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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

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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

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"

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.. 

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.

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)

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.   

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

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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Our Humanities with Consequence this Transparency in Godliness

The Godliness of Adoption is...
Or is it not?
 …A beautiful spring sprig floret of rose. A rose brought home from our humanity's colorful garden of trust? Yet, was it not all that long ago when the cut of each stem entrusted to its own gardener's worthy and caring hands? 
Hands, now too soon stripped and emptied.
Hands that were easily led astray by the coersions of now self-appointed zealots.
They, with hands marked with ever stained bloody thorn pricked fingers, which now present each torn stem of rose on heaven-like sent pedestals; until met is a king's ransom; these thirty pieces of silver, the ask of many an angelic broker.

Adoption is...
Or is it not? 
...An act next to Godliness when these angels of guise are loosed to search in the mist of this motherland?
They, the finders of our pink and blue hued overflow spillage of souls.
This is nature of guised humanity. Delicately does it assist society in the dredge of waiting collection ponds, pools of tears that gleamingly mirror you and I; and from where our memory should fill with sounds. The siren-like cries of which, now link with our distantly lost...  ...or coldly disengage of our not of want…

Adoption is... 
Or is it not?
...The beautiful water lilys of pond? Those that so serenely float above a never skimming conscience that is this God-fearing nation; a polarized complacency so sweetly lost amidst its own mesmerizing shimmer, and without inkling of shame, all innocence of eyes fail to see through transparency by such weakly given puruse. A view that cannot pierce the murkily veiled mire that hides just below its own watery reflection... 
...And where underneath trails this triad’s tangled web that will soon unravel in route to tie with each long waited conscience…

Adoption is it or is it not our "Humanities with Consequence"?

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

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...

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-

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.


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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sunny Day

Rays of sunshine dancing on my back 
This flamenco goes on all afternoon 
The ripples glisten with the light 
Sitting here next to the lake 
Everywhere, colours are out to play 
The green in the grass 
The blue in the sky 
The pink in your lips 


I offer you a strawberry 
From the picnic that you brought 
The sweet smell entwines with the flowers 
That scatter where we are sat 
Your head on my lap 
I stroke your golden hair 
Catching my pinkie on a bead of sweat 
That trickles from your forehead 
You laugh and go to take off your sunglasses 

I stop you 

Your eyes would make the whole day 
Seem the night 

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…

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….

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thread of Hope

As all I’d ever termed wondrous bliss unexpectedly died -
As my fantasy of a reality with destruction did collide -
My hopes shattered around me like glass in countless pieces,
Fragments suspended in mocking beauty as time freezes…

The clock hand ticks forward and it all crashes to the floor
My knees hit rock-bottom when I could take no more
All I now see is blackness where once there was color
Gone appears the light from the sun and its fervor…

I begin to walk away from the pond of shattered dreams
But the glass is in my clothes and cutting through my heart, it seems
Perhaps I am too close, the smoke is clouding my full view-
Glance up at the tower, instinctively know what to do…

Run up the steps; one, two,three hundred endless stairs
And I barely catch my breath, or have time to fill lungs with air -
Before the ground beneath my feet crumbles into sand
Loud thunder above me rumbles as I fall back down on land…

And I hit rock-bottom again
Thinking this must be the end
For surely no human can go through this pain
And still see rainbows through the rain…

The whole world seems gray and black tonight
With not a speck of pure, identifiable white in sight
Nothing is untouched, gone is everything -
Then how do I glimpse in that crack a thin white string?

Among the dirt, surely this uncorrupted clean string is not real
But just to verify the hopeless doubts, I reach out a hand to feel
And to my electric surprise, it’s most tangible indeed
I yank it out attached to a note, uncrumple it and read:

“Verily, with every hardship comes ease” [Quran 94:6]

That white thread...
Of hope.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Did You Observe It

One day I said to love
Will you be rain
She is speechless !

Next day I expressed to love 
Will you be sunshine
She is soundless !

Day after day , I have been requesting her
Will you be sky
Will you be bird
Will you be my pleasure
She is silent !

one day love says to me
You will be soil
And I shall be flower

Thenceforth when the flower kisses to the soil
Memorial of  love is created at that place

Did you observe it !


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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beautiful Apparition

It is not hard to fall in love with a beautiful apparition. You don’t know them, but are easily 
entranced by their chemistry. Your brain ignites a myriad of sensual wishes. Carnal exploration 
and fantasies played out in seconds, heating your heart like an oven. They disappear as quickly, 
a wisp of smoke, but you miss them immensely. A hallow feeling leaves you weak, sad, and 
alone stretching for minutes, days, or years till the next one steals your heart. Man or woman, 
boy or girl can manifest and escape around corners and be gone, but in the moment you had 
them for eternity. The Petrarchan romance you read lives in their dance and laughter. No one 
goes without this fictitious ache; it follows you as your shadow does, comes to life as often.

Looking serene a placid lake reveals a reverse world where everything is as real as the earth 
you tread, as vivid as those memories you hang on walls. Veiled in disbelief as a mere image 
those waters taunt you with their likeness. The ghosts you long for are down there, but there 
they know you as the beautiful apparition

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Secrets of Love

Once upon a day, two pretty women strolled down a pastoral park that offered their cheeks the most countrified caress and their eyes an orchard of assorted pomegranates. 
After succumbing to weariness, the two courtly women perched themselves on a bench and mused about the simple complexities of men. In their musing, one said unto the other:"men are blinded by attractiveness and through our beauty we can lead any man astray". The other, scintillating in the sun's gleam said brazenly:"Those who believe that really do lack artistic taste!". 
The other lady percolated in thought in the most captivating and graceful of manners and en masse an old couple approached afoot, smiling hand-in-hand. The old man asked his elegant, elderly cohort to stop in their wandering and he turned his body to the sitters and approached the fair women whose aglow gleamed."I could not but help overhear your deliberation and I want to reveal the secrets of the universe unto you" he continued as he bespoke:"and what is more,I know the secrets of love"Seemingly beguiled by the older gentlemen and his unalluring,aged appearance and resoluteness,they asked him to move out of the sun for his frame blocked the sun's lustre.From therein they continued to ignore him,believing him to be crazy and most certainly bold.As he continued reciting his secrets whilst being consecutively and ignobly ignored,his wife smiled from astern as he felt her love for him scintillate in the most divine of flowered forms.He continued to implore unto them that he knew the secrets of beauty and thereof offered his wrinkled palm for them to hold.In disgust at his apparent lack of decorum and common decency, the two women swiftly relinquished the bench and continued their path with their elegant walks and in doing so braggartly disparaged the man for his many fouls and for being"too old to know everything", something they knew could only be a quality of youth. As he turned around within what he felt to be his bellowing disappointment, he caught the countenance of his wondrous wife whose sultry smile danced in a curvature that shone straight everything that was crooked. He knew at that moment he indeed knew the secrets of the universe. 

The women continued their pattered walk with their grace and bespoke evermore qualms about how artistically unattractive old men are. The old couple graced the rainbow with their secrets and they knew that beauty is painting one's life in one's art and living as an art in one's life

Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Don't

We Don’t

We don’t belong to each other, and yet we do

We don’t share a house, a car or a bath

We do share a journey, a destiny, a laugh

We don’t see each other the way that we would

We see happiness, contentment and things that feel good

We don’t argue, fuss, we don’t disagree

We kiss we hug and we let things be

We don’t have what is common, accepted or right

We have what is real, unexpected our plight

We don’t understand, can’t explain, couldn’t predict 

We have what we have, each other and that’s it.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Blind Man

Blind man
Feeling anothers thoughts by touching his hands;
Can you tell who I am by my darker shades that follow the cracked, dry lines of your palms? Do you see what I hide from everyone else like a silhouetted tattoo? Can you tell that a concrete kids game isn't the only thing that almost broke the back of my mothers heart once? Is it the sound of my voice that pierces through your senses that makes you silence the memories deep within the recesses of your past? 
I can see you'd rather forget about it; discouragement is written all over a face that you can't even read. Does that make me better than you? Truth is, I long to see like you. Heighten my senses, Mr. Sphere, so that I may see everything that my two small worlds can't. I want to read a book backward and forward a thousand times without being so anxious to flip forward, because I imagine you're more patient than I am. I want to know the adventures of your vivid dreaming, and how safety sounds like whenever God speaks to you. I want to be able to wrap my head around the concept of appearing to look good even when I know that my clothes, cologne, and character are wrapped around my ego like bandages I never changed; I never knew I was a walking, talking, mummified optimist until I saw the stench of the lies I told myself seeping through the eyes of loved ones. I never again want to make another cry from a false truth. 
Mr. Blind eyes, could you help me to believe that their are others who look like me who see more like yourself? I don't like who I'm becoming, and I want to know that my choices won't be just for show. I want to know that when I look at my wife in her lifelines, we'll both be able to see that death has no real place in the wounds that love has healed. Bandages have to come off and stay off at some point; you'll never be able to move onto greater things until you can live with the sight of scraped knees that made sidewalk scars of your past. I want to carry her in the voice of my care, like a musical note you hold two seconds too long just because you love music. I want to be just like you, so that my child will want to look up and see more than a father worried about his job. I want to see that my breaths can take shape in the form of a beautiful baby. I want to give back.
Are you listening to me?..
God shows himself in rare forms, and sees with his heart when we ask Him out of the honesty of ours. So, by the time we've finished talking, what we've been searching for is already inside of us. God is blind to the sin of those who seek to be saved. Their will always be a second chance if you ask in an honest tone.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gator Bait Series 5th Gator Done

I’ve been there for you since the first...

With  sustenance you offer that quenches my thirst...

Although we are different in so many ways...

I look forward to your visits, on hot or cold days..

I never know when you are coming my dear...

But certainly relish when you are here...

We’ve been doing our thing for a few years now...

There are no suspicions and yet some how...

With all the technology and environmental issues...

It would be our luck that TV reality yahoos...

Would discover our secret of which we share...

Of ridding the world of abuse and despair...

So victims can move forward and not have to fear...

Consequences and options...are made very clear...

So with this in mind, I think we should wait...

On the opening of our "second " store known as  " The Gator Bait “

** this is part of the Gator Bait series

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,

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

I am what you call a hopeless 
But im also a lost lovers cause, my 
heart belongs to another
Yet in my head a love triangle starts 
to form, the girl I love doesn’t love 
She holds the heart to another and 
mine caged to the floor,
She isn’t afraid to fight for what she 
wants, not even when it comes to 
leaving another man torn
Trust me she’s happy, as that boy 
holds her heart ever so close
Seeing what I shouldn’t I smile as I 
wear my blind fold,
Blind to everything around, lifeless 
staring into air
My train of thought running so fast, 
the second I stop you’ll hear a crash
Derailing my hope, for ever finding a 
love so pure & rare
Wishing I could hold the hand of the 
lover who stole my flame,
Wish I could change the last days in 
which we parted ways,
Realizing now that we can never be 
the same
Finally saying it out loud as tears run 
down my face
You stole my happiness, as I walked 
away that day
But it’s because as of what you said 
I guessed I changed,
Now every relationship has just be 
the same,
No one can seem to bring back that 
Because a love likes ours comes 
once in a lifetime
Well at least it does to me,
But I mean you’re happy with who 
your with 
I mean I only wrote this as I heard 
exchanging “I love you” flow from 
each of your lips.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A poem in Labor

Fingers crossed spread wide open 
my brain is in pain/ a gift so pure 
baby rhymes crawl backwards in 
stains/ wrapped repertoires come in 
venomous rap pains/ chemical 
messengers ship signals from one 
cell to mythical metaphoric chains / 
It’s the birth of new chapters/ 
Hormones walk tall through walls 
when summer reveals winter’s 
offspring lyrical babies captured/ 
Guilty are biters cheaters pledging 
the word spread of poetic 
descendents/ dippers snap when dirt
is packed overflowing flows the 
nation is watching the sexiest figures 
of speech/ push push push harder 
the rupture of the membrane 
dropped long before the poem 
started/ push push push harder with 
no worries sleepy awesome tongues 
lay low on Africa’s bosom/ little 
cough drop poems the bladder 
carries only few graceful mothers/ 
the birth of my poems

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Random Thoughts on a Chlly Afternoon Pt. 1

     Thanksgiving’s just a few days away.  Yet, I feel the sudden need to write down these 
random thoughts about Christmas!  The weather today brings to life memories of the 
season!  My favorite holiday season of the year! This chill in the air, the earth-tone autumn 
leaves like kites flying so high, tripping over each other as if in a race, the beautiful giant 
oaks and elms, with their branches shivering in the cold wind…. Already, I’m picturing a 
wonderful, fantasy-like landscape of snow; the whitest fluffy, snow drifts!  Catching glimpses 
of old bushy tail digging out some buried food, from some time ago.  The rising smoke from 
chimneys reaching for gray skies, snow-covered roof tops, the unforgettable smell of 
homemade bread, baking in Mama’s oven! Then, at close of day come, the brightest 
twinkling stars, glistening like diamonds on velvet throw of mid-night blue!  And when the 
moon shines so bright, you would think it was day... so clear you could see Jupiter if you 
look closely!  And I imagine how absolutely beautiful God must be!! The most beautiful spirit 
there is! A view to die for because such beauty man's heart can not behold and remain in 
this flesh!!!  For who else would create all this magnificent beauty around us? From the 
genuine smile which graces the face of an innocent child emanating from the purest of 
hearts, to the single blade of green grass that leans into the wind, daring to stand against 
such mighty force which threatens to break huge branches off trees!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fire and Merlot

I remember the honeyed words,
and the
 of the touch that rendered time irrelevant.
I hear laughter in the next room;
astounded at the drunk and the blind.
it’s all so fleeting; we turn to dust in a heartbeat
I speak in logic and move inside of thunder.
 as my skin is peeled away,
as shadowed eyes follow me,
and I feel fingers reaching from the grave,
 the familiarity of your nails scratching
down my back and ancient melodies we shared
that reflect our persistent missteps;
 the ones that buried me alive.
I remember the creaky floors that
carried you to our bed,
The crimson sheets where we danced;
We found harmony in this place
As the world stoked it’s flame around us.
I can still hear the echoes,
Distant and smoldering.
“My love was born in your eyes,
                   Don’t you ever look away.”
Your face hides in the mirror,
Lost inside my own empty stare.
You promised me forever.
But beneath this broken glass,
I can hear it all shatter.
Can you remember how you asked me
 if we could turn back time?
The ash that we laid to waste
 between your chains
and my misgivings set ablaze
in our lovemaking
Now time is timeless for you
 and I feel you, erotic in your ghosting touches
I still claw to hold on to this life
You're essence caresses and taunts me
your touch is warm, from the other side
 ...of this veil
Our hands release from their dance,
as your dead, coarse skin withers and dries hope for a final embrace
But I can still taste your merlot stained lips;
The way they brushed against mine.
I can still feel your pulse rushing to meet
My own.
Your voice, and it’s promises.
“This world can burn us down,
                          But our ashes will be spread together.”
-Katherine Wyatt and James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A light in the dark

You are a light in the dark

the shadows follow but Your

love stands inside to keep me holding

Your hand so wide.

You are a light in the dark

it's scary out here in the

deep wide world that's not my home,

but Your love holds onto my heart

deep inside we never depart.

Your a light in the dark

when I feel so alone

You take hold of the inner parts

deep in my soul.

Oh Lord, how I long to be home,

YOUR my true light in the dark.

Written By:©Betty Bolden

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Waking up

I remember thinking to myself, you can get a  good night's sleep even after a bad day.

It was 3 years ago today when I woke up, packed my belongings and left for good.
You were standing there at the bus stop and asked me how my day was.
I wasn't sure if I could respond....But I knew I should. 
Reply to Her that is.... Not many people ever care, but she does I thought.
I knew where I was standing but deep down I felt lost.
You stood there and I felt a little less lost.
A block away from my home....from my old home, I realized.
I felt found standing next to you.
I replied. "Couldn't be better"
But I was never good at lying.
And you were good at poker.
My bluff was called.

I wake up every now and then and think of the moment you lifted me.
With your words. 
You didn't even know my name. You didn't even know what you were doing.
You did it.

Now 4 years later happily married, I still wake up in the middle of the night.
I visualize the shoe's I was wearing, the dirty white laces that seemed to me not to be tied. Like a loose stage of my life. 
But you tied them. I was the left lace, you the right.
And every now and then when I look up in this dream I see my wife's beautiful eyes standing next to me, other time's its an angel. One and the same they are.

My bluff was called.
She said "You have the same look I had not but a few weeks ago. But your tone of voice is a lot more obvious."
"Were still out there" She says and looks up at the clouds.
She meant women you can love. I knew what she meant.
"Are you out there?" I replied.
"No." She says.
"I'm right here".

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. 

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Discarded grief

Look at this leaf.

Where did it come from?

Stuck in a mud, like a

discarded grief from a weeping willow.

I like its shape.

Follows my hand. Pair it

in two and you can make a glove

or a puppet doll that says “I love you!”

It’s full of wavy hurdles,

a caterpillar’s slalom track.

Can be frozen, curled or wet,

wears all season’s colors like a traffic light.

Enjoys to float, especially in waters of Hoogvliet

rushes to meet other leaves,

while gives a ride to marsh fleas.

Once it went disguised,

I couldn't recognize it.

Dressed in the lost feathers of

floating white hearts and undived “quack, quack”

pretends to be a Sioux Holy Man.

It may come in different sounds too.

Like a bandmaster, it orchestrates winter winds in dramatic


Or, when a thickening fog occupies city parks

still dark and tainted from night,

you hear a crunchy, cranky sound as it get’s

crushed under lover’s heels or

sporadic brave joggers,

in short sleeves.

Dissipated in the air

it’ll wait for its turn,

to blossom proudly again and stare

how spring Sun in the west burns.

Hey little leaf

you would like to crawl into my pocket

like a sneaky thief?

I’m lonely too,

keep me company

in my autumn view.

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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

When Love comes smiling

When Love comes smiling,
with orange wing-tip butterflies
and red red roses for curls,
she will come and lay her sweet hand
gently on my face, as my heart warms
the glaciers of my soul,
as my feet turn to angel's wings 
and I fly with Love.

Oh Love is grand,
and oh Love is kind;
she smiles at me,
with orange wing-tip butterflies
and red red roses for curls,
oh her beauty it restrains me from reality;
oh my dear Love come to me,
show me,
love me,
oh my Love comes smiling,
with the sun on her side
and the moon at her feet,
with orange wing-tip butterflies fluttering away;
she will smile and lay her gentle hand on me
and sing me a song,
oh yes my dear Love;
I shall sing to you as well a song of good hope
and charm.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Piercing My Heart

Piercing my heart:

Her nose-pin twinkles at me,
Her lip-ring smiles at me,
Her dark eyes make me lust,
Leaving everything like rust.
Her cheek-piercings make fake dimples,
Fake eyelashes arise ripples,
Inside my heart.
She is a prostitute from Havana,
I first met her in a sea-side cabana,
On my head, she fastened a cool bandana,
Every night, she gives me insomnia.
Tiny star tattoos trailing her waist,
I want to keep her in my vest,
On me, she pours liquor of zest,
With her I’m never exhausted.
To her tunes, I’m devastated.
The navel piercing makes her sensuous,
She makes my heart joyous,
The tattooed sun under her navel,
and the inked baby angel,
Are enough to create a novel,
About her.
I can’t forget the cross tattoo on her backbone,
And the chuckle of her cheekbone.
I can’t forget how her toe-rings caressed my body,
And her toe-rings were gazed by me.
To me, she means joy,
Her cupid tattoo is carnal envoy.
She showers drops of joy,
With tiny stars convoy.
I kissed the tribal tatt on her lower back,
I’ve loved her for god’s sake,
Her sensuality makes me shake,
But I am not fake.
I desire to bed her every night;
I desire to be her personal knight,
Loving her is my birth right,
I conceal her inside.
She is my secret passion,
She is my strange obsession,
I can tear away all taboos for her,
She has pierced my heart.
I love the way she smokes a cigar,
I love how she applies glitter,
I love the way her lips shimmer,
But I hate the way she ogles at strangers.
I depict her face on my life-canvas,
I inscribe her name on each piece of paper,
She makes my days luminous.
She is invincible and incredible,
In my life, her presence is inevitable.
I wish I were a gem of her necklace,
I’d ward off her foes like savage,
I’ve kissed her anklet,
I’ve loved her restless,
She’s made me mad,
And colored my fad!!

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love see me

Love I know you can see me,
you can see the heart I have
and how big it is;

Love I know you can see me,
you can hear me,
and you can find the sorrow,
which is deep in my heart;
so why can't you find me?
Why can't you fly your way
through the twilight skies
and warm me up on a cold winter night
with a loving kiss and a warm embrace?
Why can't you find me?
But at least I know you see me,
and I'd like to think that one day,
on a spring day in May
you shall find your way and tell me
what was meant to be heard.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Six People

The poet leaves his winter study and roams around mountains and deep woods,
The painter sold his pictures and is off to sketch on heath and highlands,
The child runs through sun kissed meadows and across dusty golden commons,
The lovers walk down country lanes and wander about each other, on mead's,
The man of the road smiles as he knows the night will not be bitterly cold,
The nightingale sings a haunting melody bringing tears to the lovers eyes,
The trees swaying in a breeze an oak drops acorns, the child collects them,
The mountains capped with snow unleashes a stream of fine words from the poet,
The heath and highlands glow with beautiful greenery and the painter paints,
The birds swoop from bough to bough the poet sees and he writes some prose,
The man of the road listens to bird song his eyes mist bringing sad memories
The evening sun falls behind the horizon a beautiful sunset the lovers kiss,
The poet sees the sunset and writes about dark golden evenings and warm nights,
The painter mixes yellow and black and that captures this wonderful picture,
The boy leaves the woods to go home as it is nearly time for his evening meal,
The man of the road lays down deep in the woods his overcoat is his blanket,
The lovers walk arm in arm as the day darkens they make their way home slowly,
The painter cleans his brushes and carefully lays down his canvas in the dark,
The poet is happy he has written beautiful words he lays in his bed reflecting,
The boy is fast asleep dreaming of the fantastic day he enjoyed in the woods,
The six unconnected people that were unknowingly were connected sleep soundly.


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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


your bright
your the day and night
you love to wear white
you are out of sight
the things you
say and do is so ture

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Under the Moon and Stars

Camping in a beautiful green glade on a warm June night the darkness was total,
Every place and scene on this still and thoughtful night unlocked it's essence,
Every spot has its own sentiment and each one with a rich and peculiar perfume,
The leafy scent of trees the smell of forest turf an earthy odor  deep and rich.

Caught on a light breeze was the fragrant breath of sweetbrier natures perfume,
We had the delicious effusion from a clover or bean-field a lingering fragrance, 
At our canvas tent we had the warm rich smell of peat on a red glowing wood fire,
A smell that tells you that it is the end of the day so just rest, talk and enjoy,

We could hear crickets that singing in the hedge surrounding the dark leafy glade,
A night thrush in an old elm that over canopies our tent, silhouetted by the moon,
There is a balmy softness in the air and the other trees stand in shadowy masses,
These shadowy masses seem to listen to the still and musing black skies above them.

Near is a soft gloom beneath umbrageous hedges, how soft, beautiful is a June night,
What can equal this pleasant feeling in this dark camp the smell of burning meths's,
The moon beams down like a celestial creature the evening stars burns with radiance,
As I lay in my sleeping bag and shut my weary old eyes this moment will last forever.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Dashing Blade

In a house high on a hill an old man grows weak, many years have gone, he lays in his old bed,
Back in the day, a dashing young officer with a brilliant red uniform he had many girlfriends,
Flowers scattered across the mead's and meadows the heaths and the glades and over wide glens,
Those days bright and hot, the occasional thunder announces itself in the seasons sultriness,
Today it is summer again trees rich with green leaves now darkened and oaks have little acorns.

Laying in his bed the French doors wide open, summer greets him warmly for just one more time,
White haired and thin his skin yellow and his eyes sunk into wasted sockets his lips quiver,
He remembers the woods well, sitting by a sheltered warm bank, new greenery bursting through,
He tries hard to sit up and to see his long ago self in the beautiful green ripening gardens,
Sweet flowers know him well, respectfully they nod to an old friend who is going on a journey.

As a man who liked to be outdoors he walked and tended these landscapes even as a young blade,
He casts way back to his youthful days when he would walk in the sun a sweet girl at his side,
Running up a woodland bank, his hands on hips, he would wander miles enjoying wonderful views,
His heart raced with joy as the carpets of the forest grew around tall trees along the floor,
Now the songs of the birds grow faint the nightingale is hushed and the cuckoo bows his head.

A nurse tiptoes in she quietly shuts the doors, he whispers, she cannot hear him but she looks,
It is so faint she goes to his bed bends down to listen her ear to his lips they barely move,
He says don't shut the doors the beauty makes me feel safe my old friends are out there waiting,
She lifts him higher, puffs his pillows adds another blanket she smiles, 'you are a lovely man',
The blackbird and the thrush perch near the French doors and sing a musical goodbye very softly.

He can now see the Coltsfoot and cardamine in the fallows with green moss in the moist meadows,
And the star of Bethlehem gleaming from the copse the woods, a special beauty from shady places.
The celandine and kingcup glow in golden lustre he watches them his eyes rheumy and tears fall,
Daisies scattered across lawns like patterns in a carpet of lime green, smelling of spearmint,
The elder flower, corn poppy and the viper's bugloss with a rich azure smile from his garden.

He begins to smile shakily at the crocuses spreading a purple flood over the greenest meadows,
It's a sight you have to see, to take it in, color returns to his cheeks on his ashen old face,
Above all the favorites of the field is a violet, many times he picked one for his lady friends,
White, purple diffuse sweetness under hedges, a landscape painted in mind, those were good days,
Young girls would walk arm in arm across the glades to listen to his wondrous battle stories.

These pictures of beauty he has known since his early childhood days, his memory so very clear,
Whispering do you scent the hay, do you hear the scythes ringing, do you hear sweet laughter,
The joys of running across green fields like young breeze and smelling sweet newly cut grass,
Scented breezes fill his room, his eyes close, happy to return to his precious long gone days,
And with his last breath he walks arm in arm with a beautiful young girl in sweet old meadows.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


He looked at her like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time and instinctively he knew that he loved her far more than anything else on this earth and far beyond anything in the sky. He never knew that beauty captivated the body in order to obtain permission to flicker its light unto the soul. He said unto himself: "When the feeling for beauty happens to be associated with the sight of some human being, the transference of love is made possible" and he smiled.

"It is all the beauty of the world" he exclaimed, "it is universal beauty, for which we all long". As he glanced at her ever long and bade her a smile like no other, she took his hand and filled the spaces between her fingers with his, and they both smiled when she realised that their hands were perfectly matched and divinely foretold in the stars. At that moment he knew that the heart and the seed remind us that the art of falling leads to something astoundingly beautiful. To love for the sake of being loved is rather human, but to love for the sake of loving is something altogether rapturous.

He peered within this new sunset and he comprehended all the secrets of the universe in his new found love. He realised that romance is a thing of beauty and she is love's perfect accompaniment. He no longer needed to call unto the heavens for love when he realised that her heart shared precious parallels with the shimmer; mother nature’s dance with the stream. 

He looked into her eyes and saw all the universe's dreams sweetly glistening back at him and he said unto her: "As men, we are told that to make women fall in love with us we must make them laugh, but every time you laugh I fall in love with you all over again"

Details | Prose Poetry | |


The fractured imprint of Cassandra remains; 
burns bright; pounds at the gates, silenced. She says,
	"Keep Quiet, your words have power. 
Say only, "Let me be an instrument of your will, Lord." 
Tongues and ties will bind- an act of balance with no end.
In turn, opening His love for you, pounding nails in a board.

 "Your reward is not in this life: your reward is this life.
 Your gift: to experience the glory of Creation with all your senses-
	to learn to love like agape- an eternal constant knife
        that cuts what separates and tears down all fences.

The agents of 'separation' are manifested thoughts
        and actions of humans who fall into despair.
 Despair leaves little room for love- so love transmutes 
	into compassion, flows towards you unnoticed through the air. 
She absorbs the slings and arrows of despair; 
a well that when drawn from, overflows and waters your roots.

The 'weak force' is more powerful than the 'strong.'
Through a matrix, "singlets" are born from pure energy-
        born of an imbalance between Creation and Annihilation; 
everything seen and unseen in nature has won the quantum battle 
to exist for a while, but not for long.
Yet, the 'weak force' is often defined in terms 
        of  destructive radioactive decay- that mirrors 
processes observable on Earth. May we redefine
ourselves and each other backwards, from death to birth?
When the Magi presented their gifts to the Christ-
most precious and beloved, worthy gifts to a prince or a pauper.
And when He was grown, He said, "All gifts are equally beloved 
        and all men are princes and paupers."
There is no direct correlation: 
      Between what we sow and what we reap-
is everything under the sun. That which unites and that 
which separates to rule are the transient game. 
"Be not proud, for all your gifts and faults are tools, to help
you quantify the gifted and the poor the same."

Rewritten on 11/28/13.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Warm Hearts

Warm hearts thumping in rhythmic pattern
all together in a chorus so divine,
that it speaks to the soul and sings to the heart,
and we join hands and dance in the winter paradise
of such beauty in the changing of the world.

As we all dance and sing,
we show each to each a beautiful thing
that makes us all sing.
Warm hearts we are and warm hearts we do have;
all we do is love and love again,
in the times of different seasons
we dance and sing and love,
for our warm hearts they love one another,
and together they shall beat together,
one by one-
and with the taking of a springtime storm
we shall indeed enjoy such beauty
our warm hearts produce.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My love for you

My love for you will never change it will stay as long as you love matter how heard it is.and no matter how we fight it just makes us stronger and wizzer.from the top to the bottom.I will love you untell the end.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Random Thoughts on a Chlly Afternoon


      I think of my favorite itty, bitty bugs, so gentle, harmless, my Ladybugs hibernating 
now, or they would be out showing their beautiful satin-like polka dot dresses of red and 
black, or tan and black...  I have been feeling a bit down lately but who has not been down 
this path at some time or other in this life?  And so I must thank my few friends, whom I 
know have been praying for me, because some of the dark clouds were suddenly lifted 
today! Most of the fog has vanished!  My circumstances have not changed, but my soul is at 
peace once more.  I’m beginning to see!  Yes, today, I parked the car.. I did not enter the 
house but went for the usual walk instead. And I watched nature changing, saw how it was 
adjusting to all the elements in stride- the temperature, the wind, the sun and rain.  It 
reminded me to “taste and see” how sweet life is and to remember that it doesn’t matter 
what is going on today, there will be a tomorrow. And if tomorrow doesn’t come for me, in 
this place, so what? I will be at home where all of my sorrows and regrets and the tears and 
all the fears, will be buried in ancient graveyards of yesterday.  I look forward to welcoming 
another beautiful Christmas, with the beautiful music, the wonderful smells, the laughter and 
joy, the brightly colored lights, including the craziness of it all- which I can do without 
sometimes, lol—But yes, I embrace it all!


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The Novelist

'Twas the night of that particular evening whose noon-tide bade wondrous twilights and whose moon suffused in its consummated prophecy. Men perched themselves around balefully dire fires and professed eerie tales to themselves in unsettling delight; tales that forebode dark, lurid prophecies of, according to legend, loathsome howls that molest the hearts of young men and women. These swain starlets, unlike anything avowed in prophecy afore, had their own mysteries and developed their own enigmas and whose particular temperaments spurn dreams that keep the heavens afloat. On that very evening aforementioned, an impoverished and somewhat educated young man sat wearingly in his sofa with eyes affixed upon the hearth whose eerie gaze sullenly flickered in the crackled furore of midnight's fire. "Unbeknownst to legend", he thought, "man makes his own dreams and dreams thereafter make men".
He tilted his head slightly- proud of his attempted aphorism, and he outstretched his arm and repealed the glass of fine whisky to his chest and lifted it to his mouth and took a sip and smiled sneeringly. As he placed his empty glass on the floor, he let his weary eyes wander around the dark and rather hollow room whose empty walls echoed the beseeched pendulum of an old grandfather clock in the corner that was gathering dust. The moon's lustre danced on the windowpane and the night cried a billowing wind that howled unlike anything the darkness avowed before. Now with his sneering smile adjourned, he befouled the night with its novelty and its apparent lack of purpose. He frowned and glowered at the moon and damned it for all his ills and he cursed the stars for their sparkle. "Why must the sky scintillate and shimmer whilst we here on Earth face death and dolour?" "If fate pertains here then it surely lacks an artistic taste of any kind, for to be artistic is to be beautiful and the most beautiful thing we can experience is the enigmatic; the incomprehensible and the inexplicable for it has been called the source of all true art and science". He slowly raised himself from his incumbency and hurried over to the window and emphatically closed the tapestries as they flickered in motion from their forceful closure. The precocious man returned to his arm chair with its rather haggard ottoman-footstool and grabbed his empty notepad to orchestrate ideas for his next novel about the despairing realities of life with its disfigured values of virtue and beauty.
As he fell asleep, a gentle tapping could be heard on the window. A small robin peered in from a small aperture between the tapestries. It cried ever so gently for the fire with its warmth and it longed for its lambency. As it continued to stare, its sleepy tears trickled down the window...for it knew the blessing of beauty.

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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Buy Me Beauty

When I go shopping with my friends 
friend 1 says that looks slimming on you
friend 2 says you look like a sex slave, your boyfriend will love it
friend 3 says you do not have enough of a thigh gap to pull that off
and the cashier laughs at the price and says if that is the price of beauty now of days why do all these people look so ugly

as i leave the store with my new slimming, sex slave, cheap shirt that I may not be able to pull off I think back to the dressing room
I think back to my exposed mid drift 
I think back to the thoughts running through my head 
I was not thinking of my waist line I was thinking "damn I look good"
I was not thinking about my boyfriend I was thinking " damn I feel good"
I was not thinking about my thighs I was thinking " damn I when I walk in this I am going to feel so freaking confident"
I was not thinking of how all the people looked I was thinking " I want to look as sure of myself as they do when I leave this store"

and I turned to friend 1 and I said
I do not buy clothes that make me look skinny 
I buy cloths to make me feel beautiful 
I turn to friend 2 and say 
I do not buy cloths to please my boyfriend 
I buy cloths to please myself
I  turn to friend 3 and say 
I do not boy cloths to hide what others may see as flaws in my body
I buy clothes to show off every gorgeous piece of me 
I smile at the cashier 
and I walk out of that store with a spring in my step and confidence on my face 

and the message I am trying to make 
is that you can't sell me skinny 
because my body is perfect for me
you can't sell me making my boyfriend happy
because if I am not good enough for him in any outfit he is not good enough for me at all
and you can tell me I don't have enough this or that to pull a style off
because I have the perfect amount of self worth to feel confident 
knowing that according to me. I have no flaws

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We often have wishes for things beyond reach. Is this an implant in us? How is it that one has wishes? We are given what is needed to survive, and yet more is wanting. How does this come about? If you are complete then wishes are extra. Some are good and some are not. But no matter for we can keep or discard them at will. Just a test to know what one really needs. Basics are fine, but you need an extra to make you move forward. Wishes are good in that they make one whole. Even if no good comes of them. You follow the ones that lead to the better path. Wishes - God made, to make you on top. Wishes - God made not to make you stop. Go on with your wishes as you grow. It will become apparent that you are here and complete.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

a poem for an angel

for the first time
when i looked at you
i saw an angel
a very beautiful one
as i never seen before
in my entire life
till i saw you 

(come down for a while
and sitting on my shoulder
and when i`ll wake up 
from this beautiful dream
give me a sign you exist)

Details | Prose Poetry | |



   On Monday March 14th 2011, at 1:05 PM, I believe I was looking into the face and eyes of Death, as we drove to Her, school .

   I think I heard the voice and sounds of Death, on Monday March 14th 2011 at 1:15 PM as She tried to direct me past the entrance to Her class. 

   I felt the hands of Death, touch me as She turned away, leaving me standing there, heart in hand, bleeding profusely, no response, as she turned Her, back and walked away, not looking back . 

   3:40 PM and as I sat in the Henderson Mall, heart broken, feeling the pangs of regret, the Grim Reaper, cut into my chest, as I watched Lady Death, walk towards me with a look that said " die ", " go to hell " but the words that came out of Lady Death's, mouth were " such a serious look ! " and Her, response to my gift of apology ( flowers and a poem ) and my offer to give Her, a ride home where met with a curt response " I have something else to do " and She, was gone like the lights had been turned out, and then the Grim Reaper, plunged his scythe deep into my heart, twisting his blade with such aggression I could hardly breath as my lungs tightened up, my throat closed, my heart would not beat and my soul cried out in vain . 

   For eleven days I sat in the silences, looking into the casket, at this old fool, who, by his own hands, was killed, killed by his stupidity and thoughtless words. The evening of the eleventh day of my wake, a sweet, voice, from my memory, sang out to my dead ears, but the tones where sugarless and the lyrics where that of a dirge ringing out a death blow, as Lady Death, responded to " will I get to see you sometime ?" with a " maybe " and then " I have to go, I have things to do " and then the coffin lid came crashing down on my state of reverie, the dream shattered like a mirror struck by a meteor, shards, splinters, fragments fused together in twisted, distorted images of what once was ?, is ?, my dream, a dream that was not, is not Hers, and like Alice in Wonder Land, slipping through the looking glass, reality was not as it seemed, for one's reality, on the other side, may not be the reality of another. The visions, the desires, the dreams, one's perception, all, are but splinters of the holographic universe we inhabit, but have no control of. FATE ?, KARMA ?, THE GRAND DESIGN ?, BLIND CHOICES ? 

   Now I spend every hour of every day hanging on to the edges of my funeral, the wake, my spirit attends faithfully and from these, my mind will not let me escape . 

   I wonder if I will be able to step out from behind the looking glass ?, awake from my beautiful dream ?, face reality ?, reality reflected in those exotic, dark brown mirrors, the windows to your soul .

   My Lotus Blossom, my Oriental Dream, my China Doll, my Exquisite Vision of Loveliness, my Exotic Beauty, - she has left me with my own death mask to reflect upon as I look into the mirrors ( images of what I once experienced with Her, ) and see only ghostly figures ( She and me and all that we shared, all we experienced ) haunting all the moments that lie among the ashes of all the beautiful experiences we shared, experience I believe She, has placed upon a funeral pyre, set them on fire, no longer having a desire to even remember we once lived them, them that gave my life some purpose, gave me meaning, put a sparkle in these tired old eyes and a spring to the shuffle of this old mans step. For   Her, ????????????? 


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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


for me your  my life
your just right
things  you say
makes my day
and all you do 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Alabama Snow

The long never ending landscape of southern Alabama never runs cold. Today it decided to. The wind was at 
ease and all the snow flakes were about. The cold ground shuddered beneath me but I could tell it was a good 
kind of shiver. The snow fell down in a hurry yet it still took it's time swaying in the wind. All the snowflakes 
danceing around soon started a low tune far off on the wind. The band played a song that the world has been 
playing for centerys. One of love and peace. One that has no bounds or experation date. The song was cold 
enough to freeze the earth but here I stood warm as I basked in my happieness. The world seemed still as the 
orchestra played it's beautiful tune. The wind swirling and twirling as if it were a finely tuned violin. I couldn't 
bare to close my eyes for it was just to beautiful to look away from. As the wind picked up in it's gusts the 
snow felt ever so heavier and the skys begain to melt the love within the snow as all the snowflakes fell down 
as rain. "What a beautiful conversion" crossed my thaughts. The snowed over feild grew dreadfully quiet as the 
beautiful tune escaped into the wind. This was when I sudenly realized I was soaked and freezing. Almost killed 
me but I steped inside away from the Alabama snow. But I knew she'd come back for me.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


May is like a good friend when she turns up we are glad and we have good times,
She is dressed in so many colors as if she has swallowed the arc of a rainbow,
She is like a photo album with colorful flowers, rich green grass and blue sky,
Magnificent pictures the earth is her garden, her trees snow white in blossom,
Her artwork is deep and profound while her canvases are painted for all to see.

She has many bottles of perfume all taken from carpets and myriads of flowers,
She throws her perfume high into the air and it is caught by warm soft breezes,
Essences ride across the land on a spring morning the start of a beautiful day,
And her sun shines, watery in a turquoise cloudless sky, her smile is dazzling,
A dazzling smile, the most beautiful ever seen, we just stand and stare in awe,

Her eyes radiate sunbeams she looks onto hidden valley's and gives bright light,
Looks into dark corners she delivers the brightest sunshine of fluorescent gold,
The gold is so rich, flowers lean towards that golden beacon, their petals open,
Her radiance makes patterns on soft forest floors and springs sparkle and ripple,
Dormant winter creatures awake from long slumbers, they nod to the forest queen.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Imprisoned Eagle

In a dark and malicious cave, screeching and 
crying is heard. They are the screams and cries 
of a beautiful young eagle.

Tears flow out of its sky blue eyes; it is imprisoned.
Its feathers are falling out like flowers that
are thrown into the furnace. One of its wings is broken 
but the other survives.

"How did I get here?" asks the eagle. The young 
eagle, out of curiosity, steps out of its boundaries of 
the beauty of life and nature. It got here to this dark
and malicious cave in the forest of its soul.

"How do I get out of here?" asks the young 
eagle. Silent is his world of pain in his curiosity.

The poor young broke eagle starts to doubt
that he will ever get out of those chains; so, he 
waits for his fate.

Then, there appears a beautiful eagle with golden
feathers, and asks the young eagle why it is crying.
The young eagle respnds, " I am chaine and imprisoned,
bloodied and broken. I will nevr get out of here, so, I 
await my doom."

The golden eagle tells him what to do in order to get out
of this misery. "In order to become unchained, you must
think of your home of beauty and nature, instead of doubt
and sadness."

Before the young eagle starts to think, it asks the golden
eagle its name. "I am You. I am Your soul."

The chains are broken and his wing is mended. He brakes
the cave with his claws of majesty and starts to soar in the 
early rising of the sun.

The golden eagle is no where to be found but in the depths 
of the Soul.

"I am You. I am Your Soul."

Details | Prose Poetry | |


i miss you
so much you do
miss you everyday
if only words could say
how i cry
as time pass by
losing you i have fears

Details | Prose Poetry | |

From My Heart

Sit down for a moment with me dearest
Listening closely to what my lips say
You have never heard these words before
Dropping freely from my mouth today

Often you have heard me lovingly speak
Of your beauty which I daily praise
Yet I do not see you only with my eyes
I see you deeply where love truly stays

A tranquil place where it nourishes actively
The genuine longings which each day start
A place in life where no other will enter
For only you have true ownership of my heart

So realize that it is not the only way 
When I see your loveliness with my eyes
For there will always be a more tender way
When I embrace you from my heart inside.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


stand tall
be a strong wall
if you fall
be tough get up
knock off bad stuff
and do what right

Details | Prose Poetry | |


you most then that
your my bat
for me you fight
and just right
you ar my life
you alway have the key

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Bad, Bad Boy My Dear, sweet China Flower

The Bad, Bad Boy 

My Dear, sweet China Flower :

   The Oriental fragrance of you lingers on, it has permeated the very fibers of my mind and my home.
   I am, oh so very sorry for over stepping boundaries, going beyond my place, in your life. I am sorry for letting my passions, my desires become the flames that defiled your beautiful innocence.
   I really feel bad for the BAD, BAD thing I did to you and for leaving you unsatisfied. I am also, so very sorry for pollinating - planting my seeds deep within - your beautiful flower,
and for doing so without your desire, your consent as I slipped between your stems and into your dreams .
   I do hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive this old fool for - in the heat of moments of desire to taste, to savour the flavour of your liquid honey, honey that felt so good I could not resist - defiling the innocent beauty of your womanhood, in desecrating a beautiful Flower, of China. All to satisfy my own lecherous appetites, appetites that violated the purity and innocence in you, broke the trust, that I believe you placed in the hands of this foolish old stranger.
   I am truly sorry for my acts of indiscretion, and even more so for my not
bringing to fruition, the blossoming of your beautiful flower, feeling it, seeing it explode in a brilliance of rainbow colours, that would have lit up the hours of our late night, early morning.
   Please do not think to badly of me, my Dear .


   As I look into the above, I come to realize that I painted a picture of what must appear, to you the reader, an aggressive, forceful, selfish, inconsiderate,monster who is lurking among the shadows of my rhyme ?, / poetry ?, but let me assure you that that is as far from the truth as is the closest universe . 
   The above poem ?, / rhyme ?, came on the heels of my lack of understanding, an inability to read the signs and the over active imagination of this author as I was looking into the beauty of the first times I made love to this Beautiful China Flower, in a bright light at night's darkest hour and again in the soft glow of dawn's first sight of passion's delight . 
   The truth be told, taking poetic license, an active imagination, lack of verbal communication - for there is this language and cultural difference as well as only three months of Canadian culture and the English language under her belt, at the time - told me one story while I neglected to take into account all the none verbal expression that came, and came from this Chinese Flower, as she expressed in the silences of her physical participation a truth and that truth has blossomed many, many times since under the green thumb of this old gardener, so what is the true reality ?, the rhyme ?, / poem ?, this statement ? 
   In the light of this, the poem ?, /rhyme ?, does not a reality make . A monster ?, a fool ?, a blind man ?, an artist ?, does any of this tell what this author could be under all my words ?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An Endless Time

Wish upon a falling star
And pray within a dream
For what your heart desires
To become the truest reality

Touch the clouds embracing heaven
Flying like a bird high in the sky
Cast a coin into a wishing well
Praying a loyal love you will find

Search the farthest horizons
Go to the most distant shores
Pray that you will find the one
Whose amazing love will endure

Be very patient in your Odyssey
And one day you will surely find
That love which was once elusive
Will be yours for an endless time.

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.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

a caring kiss

a caring kiss is all you need from me
to free you from your black-laced jail,
that entangles you deep in your soul;
oh a caring kiss is all you need from me,
to give you such a feeling of love,
release you from the jail the is deep in your soul.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Old Walking Stick

There are no months as beautiful as early summer months wild flowers make the headlines,
Leaning heavy on my old worn hazel wood stick walking to a wooded meadow out of breath,
Clusters of Primrose and large patches of Blue Bells chat with clumps of Spring Violets,
As I stand wheezing the wonderful smells the dampness of wood and flowers give me air.

Lesser Celandine flowers between March and May heart shaped leaves a glistening yellow,
Now feeling a little better my head lifts the top of some large trees seem so far away,
The Cuckoo flower has leaves deeply toothed with spear stems, shows off all its beauty.
The kindle under my gentle walking cracks loudly so the meadow and trees know I am here. 

There is a second spring in the forest wooded meadow Snowy Mespilas with white flowers,
It reminds me of winter snow I once enjoyed these days my legs are not what they were,
The tree of heaven spreads climbing sixty feet and the Alder with soft purple catkins,
Leaning on a tree happy to be here with warm sun finding its way through high branches.
Hedgerows dress in the same vernal-looking hue and a Chipmunk darts across a small field,
The Chipmunk runs up the side of a nearby tree if he new me well he would not run away,  
Thick scented heather lives on the moorlands side by side with an evergreen Bog Rosemary,
A furry little face high up on a branch is watching me in the same way I am watching him.

A Judas tree with round leaves clusters of magenta, pea like flowers greet me this day,
I wonder why it is called the Judas tree is it the one Judas hung from with silver coins, 
Cornelian Cherry flowers at the end of winter, followed by richest bright orange fruits,
A Japanese Quince shows splashes of color they are so white, or salmon or very very pink.

Weigela a beautiful shrub will bell like flowers and a deep red rose brighten the woods,
Times getting on now and I am tired but standing in this beautiful meadow I feel so alive,
Doesn't matter how old or how well a person maybe that same natural beauty is seen by all,
So leaning heavily on my companion the hazel stick I walk back to my home it's a great day.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Poem For My Lady

The dawn has no beauty which compares to thee
The sun has no glow as the brown eyes I see
Melon has no taste as the honey from your lips
Wine has not the power I find within your kiss

And to compare you to a sunset is a mockery
For nothing can compare to your inner beauty
For what is lost in beauty is overwhelmingly won
In a soft personality that compares to none

Its richness is beyond what is valued and rare
And its nourishment is more than even the air
And to one like me its  my most essential need
To have my wanting heart love the likes of thee

I have felt the sky rain which nourishes flowers
And I have felt your love rain upon my heart
Causing it to blossom beautifully every hour
With the sweetest love songs of the meadow lark

I have seen the beauty of crystal blue seas
I have seen its waves as they kissed the beach
And in their ferociousness have I now seen
The way your priceless beauty did capture me

And nothing in this life can compare to thee
Nothing else in this world I can touch or see
For I knew in my heart that nothing would be
As lovely as the one  who truly loves me.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


thing you say
makes my day
you must be i can see
gods child

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Oh beautiful angel

oh beautiful angel so kind, so divine
where have you gone,
where have you gone?
I have been searching,
I have been loving;
exhausted I am,
oh exhausted I will always be,
while looking for the beautiful angel,
whose so kind, so divine,
where have you gone,
where have you gone?

The silver laced moon barely shining
behind purple painted skies,
barely any stars in sky,
looking up for the beautiful angel,
whose so kind, so divine,
where have you gone,
where have you gone?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mr Spring has Arrived

Early in the year a young man walks with a stout Yew stick firmly on his shoulder,
Resting on damp grey stone looking all around watching the dicky birds and smiling,
Rising from the stone he drops a snowdrop and a forget-me-not onto the cold ground
He had not taken two steps and these flowers have taken root and they begin to grow.

Wet winter aged bushes turned towards this young man he stops and they begin to dry,
Hawthorns nod in thanks and they show him a blanket made of beautiful white blossom,
Colors begin to show in crags by rushing rivers it is time for the heather to wake up,
The young man slowly turned around gray damp plants stood upright their colors bright.

Rabbits darted from their warrens scurrying looking and finding the Dianthus allwoodii,
Cock Pheasants run in circles as baby pheasants grow the proper plumage with their mums,
Frogs hop and croak in the long grass looking for mosquitoes and midges for breakfast,
Caterpillars slither along looking for foliage, plant stems and any unsuspecting flowers.

Moles wander around leaving scars across the meadows looking for earthworms and insects,
Red Spiders living on lower leaves, a Rhododendron bug a pest making the leaves go brown,
The Creeping Thistle is a tall weed it grows very quickly and has beautiful yellow flowers,
The Colts foot is outstanding with its flowering bright yellow head emerging in Springtime.

As he made his way across orchards glades and tiny little brooks the land burst into glory
Grey washed away and bright colors took their place and all turned to a brilliant beauty,
New buds on green trees creating a huge canvas ready for painting an incredible masterpiece,
Water in the brooks bubbled with joy and the birds sang young Mr Spring had returned again.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

When love came walking

When love came walking,
she stopped at my door
and asked for a drink of water;
I never knew what to think, or 
how love found her way to my front door.

I stood amazed,
the twilight in the sky had broke
and she still stood,
smiling with teeth like snow,
and I gave her a drink of water.

She went on her way,
that was two years ago today;
still I sit and ponder over the whole event,
I still sit and wonder if that was my big chance
to find love and fall for her,
but she'll be in the neighborhood again,
I'll just have to wait- with a tall glass of water.


Details | Prose Poetry | |


your my star
the way you are
here or far
or sitting in a bar
your still my everthing

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love sick is a horrid hang-up

Love sick is a horrid hang-up,
to know that no one with call you,
or no one cares for you not one living thing;
Not even a snail moving slowly in a gutter,
or a snake slithering in desert sand pools,
not even that one beautiful girl with diamond eyes;
not one will ever come and just talk.

I hear the birds talking back and forth to each other,
five in the morning in the cool dawn morning;
I think they talk of me- (who is that brown-eyed boy,
-who cries such tears of sorrow-)
I don't think that though- they must be talking of the morning sunrise.
They might not even know that I'm down here thinking of them up there-
-or do they?)


Details | Prose Poetry | |


he is from the block
never stop
no doudt
he got a

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mr Spring has Arrived

Early in the year a young man walks with a stout Yew stick firmly on his shoulder,
Resting on damp grey stone looking all around watching the dicky birds and smiling,
Rising from the stone he drops a snowdrop and a forget-me-not onto the cold ground
He had not taken two steps and these flowers have taken root and they begin to grow.

Wet winter aged bushes turned towards this young man he stops and they begin to dry,
Hawthorns nod in thanks and they show him a blanket made of beautiful white blossom,
Colors begin to show in crags by rushing rivers it is time for the heather to wake up,
The young man slowly turned around gray damp plants stood upright their colors bright.

Rabbits darted from their warrens scurrying looking and finding the Dianthus allwoodii,
Cock Pheasants run in circles as baby pheasants grow the proper plumage with their mums,
Frogs hop and croak in the long grass looking for mosquitoes and midges for breakfast,
Caterpillars slither along looking for foliage, plant stems and any unsuspecting flowers.

Moles wander around leaving scars across the meadows looking for earthworms and insects,
Red Spiders living on lower leaves, a Rhododendron bug a pest making the leaves go brown,
The Creeping Thistle is a tall weed it grows very quickly and has beautiful yellow flowers,
The Colts foot is outstanding with its flowering bright yellow head emerging in Springtime.

As he made his way across orchards glades and tiny little brooks the land burst into glory
Grey washed away and bright colors took their place and all turned to a brilliant beauty,
New buds on green trees creating a huge canvas ready for painting an incredible masterpiece,
Water in the brooks bubbled with joy and the birds sang young Mr Spring had returned again.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Your mind is beautiful
Your soul draws me in
With its delicate calm
And I have neither the strength 
Nor the will to escape
I want to die in there
That I may know heaven
Dein Geist is schön
Deine Seele zieht mich hinein
Mit ihrer zarten Friedlichkeit
woraus zu flüchten
habe ich weder die Wille noch die Kraft
Darin will ich sterben
Damit ich Himmel kennen darf

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Oh my spring girl

Oh my spring girl, who walks in boots
made for the intended winter;
you who picks the first rose, which
bloom with the first month of spring.

Oh my darling spring girl, come in my
deep dreams and come into my weak arms,
as I see you in the flesh come to me in my heart,
with your brow painted with lilacs and roses
in my dreamland where we can be-
safe and sound;
come now my spring girl,
leave your winter boots at my door,
and come with me,
come now my spring girl-


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hazel Eyes

Hazel Eyes
September 15, 2011

Such beautiful eyes
So full of mysterious disguise
They have the sheen 
Of a light light green
And yellow as the autumn sky
As you gaze you wonder why
As I wait to meet
Surely my heart will greet
Of the feelings we share
Surely, Do we DARE
As we run through life amongst and with it
Through our devoted commitment
Follow the long forgotten past
In our hearts we know it will last
Our love is so fine
In our eyes you see it as we dine
To feel the warmth of her skin
The feelings I know she will let me in
From this day forward I know she is mine
Our love will last till the ends of all time
The feelings in my heart are a must
Truly, truly they are JUST!

Dedicated to a lady I know
Jacki Wahner McDowell
With Beautiful Hazel

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lovely Lady

A beautiful lady with eyes on fire,
 That sparkle and laugh, that can smile and cry,
 I love your eyes so clear and true.
 Beautiful lady I adore you.

 A twinkling look that bubbles bright,
 With a heart to care, and a heart to love,
 With hands to hold, and hands to help,
 Beautiful lady there to give.

 Beautiful lady, a smile so bright,
 So warm and gentle, so soft. A delight.
 A voice so clear,
 That calms and soothes, a voice that wipes all fears.

 Beautiful lady,
 I'll give to you, my thoughts, my prayers, my hopes,
 I offer you my heart, my strength.
 My love is yours for ever.

 Beautiful lady,
 I love you as you are.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


 i found out
no doudt
who you are
so far
 i was right your bright
only one thing
to bring
its from above love
the key is you to see
me too

Details | Prose Poetry | |

At One with Nature

Wandering with friends through romantic and enchanting scenery the sun shines down on us,
The day is cool and clear each step on spongy mossy ground makes us feel as light as the air,
Finding our way along banks of a winding stream with each turn a fresh scene of loveliness,
This beautiful walk gladdens the eyes and charms the heart as nature is shows us her pictures.

While looking at these beautiful canvases of nature it is very hard to choose which is the best,
And looking at the glowing landscape a friend points towards a display of even more beauty,
In this scene there is nothing to say but just look at what is around us each turn makes us glow,
We feel the happiness of nature unfolding her gifts and you just know she has a winsome smile.

And as we walk further along a summer glade we nestle deeper into the bosom of mother earth,
Mountains and cowslips and the good old daisies join the purple heather laid out like a carpet.
The feeling is that nature is not exhausted yet she has many more treasures waiting to unfold,
As the dancing stream bubbles along and winds round an impending rock a surprise awaits us.

There is a scene so grand and wondrous that makes us silent and we are chained together in awe,
It seems up to this time a handmaid have been leading us through the porch and into the hallway,
Now we have arrived we have entered the chamber itself and stood face to face with our host,
Once more nature has opened her house to all her guests and hung forth her richest draperies.

The scenery before us now makes goose bumps rise on our arms and raises hair on our necks.
The sun shines brightly on the waters and the brown watered stream turns into a river of gold,
The land stretched out before us a radiant green that met the turquoise sky on the far horizon,
The caressing breezes carry delicious smells and scents it’s a new spring everything is awake. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Dark grey body is on a wire strung 
across the street. Yellow house- sunshine- faces the house painted 
the color of summer leaves.   

A wood cross is on top of an ivory cone.
It is thrust into bandaged heavens, 
and towers behind the stone library 
slanted on the hill. 

Windows are smudged charcoal squares, eyes. 
The glass door, reflecting obese woman 
with hands choreographed 
by the weavers dance, opens, closes. 

Steps are peeling, and as soft as a blue sky.
Rainbow cotton is beginning to warm her fingers.
Although feet pound, and their hollow sound echoes as if trod in a newly built house.

Dove still sits alone.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


My hearts attachment to you my darling 
Has deep roots that no eyes might see
Unless they could feel the love I know
Which daily mystifies my hearts dreams

And what is shown in spirited emotions
That race fervently from within my heart
Are only here to show my love's tenacity
While daily bringing a blazing fire to start

So fascinated am I with these deep feelings
Which I passionately hope will never end
For the stimulation which they provide my soul
Always keeps  my mind thinking of heaven

And the lofty state of my minds thinking
I find is only made to come about you see
Because of your enchanting beautiful love
Whose sweet embrace will never let me be.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Teenage Love 19: 2010-present

When it comes to young love, it's a beautiful thing for young people from around the world. 
And when it comes to teen boys and teen girls falling in love with each other since the day they 
met, it's like fireworks popping in the sky. Their moms and dads are either happy about it or 
inapproving or whatever. It seems to everybody that most relationships among all teenagers 
might even last to either 72 hours or a lifetime. That's a really long time, but then, if these two 
young lovebirds want to stay together, even until their high school reunions, then that's fine. 
Sometimes love will make young men and/or young women do some silly things or whatever, 
but love doesn't; it's just an emotional feeling for teen boys and teen girls combined. Their 
parents (the moms and the dads) should also know what their lives were like when they were 
teenagers, especially since the day they fell in love with each other. Young love has 
revolutionized the year 2010 and it'll revolutionize the future of all of the would-be teen 
couples. This is starting to get very interesting. It looks like the junior/senior high school years 
will be with all of the wound-be-then teen love birds for the rest of their natural lives. All 
relationships among all young people will not just continue to increase every single day, but no 
matter what the circumstances of young relationships or whaterer, it'll seem that day in and 
day out, all of the young lovers (all teen boys and all teen girls) will always have love for each 
other, and their parents are very happy about it. And if young love continues to grow and grow 
by the time the year 2025 arrives, there's no telling what beautiful thing might happen next.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


May the hand of our Lord always guide you
May His tender love daily anoint your heart
May the peace of His heaven fill your world
As this New Year's breath begins to start

May His grace in your mind be steadfast
May the light of His Spirit fill your face
May you never again feel any loneliness
As you live daily in His loving embrace

May your spirit be blessed very abundantly 
Writing and sharing what He bequeaths to you
May you strive to inspire and touch another
In the wonderful way He also does for you

Be charitable and kind in your daily walk
Never finding hatred or prejudice within
Living your life each day in a humble way 
As this new year in your life now begins

May each step you take this year resemble 
The sharing life our Lord always displayed
And you will find His spirit blessing you
As His grace guides your life each new day.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

as the night goes by

As the night goes by i will stay.As the night goes by i will not leave.
as the night goes by i will love you. as the night goes by i will die for you.As the night goes by i will change for you.As the night goes by i will fight for you.
As the night goes by i will dream of you.So as the night goes by i will love you untell the end

love jamie

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invisible Man 14

I wrote the Invisible man poems many years ago. These poems, and I have not submitted them all, was for a little girl who died in a road accident. They are a tribute to her memory. It was a dark and very sad time and I miss her so much. The Invisible Man poems are supposed to to show the the darkness of my world, the way I felt. They are very precious to me. Thank you for reading.

The invisible man goes behind the stores looking for some food, by then he has
had enough the bitterness and hate. He thinks if he has happy thoughts he will be happy.

It seems its always a warm spring day when I walk with you down my memory lane,
I remember always holding hands with you as we smile and walk down there again,
The sun is shining brightly with flowers budding along the pathways of the past,
Pointing out little birds and beautiful wild flowers are my memories that last,
No clouds dare to mar the sun's watery glow, which melts into skies of soft blue,
No shadows would dare to mask the sun when I'm walking back in time with you,
From those long ago golden times I remember only happiness and never any tears,
Those were the most beautiful days of my life, the sweetest of all my many years,
For a short while I forget my loneliness the dreadful loss the hurting and the pain,
It’s always spring and happiness when we hold hands skipping down old memory lane.

Thinking of the past makes him so very sad, sadness that comes from deep within,
A wrenching passion that makes him lower his head into his coat to hide his warm,
tears that uncontrollably drip from his gaunt cheeks and splash on his ruined shoes.

Nasty bullying men taunting him and pointing out what he already knows that he is a
cancer on society that he stinks worse than the garbage he rummages through and would
better off dead.He shuffles past these people and leans on a wall Invisible sobs loudly he can't stop.
All the pain and constant sadness is too much so he goes to a supermarket and buys some,
cheap booze to ease the pain. He queues with his bottle of cheap vodka his face still wet
with tears. Everyone moves from his queue to another one Invisible cannot get out of the
shop quick enough. He sits on a bench in the shopping center and begins to drink.
The more he drinks the quieter the taunts are. Darkness hides him in neon light his sadness
is now bearable.He sits with his bottle between his legs and just stares at the floor and
as the booze disappears so does Invisible.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stay Love

Stay Love 

I was instructed too much
and one day
the sky divided
into new worlds 
from the imagination
of my own unlimited

I made my way through
the emptiness
of these unfound pages 
songs of life
to early morning
for evening to die 
I slept alone
in cold rooms
reading the history
of broken records 
my mind danced
to fragrant afternoons
and twilight
searched the rooms
without me. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


it don't hurt
to wash the drit
before eat or sleep
to make that stand

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Listen To Your Love

I listen as your love  speaks out to me,
Each morning when I am allowed to rise.
Finding at that time I am assured Lord,
Your love will always be by my side.

My spirit finds peace early in the morning,
During the special quiet times we share.
My heart is ever thankful for the chance,
When my spirit finds your love so near.

My heart listens to your captivating whisper,
Which each morning sets my passion to flame.
As I rise early each day to humbly greet you,
Knowing again my life will never be the same.

My heart always begins to beat a little faster,
As my lungs each day continue to softly breathe.
I wait within your sweet tender embrace of love, 
Attentively listening while your love speaks to me. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


She is trapped like a mannequin in a glass window. Searching for new shoes, new hats, new 
clothes with hopes it will make her soul new and light. Swimming in a dark pool, under 
water. beautiful on the outside and ugly within. Ugly secrets for a beautiful girl. Dark shades 
to camoflague her face. It does no good. feel her green blue eyes piercing through your skin 
anyway. I hang my head to the side and lean on her to give my support. My best friend. My 
dark comrade. The devil to my angel. Its only when things aren't going that badly that we 
forget. Longing for the days laughter and friendship. No more black tears falling down to land 
on the white couch. White everywhere. Surrounded in white , dressed in pain. She'll miss 
me.  The blood pumps through my veins. Angry at the darkness that has swallowed her up. 
The moment pleasantly scary. The moment frozen in time. Frozen like the girl with green 
blue eyes. Holding my breath because I've treasured her all these years and now I must let 
her walk on her own.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Queens with long velvet hair

Queens with long velvet hair
hear them scream in a twilight
as their hearts torn from their chests,
left to rot in a place that the Devil would never go near
and God looks down and nothing happens,
those once beautiful Queens with long velvet hair
lay prone in filth and dirtiness
of what love left for them.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Though love be a day

Though love be a day
and death be a flower,
we shall grow a garden so full of beautiful violets,
the only flower that stands,
when love is laid to rest for eternity;

Though love be a day
and death be a flower,
we shall continue to kiss,
till the gardens grow flowers blooming left and right
and a kiss shall be the only sweet thing for you;
though love be a day,
and death be an hour
not a minute goes by,
every second I never turn away from you
and kiss another.

Though love be a day
and death be a flower,
I shall pick those flowers for you,
when that day comes
when you are not with me anymore.

Shall I kiss your brow,
as you lay in peace and undisturbed beauty glories you?
There I shall pick a rose and place it on your bosom,
where I lay my weak head to rest every night
I spent with you,
and I kiss you- one last kiss-
and I whisper to you,
(though love be a day
     -and death be a flower,
       I shall grow a garden for you,
        and we shall kiss no longer)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Green Eyes

Green Eyes
August 14, 2011

I met a new friend
She will be there till the end
With eyes so green
With the most beautiful sheen
She is so fine
As the sweet tasting young wine
Though we have never met
That is no sweat
For one day 
It will never get in the way
One day we will
As my name is sweet Bill
Kathy is her name
She is one in a million and the same
Just one day it will be
Just hold your breath and see

I met Kathy Stafford playing on and we hit it off immediately
Her eyes are the most beautiful green as my eyes are too
We will always be friends and meet one day
William Lewis Moore
But my eyes change from Green to Blue to Gray
But that is another poem I have

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Woman With The Long Raven Hair

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Woman With The Long Raven                    
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014

you ever need


 hope, and love -

of me -

I 'll be there
for you,

your side -

of me

with your 
mind and spirit -

I'll be there

the soul

of my
heart -

I Love You

Details | Prose Poetry | |


you  have it all
 you are spring and fall
got looks
on books
you're hook
your shape is a gas
your on my task

Details | Prose Poetry | |


You are the most beautiful love of our lives
You make the heat of the sun soothing to the skin
You make the fear of the storm a simple excuse
You make the lightning an thunder sound like music

You are the dream of every young heart around
You are the console of many pilots of peaceful landing
You are the plaque in the hearts of men of valour
You are the stitch in time after the strong tear

Here is the beef sun dried and peppered to your taste
Here is the carrot watered and gardened to your table
Here is the bread cake of the nation fresh and sweet
Here is the temptation, wizardry and subtle witchcraft

Of the villain lurking on the verges of your conscience
But shielded by the beautiful love shining forth
A light to the narrow minded people from yonder
A pride of a nation and a prop to democratic points

But do not slander the cracked feet of the Nomads
But do not neglect the artisans and their workman-ships
But do not suffer the wisdom of the ancestors here
And betray the most beautiful trust reposed in you

Details | Prose Poetry | |


it don't hurt
to wash the drit
before eat or sleep
to make that stand

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Trill of a Robin

It is a beautiful summer day I was wakened by a robin that lives in my hedge,
He lives in my old hedge row happily singing a loud trill, his summer song,
I sat in my garden wearing an old dressing gown sipping a mug of white coffee,
Looking my way his round eyes scold me this is far too late to get out of bed.

I could hear the voice of a stream flowing along in one of the lower meadows,
It was warm, the morning sun shone on my face I closed my eyes to enjoy the glow,
I nearly went back to sleep I opened my eyes and was told off again by the Robin,
In early July nature stands strong full grown it's a perfect summer all is well,

On a day such as this men and woman and troops of children walk the rivers margin,
Refreshing long strolls through the glens and valleys on rolling beautiful hills,
As the day gets warmer songs of the birds become faint the nightingale is hushed,
The cuckoo has departed and the blackbird and the thrush rarely sing me a welcome.

A red rose fades on a wayside the corn has begun to go pale it means a good harvest,
There are still thousands of pretty beautiful flowers stretching into the distance,
The grass is full of green patches the leaves on the trees go darker as they mature,
Elder-flowers and corn poppy's sit in ancient hedgerows, sandy old heaths blow dust.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


come over
lets have a clover
rock the boat
like old goats
ok try

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Blacktorn Winters

Many years ago, way back in time the month of April was known as the Blackthorn Winter,
It was the time of the year when the blackthorn begins to dress in her finest blossom,
Deep in the country the small hamlets custom says is the time for bitter cold weather,
Time for east and north-easterly hard winds chill all, hail, sleet and sometimes snow.

The blackthorns and the plums in sheltered orchards awaken and begin to come to life,
They quickly showed themselves thickly clustered with tiny little green bursting buds,
Blue whiteness of the blossom half revealed, like the wide smile of a beautiful girl,
A rich white that makes your heart and eyes light up at the sight of unrivaled beauty.

Cold are the winds buds of trees swell and they grow like a naturally beautiful woman,
They come forward and bloom standing cold but fearless, determined to wait for the sun,
On cold grounds a lilac stands it looks so green flushed with it's half-unclosed leaves,
A yellow rose fights to start its new life just as custom says in a Blackthorn Winter.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Week

One Week ?

Could be all there is?
Maybe a day, an hour, just a moment,
then what was, no longer is,
what could have been, never can be.
All becomes lost to the fears,
the uncertainties,
one harbours inside their head,
the mind of prejudices.

 You know my China Doll ?, at this stage of life one only wants to fill their remaining days, on this plane, with all the pleasures - be they cerebral, emotional, physical, intellectual or all -that living this life has to offer, to experience them to the fullest the mind, the body is capable of - be they a kind heart, a giving soul, a free spirit, a warm, beautiful smile, a pretty face, a shared moment, a passionate kiss, the beauty of making love to a woman and what it brings to a decaying body and the twilight of ones mind - a beautiful ending to ones days, a glorious sun set to accompany one on their long, never ending journey as they change coarse within life's flow, put on a new coat of many colours - the rainbow of life or a suit of armour - the dark shadows that keep one from seeing the light, letting it take hold of them, permeate every fiber, every atom, every molecule of their being .
 I see you as an inspiration and yet I feel that you tend to curtail it's progress as you keep much, I do believe, locked inside and yet let be touched, parts of all that make up the beauty I see, I have felt and do feel and do believe is the true beauty in you. You have taken this old man to heights that a man of age should not attempt to climb, but for you it seems, there is no mountain to high or ocean to deep to stop me from reaching up or reaching down to take hold of you and ride every wave life, with wild abandon, throws upon the shores beneath our feet .
 I know that you try - with some restraint - to step out side of that which has been and is the force that keeps you closed, afraid to step beyond that which you feel comfortable with, in order to experience some things you seem to have an aversion to .
 They say - whom ever they are - that life is to short and let me confirm that, it is !!!!!, and I realize Xiao Ling, that a lot of what I sing, write, say is far from what you want to hear or see from me, nor is it what you want to accept from me .

 BILL . 

Know Xiao Ling,
no matter what
to the table you bring,
with open heart I will sing
a sad and happy song.

With me, I hope you come along,
not be so strong
in your restraint,
with your resolve
to never .

B. J. "A" 2
May 13th 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mountains and Cowslips

Wandering with friends through romantic and enchanting scenery the sun shines down on us,
The day is cool and clear each step on spongy mossy ground makes us feel as light as the air,
Finding our way along banks of a winding stream with each turn a fresh scene of loveliness,
This beautiful walk gladdens the eyes and charms the heart as nature is shows us her pictures.

While looking at these beautiful canvases of nature it is very hard to choose which is the best,
And looking at the glowing landscape a friend points towards a display of even more beauty,
In this scene there is nothing to say but just look at what is around us each turn makes us glow,
We feel the happiness of nature unfolding her gifts and you just know she has a winsome smile.

And as we walk further along a summer glade we nestle deeper into the bosom of mother earth,
Mountains and cowslips and the good old daisies join the purple heather laid out like a carpet.
The feeling is that nature is not exhausted yet she has many more treasures waiting to unfold,
As the dancing stream bubbles along and winds round an impending rock a surprise awaits us.

There is a scene so grand and wondrous that makes us silent and we are chained together in awe,
It seems up to this time a handmaid have been leading us through the porch and into the hallway,
Now we have arrived we have entered the chamber itself and stood face to face with our host,
Once more nature has opened her house to all her guests and hung forth her richest draperies.

The scenery before us now makes goose bumps rise on our arms and raises hair on our necks.
The sun shines brightly on the waters and the brown watered stream turns into a river of gold,
The land stretched out before us a radiant green that met the turquoise sky on the far horizon,
The caressing breezes carry delicious smells and scents it's a new spring everything is awake.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invisible Man 10

I wrote the Invisible man poems many years ago. These poems, and I have not submitted them all, was for a little girl who died in a road accident. They are a tribute to her memory. It was a dark and very sad time and I miss her so much. The Invisible Man poems are supposed to to show the the darkness of my world, the way I felt. They are very precious to me. Thank you for reading.

After a long time the Invisible man drops off into a light sleep. He dreams of his school friends, good days days that you will never forget and beautiful days that will make you cry.

My beautiful friend on this day,
Rise up and dress and come away,
We will walk in wild woods and upon plains,
To stare into pools where water rains.
We will walk under a roof of green leaves,
Under the spruce and garland weaves,
Leaning against the trunk of a tree,
Me holding you, you holding me.
Bluebells ringing as we walk by,
Holding hands the sun in his sky,
Bright with buttercups on this day,
Staring into eyes nothing to say.
Happy to be anywhere with you,
I hoped that is the same for you too,
Feeling high walking by your side,
Floating, smiling, eyes open wide.
So on we walk so happy together,
Not really caring about the weather,
It does not matter to me what we do,
It never does when I am with you.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Because She's Much Too Beautiful

She never looks both ways 
When she crosses the street 
She’s much too beautiful 

And never has to wait for help 
When she walks into a store 
She’s much too beautiful 

She never worries about dates 
There is always someone beside her 
Because she’s much too beautiful 

But when she is alone 
By herself 
She wonders about love 
True love 

And if anyone can see 
Beneath the surface 
Beyond the beauty 

Sometimes wanting 
All that beauty 
To go far, far away 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Embracing A Dream

I knew you were someone very special
When I embraced your lovely smile today
I knew because of its perfect beauty
I wanted more moments like this to stay

Filling my day with an enchanting beauty
Making my former thoughts easily replaced
For I found myself floating on air today
When I was swept away by your lovely face

I found my mind was easily captured 
And my thoughts were no longer my own
My heart was beating very rapidly
As I began dreaming of making you my own

Like the leaves falling throughout Autumn
So I also found myself easily swept away
By a refreshing wind leaving me so helpless
Easily filled with a desire for you to stay

I knew I had to find new ways each day
So that you might for a moment notice me
For since the first moment I saw you
I found my heart would never again be free

I had to choose the perfect time and place 
Where we might be able to sit side by side
So I might have the chance to let you know
How much I really wanted you to share my life

I found each night when I would try to sleep
The vision of your smile would keep me awake
And my many dreams would be so beautiful
As within each I would feel your embrace

I begin to realize what I had hoped for 
Would one day soon become so very real
And the first moment your hand touched mine
That second for my heart and mind was ideal

That love had found a very lovely place
Within my wanting heart that special day
For the blessing of your genuine smile
I found days later in my life would stay

The blessing which really happened days later
As the soft beauty in your face embraced me
Was totally reaffirmed in a single instant
When you said you also shared the same dream.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


mabe we're not rich
out cloth not best stich
its you and me
with love thats free
only the lords has the key
pick us us from dust
in case we fall

Details | Prose Poetry | |


tho your up there
the angel sing
your still our thing
we feel so alone
its hard to carry on
hard beleive

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sadness is as Beautiful as an Angel

How many friendly faces do I see in my chambers of recollection as I call up retrospect,
Cherished scenes rush to mind as its pinions bear me to the times which won't ever return,
Scenes now changed and altered like visions in the deepest of dreams so deep you're there,
Scenes of flower filled fields accessed only by hedge rowed old lanes that no longer exist.

The old lanes where flowers breathed fragrances high into a blue watery sky of days gone by,
That changed into streets and main roads with the noise they bring as we rush through life,
Once these fields had cows and sheep on the slopes and valley's rang with the animals bells,
I once picked bluebells, picked blackberries, picked hazelnuts, with sunbeams for company.

To run like the wind chasing butterflies gently catching them and blowing them off my hands,
How uninterrupted the tides of unhappiness that ripples in the deep recesses of my old mind,
The unclouded days that bathed me in sunshine that cast its brightness across the landscape,
How brilliant the fairy scenes that floats from the canvases out of the caverns of the past.

My sorrow was deep in picture postcard days, days were sweet and long, but my heart swells,
There was no blind grasp of faith, realization began to attend its researches, observations,
A sorrow that has stood the test of time, a bitter sorrow that broke me then as it does now,
Beautiful sorrow, as beautiful as an illustration, as lovely as a flower, as beautiful as an angel.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

At Kravitz's

The meat slicer is vintage 1957
the walls are a dull green
the deli case is full of the same
bland pastries that crumble
as ruins at Jericho.
The waitresses smile quickly
through tight lips flashing
those straight marble teeth
as they march with their menus
across the linoleum to take
orders for Latkes, 
two for six dollars,
a large size chicken liver
plate for eight fifty,
or the half pound corned beef
“wall” sandwich for 
a fair price. 
I sit at Kravitz's
today for the atmosphere,
I hear the strains of
Va Pensiero in the silence
of the patient deli case, 
the pastry ruins, 
the circus that is the menu,
the New York style low cut
coffee cups, the face
of Mr. Kravitz in the corner. 
This is the place where
things happen if one but
sips coffee and waits and
I order the thick Latke's with
a teaspoon's worth of apple sauce
for each.  None wasted.
The minutes pass slowly
in this gastronomic temple,
I have faith in a destiny,
down to half a Latke.
My phone starts playing music.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


they eat some sleep
or listen to the music beat
its neat
when teeth comming thur gums

Details | Prose Poetry | |


theyer of everyrace
4and all corlor of face
its apart
of there art
there paint blach white
and blue
tell you too
theyer not fainter

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Divine Intervention

Beautiful little girl
Devastatingly beautiful
The birds would start chirping when she walked past
Her mother’s daughter they all said
A mirror image
And suddenly she was shocked by love
5 years old being undressed like a doll
Caressed and bathed so lovingly
Such gentle touches
That no one suspected
Mother found a new piece to her heart
Wedding bells chimed
And a new father was born
5 years old she was…just 5
This beautiful little girl found love in her “new” father’s arms
He held her close, sometimes too close
But no one suspected
She didn’t know this love was pain wearing a mask
She learned that love was…
Shielded from the eyes of her mother
Night visits to her room from her father
Year after year
For 15 years this was the love she knew
She felt invaded, alone and abused
She told her mother
About her new father…the man her mother loved
She didn’t acknowledge, wouldn’t bring herself to see
What the water so clearly replayed in her view
The mother knew, just knew
That her husband would, couldn’t ever
Never…bring pain to his daughter, never
Little girl, what does it feel like to be loved?
It feels warm, and wrong but gentle
Strong hands unclothing you
Caressing your body as if you are a grown woman
With a glorified body to worshipped and pillaged over
Little girl, what does pain feel like?
Closed doors…darkness…my father…naked
Beautiful little girl
Devastatingly beautiful
Pain paraded as love
Molestation masked for discipline
When your daughter cries out
When she cowers in corners
And doesn’t trust the dark
When she says love is just another word
Just another synonym to let him abuse her
Trust what she has to say…
I was that beautiful little girl and now I am a woman plagued with fears
Some nightmares you cannot outrun
And some memories only God can wipe away
The blood of all my pain is on my mother’s hands
"I forgive you"
Beautiful they say…
It’s a mask for something more

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Three Thoughts

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Three Thoughts
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  January/2015

                      a   H   l        
                    i      o       o
                 t         p          v
             h            e              e         

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Blackthorn Winter

Many years ago, way back in time the month of April was known as the Blackthorn Winter,
It was the time of the year when the blackthorn begins to dress in her finest blossom,
Deep in the country the small hamlets custom says is the time for bitter cold weather,
Time for east and north-easterly hard winds chill all, hail, sleet and sometimes snow.

The blackthorns and the plums in sheltered orchards awaken and begin to come to life,
They quickly showed themselves thickly clustered with tiny little green bursting buds,
Blue whiteness of the blossom half revealed, like the wide smile of a beautiful girl,
A rich white that makes your heart and eyes light up at the sight of unrivaled beauty.

Cold are the winds buds of trees swell and they grow like a naturally beautiful woman,
They come forward and bloom standing cold but fearless, determined to wait for the sun,
On cold grounds a lilac stands it looks so green flushed with it's half-unclosed leaves,
A yellow rose fights to start its new life just as custom says in a Blackthorn Winter. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Healing Sanctuary

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Healing Sanctuary 
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  January/2014

A   sacred

Great Spirit,
resides -

dwells inside 
me -

I imagine,
is what

must be......

A sanctuary,
soundless -

Where voices
mute -

angelic souls

on clouds -

I live
Holistic Serenity.

my peaceful 


abode -

Healing Sanctuary

A place

dwells inside

 mind, body
and soul -

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invisible Man 11

An innocent angel one made of pure happiness brightened, cleaned each golden day,
On the grass outside our class you making daisy chains, me football, during play,
Friends moving away leaving school gone forever young faces we will never forget,
These young friends were precious gifts we were lucky and we should never regret.
Treading these pathways of the past saddens me then brings a big smile to my face,
When the grass was much greener the flowers smelt stronger and life a slower pace,
You, so tiny such good fun so kind and beautiful I looked forward to school days,
Learning skills for life that were not taught in the classroom but in other ways,
I had known you most of your very short life and for that I am a very lucky man,
I wanted to carry on knowing you my beautiful friend now only in my heart I can,
I see you on the playground laughing and always smiling happy and full of health,
Beautiful days my gold, my priceless diamonds, but you were my precious wealth,
Those beautiful days are lost and gone forever you left me alone when you died,
There is not much I can do I'm lost, scared now you have gone and left my side.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



There is something about the word
     You give life to; a sense of
Urgency flowing from the womb
     Of mind.
There is something about the way 
     You gather the word
Into full bosoms, nourishing legacies
     Of well traveled dirt roads
Often paved with blood debts to be paid.
There is something about the way
     You carry the word up and deep
Peeking through shades of his story;
     Imaging life on the canvas of time
Traveling over and back across tracks;
     Down to the Quarters 
Where Sons and Daughters can dig deep
     While they weep: filling holes in their souls.
There is something about the way
     You form the word into a quick pregnancy;
Birthing life over steady black bridges;
     Teaching prayers in dances of dreams;
Revealing profound simplicity only God can bestow:
     That the word should be heard in ebony visions
Of timely decisions of Queen Mother Maya Angelou!
     And that’s word!

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Rose In Winter

	Once upon a time in the gardens there was a beautiful rose. It's beauty was rapturous. Of to 

what could it be compared? Each year in Spring it would cry it's rebirth and announce to all 

the world of it's glorious beauty but as with all flowers it's veiled reflection dimmed with

the first snows of winter. Sleeping it layeth to once again with Spring's awakening be born

unto vastness of majestic jewels. A precious gem that rivaled the most wondrous of exquisite

deities. Pious reflections of nature ingrained into the threshold of life's beauty. 

	It so happened that while walking amidst the flowers a little girl stopped to 

admire the beautiful rose. She thought about the differences and looked up to her mother 

only to say to her" Mother, always when things are bright and cheerful this beautiful rose

amazes the world with it's colors but in times of darkness and despair you see this rose

wither but it never truly dies as other flowers". "Why is this mother"? Lovingly her mother

replied " The rose is as love. When in times of happiness love is as a shining star but in 

love as with rose there are oftentimes thorns which betray the valley's of sadness and to

all outwardly appearances love would seem to wither and die; but true love though not seen 

is strongest when definitive bleakness and darkness fill the soul". So the rose when seen 

through our eyes should remind us that truest beauty comes not in Spring but in darkest

night in Winters keeping.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


put your mind at rest
we are the best
we sing dance
and took that change
all for our rights
we or the shining light
that made right moves

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Lady From Afar

The Lady From Afar

(verse 1 by Jimmy Boom Semtex/Nick Armbrister. Verse 2 by P.J. Reed)

I see the lady from afar. She looks away, not from me but from something else. I'm unsure what. It appears to be known only to her. Some malady tormenting her that others can't see. Is it in her mind or something else? A mischievous spirit or malevolent demon? With the power to tarnish this lady's reputation, hound her senses and crush her will to live. A frightful expression forms upon her pretty face. Shadows drop over her light green eyes. Real or imagined? Fantastically cruel or fakery beyond doubt? Her long black dress once looked elegant. Now it's stained ever darker - blood! Her own or another's? If another's, what happened? A fight with a lover? A duel with her sister? An insane mother finally coming unhinged? Or herself, falling to the abyss?

She approaches; trailing lavender fields and golden summers through the amber streets. A thousand years of ancient wonder in the greeness of her eyes. Drifts of ebony hair wave to me as she walks. An intoxicating eastern beauty I reach out as she glides by. Black dress caught between by fingers, crumbles to my touch. I breathe her ash, it cuts my throat, makes my eyes bleed red. I choke in penance for my lust and fall screaming to the ground as I see in the distance the lady from afar.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Caged Souls

It was a bright beautiful day
A lovely beautiful sunny day
Suddenly ghostly winds appeared
They became violently raging
I was caught up in it
I was neither here or there
I found myself trapped in a place
That I was not familiar with
It was a place full of souls
The souls were wailing and crying
They begged me to set them free
But I could not reach them
You see there was a gulf between them and me
I could not reach them
Some had signs on them that said
"I'm here because I did not obey
Others had signs that said "I did not believe
While others said " I did not forgive"
And another one said "I blasphemed his holy name"
They was wailing and gnashing their teeth
They were all trapped in those cages
And being tormented by their sins
Whatever they was tormented with in the first life with
They was tormented eternally with
A teat dropped from my eye
One soul tried to grab it, but it quickly dried up
I felt hopeless because I could not save them
Then i heard the ghostly winds return
They swirled and twirled violently
And with the blinking of an eye
I was back where I was
The day became bright again
And I said to myself
"That was a trip, I sure hope I don’t end up in that place"

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Bethnal Green 1850

It is a Sunday morning in spring the bright sun shines in Bethnal-green,
Wander along a path between the church, the railway towards Whitechapel,
For one day there are beautiful flowering gardens thrown open to anybody
And at their gates there are beautiful plants and flower-roots for sale.

There is every flower imaginable radiant under the English morning sun,
Old flowers to take you back childhood and your grandparents childhood,
There are lads loves, sweet williams, daisies, pinks to warm your heart,
Wallflowers, polyanthuses, thrifts, tufts of sweet-peas, with daisies

Tufts of larkspurs, violets with columbines all for sale at one penny,
For one penny the poor can stock a small plot by a door, or corner tub,
Or it could be a pot in the window, where these poor plants will fade,
Under the admiring eyes of those who are older and fading themselves.

Out of the alleys and courts and unknown streets many people come to see,
And those pale and sickly weavers are streaming along to feast their eyes,
Different from stenches and factory grime, miserable times over the years,
magical, beautiful and delicate, for a moment their grim lives forgotten.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Cream Tortellini

Last night I found a sentence in your bed, just lying there between smiles and sweat.
And I picked it up and said: Hey Baby, let’s get more of those! But then you rose from the
bed and so on and shouted: No way! But what does it say? Oh Honey, you know I can’t tell
you that! But it’s got the I, the L and the Y words in it. And then you started talking
about buildings. Like if you had an ugly one just opposite a beautiful one, you would
prefer to live in the ugly one, so that you could look out on the beautiful one. And not
the other way around. And then you said that if love was Cream Tortellini you would prefer
kebab. Cause it’s easier to get hold of if you come home late at night – perhaps a little
tipsy – but you don’t have to if you don’t want to, and Kebab isn’t as fattening and that
you aren’t that keen on pasta anyway.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mountains and Cowslips

Wandering with friends through romantic and enchanting scenery the sun shines down on us,
The day is cool and clear each step on spongy mossy ground makes us feel as light as the air,
Finding our way along banks of a winding stream with each turn a fresh scene of loveliness,
This beautiful walk gladdens the eyes and charms the heart as nature is shows us her pictures.

While looking at these beautiful canvases of nature it is very hard to choose which is the best,
And looking at the glowing landscape a friend points towards a display of even more beauty,
In this scene there is nothing to say but just look at what is around us each turn makes us glow,
We feel the happiness of nature unfolding her gifts and you just know she has a winsome smile.

And as we walk further along a summer glade we nestle deeper into the bosom of mother earth,
Mountains and cowslips and the good old daisies join the purple heather laid out like a carpet.
The feeling is that nature is not exhausted yet she has many more treasures waiting to unfold,
As the dancing stream bubbles along and winds round an impending rock a surprise awaits us.

There is a scene so grand and wondrous that makes us silent and we are chained together in awe,
It seems up to this time a handmaid have been leading us through the porch and into the hallway,
Now we have arrived we have entered the chamber itself and stood face to face with our host,
Once more nature has opened her house to all her guests and hung forth her richest draperies.

The scenery before us now makes goose bumps rise on our arms and raises hair on our necks.
The sun shines brightly on the waters and the brown watered stream turns into a river of gold,
The land stretched out before us a radiant green that met the turquoise sky on the far horizon,
The caressing breezes carry delicious smells and scents it's a new spring everything is awake.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

You and I

You and I

I spend precious time with you in loving intimacy in my mind  
This will last me a lifetime, it must you will never be mine
Such a sweet sensation I feel and I will hold it so deep inside 
Thank you my love for giving me so much in such a short time 
You need to know this now and I give my eternal gratitude
In your arms I imagine that the past does not exist 
And we were born in the instant that we first met
In life I have loved many times finding sweet new emotions
Unforgettable memories etched deep inside my soul
And some I can’t ever or will choose never to forget
Both the happiness and the hurtful lies
Your love became an eraser that helped to break the ties
A door closed behind when you walked into my life
And I abandoned the illusion that held sway in my heart
Some say distance is a way to forget
Until I met you this I did not understand
After I experienced your touch I had no real choice at all
I will always and forever be a slave to your love
Caring so much for you my beautiful lady know this
I will wait even knowing that your ship will soon depart
To cross other seas, I still need you to know that I love you
I miss you deeply like I see the nights without stars
Even more so I miss you in the lonely beautiful mornings
I desire being safe in your arms and it seems to make me feel sick
Whenever I laugh I miss you and even more so when I cry 
While walking in the sunshine it's dark and too cold
In those nights when I cannot sleep because you aren’t near  
You truly can't imagine how empty it feels
Still I am yet alive despite it all so should I lie? 
I can’t I really miss you my love.