish between donts' and dos'. 
A voice and nothing more, an Angel 
who is entirely mine just after my birth. 
And she is none other but 'My Mother', 
The God on Earth. 
Although to define her in words is 
beyond my skill. 
Nevertheless I can say that her pace in 
my life, none can fill. 
She is the one who needs not a single 
word of me to understand. 
In my devastation, she is always there 
to provide effusively her hand. 
In the weariness of my life, with her, 
I may lose to be in link. 
But she ever remembers me whenever I 
breathe or my eyes blink. 
I can say that in search of heaven, 
I needn't to go anywhere. 
I would like to put my head in my 
mother's lap, as its only there.. 

Copyright © Hina Saxena

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Want To Invent You

I'd do anything To gaze at a Full moon in the sky Studded with the stars At night. I'd do anything For all the beautiful Things in the world Which make me Smile and happy. Even a rainbow, a butterfly. But I know, I'm with the Gods Most beautiful and Precious creation, That's you My rose of dawn, My beloved. I love you babe. Your company is soothing, Calming and reassuring inside. You are like the bubbles Of the fountain I moisten. Your enchanting smile Makes an illusion. An angelic presentation In your appearance Which captivate me, Makes me more attentive. Bit by bit I begin to recognize you. My princess, my angel I carefully watch your Billowing, beautiful creature Like my poetry. My love, the fantasy I want to invent you.

Copyright © Dev Dutta

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Woke Up One Morning

                              "I Woke Up One Morning."

I woke up one morning as if from a dream, 
I had lived from being a child, to an old age. 
I was struck by anguish and fear until I realized 
that this dream was my awakened past.

I walked this earth with steady feet, 
Carrying my mind in my heart.
Surrounded by some who cared and 
other's who couldn't.
I felt betrayed and in return I wounded myself. 
Those marks are invisible, yet the pain is deeply 
felt with inner scars.

Along my path, I met my mother, a passive soul! 
kind, and generous, unable to express her perplexed mind. 
I met my father! unsatisfied at who he was, 
blowing blows of anger and frustration, into his world, 
yet sensitive enough To overwhelm his children with 
silence and authority, which he called love and protection 
from a world he feared. 
And under his wings was no such living.

I met my eldest brother, who's joy on this earth was 
short lived! A soul refined with inner depth and struggle 
to better himself and love unbounded by more love 
to those he loved.

I met my little sister, who will represent a loving 
child within a grown sensitive, and sensible feeling 
woman Her inner space, glows in her outer beauty, 
which remained young coming from the depth 
of her feelings, and suffering, and re-suffering, 
while creating from her own flesh her home.

We left our native home where we laughed, 
and cried, growing, hoping to fulfill a dream 
not yet dreamt. 
Follows a life with pressure, discontent,
pain, submissiveness we walked, unconnected  
with our partners, divided, never holding hands 
along the path.

Four new lives,  time, events, war, death, tears and smiles... 
engulfed our existence, until all that we call freedom 
brought an unaccomplished freedom 
short lived, yet lived.

I met my younger brother he our enigma our flesh 
and blood runs together in different fields. 
Children and more children they are our treasures. 
Their pains and joys reflect in our lives.

Yet, nothing can cut through the thread that holds 
our lives together. 
Young and old and growing will remain enduring, 
with every breath we breath, away or close, 
we hear each other's silences. 
Awake at night we see a portrait of beauty, love, 
courage, and endurance and colorful.

Awake with a warm feeling that I am 
that multiplicity of them, I am not alone
as they live in me and from me as one.

 Therese Bacha

Contest Old Poem You Are Proud Of.  Nathan. A  WIN (Honorable Mention)

Copyright © Therese Bacha

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rose of White

Slowly dancing in the wind, swaying as to music
Rocking like a ship at sea to the whims of air and water
     Her face shone bright with the tears of heaven

By consorts of every shape and hue, this elegant lady stood 
White on white, her gown shown among those dressed in like manner
     Looking upward, she opened to the rising sun

                                                                          ~Christopher Thor Britt

Copyright © Christopher Thor Britt

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Anna Redmond

Anna Redmond put her own death in the Irish Independent as a mischief - or maybe ‘a cry 
for help’.  She married into Mr. Webster’s hotel and worked there slave-like.  Her beautiful 
young face, her red hair streaming, cheekily curling, her laughter eyes sad - her husband, 
boyishly drinking all the profits. They said she suffered from her nerves!  They said no 
wonder Tommy drank the way he did!  They always referred to her as she – she was a bit 
wild, she didn’t fit in, he could have done better for himself – no wonder he hit her. Her red 
hair dulled in a mental hospital. Anna Redmond, full of promise, beautiful and lively had her 
youthful exuberance quelled by life’s circumstances.   

Copyright © Liz Walsh

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Ending

                                  "A Beautiful Ending."

I have searched through the depth of my soul and 
never regretted standing alone under the torrential
storm that day awaiting the approach of the ferry 
to anchor i felt the need to be hugged by my man
to forgive me as I had a confession I was going to 
heal & feel that i am not alone and had to finish 
what i had started.

Hours Later the ferry arrived empty lifeless with only
The scent of his soul . 

My story is about wounds that would have lasted forever 
or even a life time as for years I was abused a failure weak
Ugly I had no friends I had no respect from anyone when 
awake I was haunted by my own image my bed that I never 
left day or night became my only love. 

I wanted everything around me to stop come to a complete halt! 
I did not want to hear a door bell ring or smell flowers or watch 
the birds fly or wait for winter summer spring or fall.
Voices irritated my mechanism music around me was heard like
The moaning of a mother over the loss of her child drowning for 
me was better than surfacing thunder made me scream lighting 
made me run hide in the closet dripping of the rain became like 
drums in my ears. 

That same moment how I wished i could migrate never
Look back but keep moving moving until I discover
My peaceful river sit and gain my strength survive to
Live through spring while listening to natures rhythm, 
And pray for the winter winds to wipe away my fears even 
Through my loneliness enable me to breath that sigh of

I had regrets when I became fully aware how much
I have been selfish thinking only of myself as never 
did my man complain when i looked into his eyes 
i saw how much pain he was going through that was 
one of those days that made me definitely decide to 
seek professional help before its too late. 

I needed to stop! stop! now! rediscover my identity 
To love life to listen to the showers water running like 
a river people laughing radio news people crying people 
dressed others undressed work buses full schools young 
students life is ahead of them cars with one passenger 
or more trains people inside reading their newspaper 
parks full of life running nowhere just running dogs happy 
being out of there indoor prison playing with their masters 
cats meowing for a friend calling a companion an alarm clock 
ticking a wake up call business men and women running to 
work all of  sudden i created a picture that is alive, and i am 
looking forward to be included, i will, i am, i will tell him 
and i will change.
I love the scent of my mans soul and reached 
out for his forgiveness. 

                                     Terry. 16/1/2013

Copyright © Therese Bacha

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Innocent Perfection Of Vibes Across The Telephone Line

Innocent Perfection Of Vibes Across The Telephone Line A stranger call’s familiar voice familiar tone How do I amend for such a tone? Sinecure as a ghost to father past question remain have we met before? So the question that I a post do you believe, in coincidence or do you belief in fate So I decide to chat with her a minute to find out what her truth agenda was- As we would speak more and more we would start and finish one another sentence’s And time with in time we would speak of the exact words in between sentences, a rare a currency Indeed Solomon tears do applied to form but I what it to pause and ask her, sure You don’t have the wrong number what a coincidence that I was nineteen all on my on, and As I beginning to fall to sleep the telephone had begun to ring. Maybe it was fate As when I did decide to get a phone to get long distance as well, it looking in deeper. Only a fool would be dumb Found it to Hang up on such a soothing tone. As she kept the conversation with in an hour about her son that got Injury in College sports that happen to be part Cherokee same as me All I kept thinking is when did I register to vote? Soul channeling bed chancing we seem to be on a different plane, Maybe it’s me or maybe it is us if god put us together surely the heaven would rumple, A vibe this strong could surely deceive the devil, (hat trick) Ghost handle of a ring barrel of a magnificent figure of mist of sure air of breeze seen such vibes across The Telephone line chills ran up and down my body standing strain hair up to freeze saying to myself what a Wonderful innocent of perfection to make an acquaintance still hook on the fact it was coincidence as She Apologize for speaking so long and thank me for being a great listener- Two and half years later time well spend in the hood that felt more like prison and trust me I’m from the Projects Like Ice cream milk and cream please and what I was told if I could make it in That hood I could make it in any giving hood giving the repetition of My city – It may have been fate as the whole project was rebuild spiritually and finance by the state And I had move into an apartment complex as I was told could go for a 1,000 in upstate; fate or coincidence as this familiar voice would call again but this time different name And she what it to sell me a product and what me to be partners in a company and water who could Market water and profit and, Idea Chesire to believe, but those that did belief proceed and say once again I said to myself when did I get money all and all six year later I was and looking to relocation the phone rings again instead of Asking Was this coincidence or fate? First thing came to mind was “Some One Clue Me In”- I figure out whom this Anonymous person was But when I say who in the world gives gift cards for cable all away from west Coast to “City That I’m From” saying to myself, is it still a recession? Was this fate? I had a place to live or did I have a Guardian Angel? Question after Question Miss and serve me- Will I ever get pay for my endeavors and read a quote that said “no good deed goes unpunished” And phone ring once more- To The look in A man’s eyes never lies asking once more Was This Fate Or Coincidence- And the last words that came to mind before the college basketball finals game came on was Captivating and Memorizing-

Copyright © Louis Borgo

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sunsets and Journeys

Poem about beautiful sunsets and the journey of life.

Spent all day walking on the beautiful powdery white beach. Picking
up oceans treasures, scallop shells calico in colors rich and diverse,
conch, coral, cockel, Sand dollar, sea biscuit, lightning welk, snell shells
of every kind. Ocean breakers emerald crashing and rumbling up onto
the porcelain beach. Wade out let it splash all over me so cooling and
refreshing along with ocean breeze. Splash on the face I lick it off,
exquisitely salty. sand Pipers skiddering along, Pelicans and sea gulls
in the indigo sky catching my eye. Such beautiful things my spirit uplifted.
Sun now kissing the ocean in an explosion of colors. I sit down
 to take it all in. Orange, scarlet, green, violet, purple, amber,
 gold, emerald, jasper, amathyst, amber, alibaster and every
 hue inbetween. A glorious feastfor the eye and mind
 to put at ease. Dark now as the golden moon
takes it's Majasties place. What a simply wonderful day.
Giving sigh it's over I could do this forever. Time to go back to my home
in Arkansas. We have beautiful sunsets there as well. Beautiful mountains,
streams, forests, springs, caves, clear lakes await for me to revisit.
The air is clean with a fragrant scent, purple, yellow, orange, lavender,
azure, indigo, cardinal, porcalin, pink and more colors than I can
describe wild flowers frow. Clear blue rivers rush with white roaring 
rapids to float, forests of emerald abundant to explore. Mountains 
treacherous to scale, Hot springs to sooth and heal both body and 
spirit. Diamonds to find, red, champagne, blue, sparkling enchanting 
exquisite. Crystals bound in the mines near the healing hot springs,
amythest, garnets, water crystals, rubies and jasper in georgeous
colors crafted into rings, bracelets, pendants, watch bands and so
many more elegant things. I may never get to return to the beloved 
beaches again in my life, but I still have all these wonderous things
in My Natural Arkansas. However if I am fortunate enough to return to 
the glorious oceans and beaches, I will once again enjoy the treasures,
pleasures, sunsets  to behold so bold and vibrant, more wonderful
memories if it comes to pass. one never knows for certain what lays
ahead down lifes path so onward we go and enjoy each blessing
that the Lord has prepared to us to see. Hopefully we will learn on
this journey to love, care for and share with each other.

Copyright © Jack Ross jr.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Murphys' Law

               Murphy wished for a Prince who rode a White horse...
               So she went back to college and took a new course...
               She met a man who drove a green pinto...
               Although he had no idea where his life would go...
               His wants and needs he wanted for free...           
               As he had no intentions of working you see...
               So they moved in together...and she paid the bills...
               He played online games and took many pills...
               While she worked two jobs, and going to school...
               Her friends told her often she was a fool...
               This wasn’t a relationship...this was just bizarre...
               And to make matters worse, he drove her sports car...
               But she explained, he needs me and I don’t want to be alone...
               Besides I have created a most beautiful home...
               The years flew by and no changes were made..
               She graduated with honors, and now had a trade..
               At the firm of Morgan White Esquire at Law...
               This was just the beginning and the last straw...
               She finally came to her senses you see...
               Of her dreams and wishes that were meant to be...
               She now had her “ Morgan “ and her “Prince” you see... 
              A Morgan is a breed of horse...and the rest is history

Copyright © kj force

Details | Prose Poetry | |


A gray dawn, a dark twilight.
 Daybreak, dawn, dusk.
A flash of lightening across the horizon.
 Windswept trees, in all bent shape, 
Such is the result due to harsh winds 
 That travel for miles and miles.
And we have no knowledge from where it came from
 Or where it is going.
But that its travel continues across the daunting mass
 Called; Ocean.
Oh how it churns the water.
 I can feel the mist and spray cover my body
And tingle my hands.
 Standing in the shallow the air blows about me
With sandy hair raging like fire, slapping my face.
 A feeling of unknown,
Watching angry waves become violent.
 And a shiver of coldness, trembles my body.
A sense of peace,
 I have one thought;
Where did it come from?                                       

Copyright © Elizabeth Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |


written 17th Sept 2013

When it comes to love, I AM poisonous
 don't let me curse another, leave me loveless

For the first time in my life, I felt your pain and cried for your heart
 my heart finally hurts, knowing I passed this pain from the start

Please find help to set your heart free
 trust me, it's not a life you recover from easily 

Damaged goods I told you, unrepairable
 but some how, you managed the impossible

Unlovable for my entire life
 yet you had no problem, getting me to become your wife

Yes, it's been more than both of us should have ever had to bear
 at this moment, every cell in my body is overwhelmed, so I really do care

Please don't enter my life's pain and despair  
 you don't deserve it, you are so patient and filled with such love

I'm sorry I let myself fall in love knowing it would poison you
 soul mates forever and eternity, my love belongs only to you...

Copyright © Denise Hopkins

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Heart Of Gold

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Story:  Heart Of Gold
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  February/2015

      There is a little boy,  maybe 
eight years old,  in Freeport,  in the 
Bahamas, that doesn't know he's poor, 
and hustling to survive.  

       His gracious soul left me with 
a humble heart, and the image of him,
will always be itched in my mind.

        He was polite with a smile 
that lit-up the harbor, as he sold his 
mother's tea cakes from a cardboard box 
for a dollar.  

      His unselfish spirit, and 
Yet, sad eyes,  greeted me, 
long before he said a word.  

       He was setting on a concrete slab 
near the waterfront, behind a dilapidated 
wall of ruins, to shield himself from 
the (unusually) cold February Island winds.

       His clothes were torn, tattered; 
he had no coat, and he wore no shoes, 
and his eyes defined the meaning of, 
"below the poverty line."
         Yet, he was a kind little boy,
and through life's short coming's,  
he remained grateful,  humble,  and 
still managed to smile.  
          The thought of being poor
never crossed his mind,  he did what 
his mother ask him to do, just sale 
tea cakes, that she made for a dollar.

          The image of this precious  
little boy, from Freeport,  will 
forever be captured in my mind,
and in my heart -

             So when you go to Freeport,  
in the Bahamas,  I hope you're blessed 
to meet the little boy with the great 
big smile,  and a cardboard box,
 selling tea cakes near the waterfront.

Copyright © Ken Jordan

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Flower

If one could be a beautiful flower
How would they spend their day
Would they blossom in the adulation
That many others may send its way

Would its spirit nourish the hearts
Of those who are blessed to see
The color of its very lovely soul
And its wonderful endearing vibrancy

Or would it shun the light that comes
From the brilliance of a new Sun
Shying away from its special gift
To make a day better for someone

For though it may seem its true beauty
Quickly vanishes over a very short time
I find true value in its enchanting embrace
I'll forever admire in my heart and mind.

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The most beautiful woman

If there is anything more beautiful than yourself in this world, 
That must be your reflection within my eyes, while we are making love 
And I see you, the most beautiful woman on my earth.

Copyright © Gitlan George

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Partnach Gorge the most beautiful place

The most beautiful place
Above the Bavarian resort town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, There winds a country road which leads to the Partnach gorge. Hikers are passed by less hearty tourists transported in hay wagons. On the left side of the road, a river can be spotted through the lindens. The river water looks like it was drawn with aquamarine pastels, Having been super-oxygenated from the gorge’s rapids and cascades. Playful locals built miniature dwellings and piers along the banks. Loggers used to hike up the dangerous gorge to unblock log jams, So safer paths were tunneled in and along the walls of the gorge. So many sight-seers used to sneak up the loggers trails for the views, That logging ceased and the gorge became a tourist destination. At the mouth of the gorge, a guest house sells carbonated buttermilk, Weiswurst, and other Bavarian specialties to fortify or refresh. During the holiday season, pilgrims carefully hike the trails Carrying torches which reflect from the icicles and frozen walls. Waterfalls, narrows, bridges, and a logger chapel All add to the charm of Partnach Gorge.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Flautist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE FLAUTIST  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 THE FLAUTIST fluently flaunted her flute- Music flew faultlessly through the airwaves, flying fluidly above the noise of the blustering city                                                    
THE flautist created a calm fragrance, who's flavor of creativity fell-well onto your soul creating a soul stirring calmness across the city. 
She played her flute clean into the night vehemently, over the feverish chaos – 
And the people in the park and in the city could hear clearly as they walked in rhythmic tunes/ She flaunted her music like sweet low hanging fruit, Her music dangled beautiful and singly. She alone, Solo-ed notes of delightful serenity-  
  The flautist moved the masses to a state of bliss; Like free kisses flying in the wind landing on ears conquering and engaging spirits, conquering pandemonium with her flute, she blew her flute... SHE BLEW HER FLUTE, and we marched and listened obediently. She blew her flute and we marched magnificently to her concert.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Blessing

I rise each day with a song in my heart
And so rich is its blossoming melody
For I know my heart has heard his call
Yes His dear precious call of life to me

I sleep so peacefully throughout the night
Dreaming lovingly of His grace which stays
I know  he always listens to my prayers 
For I daily feel His answers coming my way

I know I will never be left to strive alone
For his spirit has made my heart its home
And as I reach out to him with praise words
He eases the aches and pain within my bones

For His love is a very true healing medicine
Whose touch will evenly flow deep within
And with each tender blessing I receive daily
I know more embraces will come my way again

...because of His deep love for me. 

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Flower

A Beautiful Flower

If one could be a beautiful flower
How would they spend their day
Would they blossom in the adulation
That many others may send its way

Would its spirit nourish the hearts
Of those who are blessed to see
The color of it's very lovely soul
And its wonderful  endearing vibrancy

Or would it shun the light that comes
From the brilliance of a new Sun
Shying away from its special gift
To make a day better for someone

For though it may seem its true beauty
Quickly vanishes over a very short time
I find true value in its enchanting embrace
I'll forever admire in my heart and mind.

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Soul Awakening

Soul Awakening

Wrapped in your arms
My soul awakened 
From a long dark sleep
My heart is now alive
No more do I weep
My lover’s smile 
So tender and true
A sweet ray of God’s sunshine 
Lead me to you
Blissful now
Content somehow 
Where once my heart 
Was pummeled 
And pounded
No more do I fear
Love sounds
Love is now all that I hear
So hold me close
My darling one
With you by my side
All fear is gone….

Copyright © Jennifer Turner

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The clock strikes twelve

The clock strikes twelve
and it is time for her to go now,
I hold her for another hour;
she tells me she really has to be going,
then I say, "My love, don't leave me."
I am afraid of the dark
and I need your love
I need you;
both you and I need each other.
"I really must be going," she says.
I hear it in her voice,
she doesn't want to go either,
as a blooming rose says to wintertime,

I hold her hand and I kiss her soft lips.
She is tense,
but she loves, and she loves good.
My dear, one more hour that is all I ask;
do that for me, if you truly love me.

      (Times ticks and tocks, as the old grandfather clock gongs-
-My love another hour please,
leave with me,
go with me,
to the garden of beauty and love with me-
Come now my love, another hour we spend together,
I cannot help myself, but hold you closer and closer to my heart,
one more hour,
let me crawl in your heart and warm your soul,
and watch a movie in your mind,
a sweet romantic movie- no popcorn or soda- for I wouldn't want to dirty your mind,
and we shall go together,
and love together simultaneously, to the ticking of the old grandfather clock.
Only an hour more my dear- my love an hour more is all I need.


Copyright © Chris Boskovski

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Beginning Of Each New Day

I always long to see your tender smile
At the beginning of each new day
Because when I see your lovely smile
A sweet happiness will always stay

You lift my heart up inside each day
Making my mind to ride a natural high
Causing me to often daydream of you
Knowing you will never say goodbye

And you have really made my life awesome
All the time spent alone each day with you
For the moments just seem to last forever
Because our hearts always want it to

You easily became the  best part of my life
A special gift which in my heart will  stay
So that I might embrace your precious smile
With my love at the beginning of each new day.

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Priceless Love

You speak soft words saying you love me
I tell you with me it is also true
That there will never be another in life
I will ever love as much as I do you

You speak softly saying your heart desires me
And my heart gently proclaims it's also true
Telling you there is no greater desire in me
Than the one which lives in my heart for you

You tell me that you will always need me
I agree saying the feeling is mutually true
That when it comes to really needing someone
The one I desperately need in my life is you

You speak to me of your hearts special treasure
And the precious value it daily brings to you
I tell you my life is made truly prosperous
By your priceless love I never want to lose.

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Oh beautiful Sunday morning,

Glad to meet you oh beautiful Sunday morning,

Though you are windy and snowy in appearance,

Yet I wouldn't mind having a walk with you to the house of worship.

(c) 2012

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Value Of Your Love

There is not enough time
In this day I fear to tell
Of my hearts most secret

Yet I shall try before the
Darkness arrives and the
Last moments of this day
It will be stealing

For as I look upwardly 
Upon the sea of stars
Floating above my head
I dream of how it might be 

If I was lost in the deep
Darkness of night alone
And the glow of your smile
I could no longer see

I think of the rain falling
Nourishing the deep parts of
My soul as I taste of its 
Refreshing kiss

And I wonder what it might
Be truly like in my life
If I could no longer feel
Your hearts embracing bliss

Realizing there will never be
Enough moments in my day to 
Let you know how much your 
Love means to me

For truly it would take a 
Lifetime and more to view
The genuine love many will
Never embrace and see.

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fog

I can no longer see past the trees
They stand solemn in line. 
Their dark outline 
Weeping from the sky.
All I can hear 
Is the faint heartbeat 
Coming from my chest. 
It’s getting faster 
As my breaths 
Become shallower. 
It would appear 
That I am choking 
On the fog.
My lungs can no longer take 
This dense air 
That’s creeping in my mouth 
And filling me. 
I start to run 
Into the forest  
How far can I go in?
Before I’m halfway out 
The fog chases
Until it has consumed

Copyright © Faith Carmichael

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Some things are lost along the line
Some things, beautiful and fine
Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet
It’s like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest
I giggled as I drove by
Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby
Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and
Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires

I giggled as I drove by. It’s just like yesterday
I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play
There was the moonlight rendezvous
Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us
There was the tales by the moonlight,
Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion’s might
The Lion’s might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise
I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice
I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons

Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more;
Yes! I still can sing “Omalingwo”
Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo
Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo
Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo
Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo

My God, I feel new!
I can still sing it! Oh God I knew!
Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother
Jealous king’s wives over ready for murder
Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son
To sit on the king’s throne and shine forth like the sun
Story of good over evil. Omalingwo!
A deprived mother’s son.

I giggled as I drove along,
Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed
And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn
I remember these things till sadness beclouded me
I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
We can’t assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces
Oh! The Eve’s tempting apple of white collar jobs

I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos
Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust.
I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos
At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious
I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots
Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus
Chima, who spoke big English like “opprobrious”

My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces
Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream
Still thinking of beautiful things
The beautiful hamlet serene things.

Copyright © Isioma Esemene

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Candling the Eggs

On a beautiful September morning on a little country farm
The young woman’s hand went deftly under the hen into the nest
withdrawing an egg, immediately candling it and returning it to the nest.
This egg is fertile and will hatch to give the farm another laying hen or rooster.
6 firtile eggs returned to their nests and 16 sterial eggs went to the kitchen table.

On a beautiful September morning at a little country school
The new students have just settled down on that exciting first day of school
The first grade teacher Miss Koki spent the morning with each of her new brood 
individually at thier desk and as they got to know each other a little better she looked 
into the bright shining eyes of each child for that spark of a fertile young mind
These we will keep for a while to become doctors, nurses, teachers…

Copyright © Monty Newman