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Prose Poetry Beauty Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Beauty

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

SPEECHLESS SPOKEN WORD ARTISTE

SPEECHLESS SPOKEN WORD ARTISTE

So if my vocal folds can’t collaborate to produce sounds to communicate loudly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can’t there be any mere articulation in my vocal tract to do that? What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate and velum doing? I never knew that emotions could shut my speech tract. How I wish my speech tract could connect to my heart, so that I can give you a cord of love inserted into my heart, for you to put it into your ears and listen to the words my heart says because I am speechless. I had it in my mind to tell you that you are beautiful, eloquent, and charming. When I drew nigh, I decided to start with the word ‘lady’ to show some decorousness. But I realized my lungs couldn’t even initiate the airstream for my glottis to either widen or narrow to cause my vocal tract to produce the voiceless and voiced sounds in the two syllable word, let alone the nine. Should I comply with those who say action speaks louder than words, so that I can gesture for you to get the feelings better? I thought I was one who could speak like a parrot, but I am now slides before you like carrots. But what could make a spoken word artiste speechless apart from the abnormal? OK! Let’s try establishing causality. The moment I saw you, you blinked your eyes, so probably that muted me. So if you could do that again, it may set me free. Don’t wait for me to tell you that you can cause distraction. Don’t go near a podium mounted by a performer, lest, you will cause distraction. Because that image you carry isn’t what you think. Not even a mermaid, more than strange. Please set me free because you are gradually becoming ‘head of Medusa ‘ , rays from your eyes are communicating with mine and making me motionless like lot’s wife is Sodom and Gomorrah. I came out of volition but it is now at your discretion to let me go, so please take off your eyes and set me free.

Tension within me had converted into electrical energy and burnt my speech tract. So what I am going through is beyond dumb. From a distance, I was in haste to meet you, but the moment I set my eyes on you, as though there were a speed rump- I started moving like a tortoise. What broke the camel’s back was when your eyelids became a canon camera and gave me flash, I became static. I wonder why I am speechless. I wonder why I am speechless. Because I am this man who can stand before a lady and produce lyrics more than ‘sarkology’ album, so I wonder why I am speechless. I could make a lady swim deeper in the pool of sweet words, so I wonder why I am speechless. Movement of my negative lips could attract positive ladies, so I wonder why I am speechless. Perhaps we are both negatives, so we repel. How I wish my vocal folds will touch along their edges from my thyroid and open slightly at my arytenoids to create a creaky sound like ‘huuh’ for you at least get the air of love, but none is working. I have thin vocal folds that can produce nice sounds like the lead guitar, so I wonder why I can’t even stammer. My phonetics is not working, let alone deploy my syntax for you to use your morphology in breaking down the words to achieve semantics.  How unfortunate it is that my speech tract couldn’t let out the words my mind has been saying since the beginning of this piece.

 

Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

BEAUTY IN THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
It’s a common saying that is decoded from the look of a man
But of a truth, genuine and true beauty is beyond what the eyes can see
Only the heart can feel it
It glows with such power, even the ‘blind’ will perceive
Regardless of our status, rich or poor
Aboriginality, the language or cultural background
We all can see and perceive this inner beauty with the same view
One advice for my fellow brothers,
Always by pass the look go straight inward
And from the inward, outward appearance can be well appreciated
And advice for everyone
As you take time to make up the physical beauty
Create more time to nurture the inner one
For when you are inwardly ugly
The outward projection is nothing but a fake 

(c) 2010

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Growing Old


     GROWING OLD…
     (And We’re Still Together, Babe)

Growing old together,
We’ve mellowed
Like 
Fine wine.
How
Much more
Our love
Is to refine
As we ride
The waves of passing time.

Neither sting-
Less death
Nor defeated graves
Can claim
The victory over
The sacred love that is
The essence of us:
Of our story.

Ah,
The children
Came and left
And now we’re all alone:
You, me
And the dogs.

Praise God!
The children
Are 
Now in their own home!

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Don't Think You Know

Good morning Father, may I have a talk with you because to my self I need to be true. For Father I am living in a world of shadow and doubt and I thank you Lord for straightening things out. I have been looking at my life thinking I was living it right, I thought I had the scoop until you started to show me the truth and I was thrown for a loop.

Now I have listened to people who sound intelligent and some not quite so, some could prove what they said and others I know were just putting on a show, but there is none in worst shape than the ones who think they know. I know this to be true 'cause I thought I knew. So your laws I did forsake and that was a huge mistake. It started while growing up in the hood, where up is down and bad is good, It's no longer just there, so it must be in the air because everywhere it has spread now ain't that a kick in the head. 

When I was a child I heard screw discipline and run wild. Well life burst my bubble and I stayed in trouble. Then why work when you can get over and you can do it while getting high, forget being sober. Well, I ended up on the rocks 'cause that took me to the school of hard knocks. Then I heard drown your troubles and rebel, that took me through a living Hell. Now the world makes this easy to believe, you think you know but you are being very naive and totally deceived.

Lord I thank you, for showing me, in this life which has so many ways you can go, to take it slow and whatever you do, Don't Think You Know. Now lord I see we are living in perilous times with high and heinous crime. People are turning cold as ice, many are saying down with Jesus Christ and the whole world is about to pay an extremely high price, At The Rise Of The Anti- Christ. For without you Lord He's an unbeatable foe and one of his most powerful weapons is To Make You Think You Know.

This comes with a twist, 'cause He will also make you think, He don't even exist. For he know us all to well and his mission is, To Send Us All To Hell. Now I thank you Lord for showing me, That The Holy Bible is the key to unlocking life's mysteries. With you my life was a waste and whatever I face, I now know, I can do nothing without your Grace. And I thank you again for clearing things up for going the way of the world, you will drink from a very bitter cup.

Now I am all aglow 'cause walking with you, I No Longer Think I Know. Thank you again, AMEN.

Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Empathy

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

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The View

I'm sitting here
Admiring the view
Thankful for it's beauty
It's comfort
It's familiarity.

I've been here before
So I can close my eyes
and picture it still

And I know it all.

Deep breath in
Contented smile
Snapshot made
The scene is owned


Then the eyes open
As realisation strikes
- I own nothing
- I know nothing

I don't know 
how each hill was formed
the names of the farmers who built the stiles to every field
or the names of those who now own those blankets of land

I cannot begin 
to count every blade of grass
to measure the mist
to know the age and history of every tree
 
The past of the very bench I'm sat on
is a mystery to me

The winding roads have their own heritage
And I can't say who first walked it's length
Or where that plodding bus was built
Or where it's been since it's birth

The cars stuck behind are heading on their own unique journeys
I can't vouch as to where to or where from
Far less state the words and thoughts of those cocooned inside
Or declare the depth of any of the puddles they pass

I can't tell you the wattage of the bulb
Shining through that distant window
Still less how warm the sun will feel in an hour
Or the direction the wind came from, even ten seconds ago
 
The provenance and future of those clouds
Cannot be told by them
Let alone by me.
 
Eyes close once more
 
I know nothing but
the fact that this view
In this moment
Does belong to me

And that maybe, somehow
I'm all the wiser for knowing less

Copyright © David Lindsay | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

EcoTherapist Conventions

Truth is a feather 
pushed off to the other side.

Truths are a body of feathers
within which our bodies reside.

OK, students of life’s healthiest purposes and meanings,
it’s time to regather, if you would be so kind.

Namaste.

[Silence]

[My EcoTherapist is trying to recall our bicameral minds with ecological bodies.]

[More kinda creepy silence.]

[I wonder if I have time for a cigarette.]

How do you understand “mind” as other than “body”?

[OK, she leads with a dualist assumption
for a session advertised as nondualist,
so the correct answer must be,
I don’t.]

Which, mind or body, do you believe came first,
or do you believe,
as I do,
consciousness and biosystems co-arise nondually?

[I knew it!
Biosystems are self-identifying consciousness-rememory 
DNA-encoded systems, or RNA, if you’re a tree or something green,
from before the time when physical root systems
transubstantiated into metaphysical regenerate root bilateral,
then bipedal, 
then bicamerally balancing,
eco-political systems.
I remember our history of biological evolution co-mentoring sessions,
out on the coral reefs of time’s surfing copresence.]

If mind emerges from reiterative and redundant and resonant neural-cellular development,
in these, and probably other, senses co-arising nondually,
then what do you think could survive of your Ego identity
upon total biosystemic flatline demise of your natural-chemically elementary cellular body?

From where would sensory consciousness and memory emerge?
From when, and for how long?

[Hang on there now. I’m stuck back on the where question, 
which I think should probably default as Nowhere,
Ego emerges from nowhere?
No, no, If dead,
then Ego as sensory consciousness and memory is nowhere
at that time, and on into the future of EarthTribal evolutionary history.
No such phenomenon.
No such experience within continuous Earth-spinning Time.
I think?
But only as long as I dance this Ego-consciousness string
I am]

As your mindbody decomposes,
is this really still your Ego’s story?
In that future time of opportunities for health and relationship
and transactions,
capacities for ongoing communication,
you struggle to face their mortal loss now, projecting forward,
we struggle together to find faith 
these lost opportunities are not your post-critical event
of loss, decay, absence, inevitable physical and mental defeat.

[I don’t even have faith that anyone will think that day
has come even one day too soon.
Nor would I care to invest in such an unwise faith.]

Or,
in the face of this inevitable termination of Ego’s mindbody story,
do you, 
as unfolding conscious memory-string of continuous information,
transform into your nutritionally reiterating responses and contributions
yet reverberating within EarthTribe’s ReGeneration Story?

Is your Ego expanding out toward Earth’s Story?
pregnant pregenetic, nearly timeless Creation Story,
out and yet deeply into this Elder (0)Riginal Intent.

Body memory transforming within ecopolitical truths of post-taoist beauty,
remembering—revolving—rewinding—reweaving
ecologic of Ego/Eco balancing
embryonic bicameral
dipolar cognitive/affective neural emergence
(0) CommonsCentered DNA/RNA code—syntax
healthy reverse development instructions
for normative natural/spiritual
mind/body elational resonant resolutions
giving oneself birth into this body’s time
as giving ourselves freedom
for time’s codependent love of light ourselves.

[My self-image emerges rather far toward the depressive side
of love as ecoconscious light myselves.
Oh, wait, maybe that connection between agape as Basic Attendance,
understory of all those relational dramas, and nonrelational boredoms,
and fears,
and angers,
and….]

Memories,
knowledge,
thoughts,
comprehension,
dissonance and dismay,
feelings of elation and relation,
anticipation,
innocence,
ignorance,
love and hate,
anger and fear,
all Ego’s products,
as Ego, in turn, is produced
by unfolding DNA instructions
within a nurturing DNA-developed warm embryonic pronoic womb
living in this specific time
within  Earth’s evolution of continuing ecosystemic health-consciousness.

[Oh, I get it, health as therapy-consciousness.
Puts a postmillennial twist on post-doctoral medicinal sciences.
Kind of self-serving, though, 
unless all humane-nature is for ecotherapeutic vocations,
in dying as in living,
in living as optimally visible through mortality’s timeless lens.]

What we inherited from Elder wombs of Time’s incarnation
is what Ego becomes
to cherish as responsible authority
rooted within teleologically exegetical historic evidence
unveiling regenerative evolutions as cooperative nested-networks,
and to let go free as a last pay-it-forward gift
to nurture future healthy regenerations of time
bilaterally echoing
fractal-polypathic light,
(0)-TaoWombTime.

[Why do I feel like I could use a bath
more than a cigarette?]

Time,
dualdark
deepdense Ego-Ecohypnotic co-elational learning bright,
white octaving night,
protons merging eco-lateral binomial electronically issuing waves
as Yes! reweaves notnot 
yinyin
WinWin embryonic-yet.

[I’m wondering if there is something in Taoist water
that regenerates this wu wei balance
spinning through my bicamerally revolving mind
as body?]

Could you become as curious about other’s Ego development stories
as you have obsessed about your own?

[Wait a minute,
when did I give you the OK to label me as self-obsessed?
Or maybe the balance point here 
invites comparisons between obsessive curiosities,
in which case
perhaps my own Ego health constant revival
does indeed lie most mortally on my failing mind.]

If so,
please note differences
but memorize Earth’s natural systemic similarities,
especially about what we all want our end to say
one day's capacities for love as peace,
about gradually subsiding incapacities of anger Ego losses
and fear of future Earth as sacred compost, 
transubstantiating post-climatic residency.

Namaste.

[Namaste.
Oh wait,
was I supposed to write that out loud?]

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Act One (The Scholar of life- Opening Speech)

The love of life is a very beautiful and splendid thing. Regretfully, it’s something many
fail to ever recognize. One day, I stopped to contemplate the beauty of compassion and
forgiveness. This is where the true beauty of life is found. When we stop to recognize
that personal feelings are less important than the feelings we are able to create in
others, then we have started to embrace the true beauty of life. To our lives poetry is a
beautiful gift from God. It enables us to step out of our external surroundings and into a
beautiful place, which of course, is the place known as our soul. From its depths we start
to realize the true power that is found in words. Words have the ability to create
feelings in others. Words can open eyes to see the beauty that has not yet been seen.
Words can take us on journeys to places unknown. Open our minds to philosophical
views,which had previously never been contemplated. Thus, leading us into a world, which
has never been seen through our eyes. 
      We are poets, children of God, creators of feelings, and scholars of life. It is
only from the bottom of the well that we learn to truly embrace and understand the warmth
and brightness of the sun. It is only from the top of the mountain that we are able to
understand the darkness that lie in the back of the cave. Until our soul has been emptied
we never fully appreciate what it means for it to be full. Words are no less than the
knife we can use to slice open the cake of life. Thus, enabling us to share pieces of 
ourselves. What truly matters in this life is the fact that we are able to share and give
a little piece of ourselves. True success can only be measured in our ability to share our
experiences in life. Thus, enabling
others to feel and experience the depths of our knowledge. This is our gift and we should
understand the depth of its responsibility. We should all vow to enhance our gift to the
best of our abilities. We all have so much to learn and such little time with which to
learn it. 
        At the end of the play, as the stage dims and the curtains fall, I leave the
theater. Outside, alone at the corner I realize; sometimes I feel like a blind man
standing at a crossroad in the fog. Shuddering at the thought, I tighten my coat and walk
quietly down the dimly lit street of remorse.


I have no idea if this is correct but I did enjoy myself.
For Constance's contest. ps. I have reset these lines
many times but they keep moving when I save the
poem. I guess its a poem anyhow. If it happens 
again I apologize.

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Relationship thoughts

WHAT have her eyes seen and
WHERE have her fingers been?
WHOSE skin has she touched and
HOW did she feel?

WHEN does she remember this and 
WHY does she dress like that?
DOES she think of me and
WILL she feel passion tonight?

ARE her secrets fun and 
HAS she experienced real happy?
IS she good, IS she O.K., 
IS she adorable, IS she unique? 

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Where I Come From

Where I’m from
Would you like to know
Where I was born
From whose seeds I sow
Not from the hill country
Where beautiful flowers bloom
Not by the river
Where brides marry in June
But I’m from a place
You’ve never been
I’m from the depths of hearts so true
I’m from the soul of hearts once blue
I’m from the joy of what’s meant to be
I’m from a place you dream to see
I am an angel
I’m from above
I was born in a city
But,
I come from love.

By Patricia Templeton

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell-Nunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Flower

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Justice getting what she deserves

"Keep walkin, caus we ain't talkin crazy long legs!"

"You're such a weirdo."
"We don't want you round here!"
"Can't you take a hint??"
"What a loser."

She walks away
Like she's walked away
Five hundred and one times before
What has she done?
Why do they hate her so?
Running now 
Into the bathroom
She can't let them see her tears
Black mascara runs down her pale white skin

Mercifully no one follows her
Looking in the mirror
She wishes she could disappear
Vanish without a trace
"Stork Girl"
"Big Bird"
"Amazon Woman"
"The Laughing Giraffe"
If only she could be small 
Pretty
Like those other girls
The cool cruel ones

She didn't need them to be her friend
All she wanted was to be left alone
To come to school and go home
To have a single quiet day
A "don't stare at me!" day
She takes a tissue out of her purse
Removes the mascara from her eyes and face
Fixes her hair
Takes a deep breath
and goes to her next class

She sits at the back of the class
Never at the front
The new boy
The cool boy
Smiling says hi
He's tall
Like her
Emotions stir

After class he says
"Can you show me around?"
She smiles back and says "Sure"
She can't believe he wants her to
She says "My name is Sue"
He says "I'm glad to meet you, 
my name is Simon Loo.
As they walk together down the hall
One of the mean girls
Calls out "Why are you hanging out with big bird!
He turns and says "Get lost loser, Sue's the nicest 
and prettiest girl in the school!"
Sue smiles and takes his hand
Suddenly she doesn't wish to be invisible any more.

By: Richard Lamoureux
For Justice Contest
Written September 3rd 2015




Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love of Wisdom: Philosophy

Why isn't philosophy written most wisely
also poetic verse,
both-and analogical ecology?

While classic philosophic historians
continue this great debate
about which is most important,
truth or beauty?
this same political philosophy pit drifted off a bit from science
as economics shifted wealth away from health.

When did love of wisdom become distracted with comparing strengths
of richest truths as beauty's creative health?
Psalmists and poets have multiculturally declaimed and loved
their deepest and wildest cross-breeding space,
wisdom place.

I seldom enjoy Analytic Philosophy
or Continental Literature,
where most anything could and did mean something
but who knows what exactly
as we never cut and slice Earth up the same way precisely twice
because you can never go quite home again
nor should we necessarily try
to compete to conclude this language game. 

Juxtaposition strong and weak, as a Taoist, 
sounds like appositional dipolarity of Yang (strong) and Yin (weak). 

Ecological principles of permaculture design, 
principles of development, 
including investing in research into mindbody decomposition,
planting yang's monocultural seeds of logical truth and harvesting yin's beauty, 
may embrace this same dipolarity 
achieving Yang Monocultural Universality of Truth 
by flowing optimal Yin Polycultural Diversity, 
DNA/RNA's Harmonic wu wei Beauty, 
dialects and guilds of deep ecological balance 
and regeneratively healthy futures.

Juxtaposition also appears in Buckminster Fuller's Synergetics, 
and other evolutionary-weak through revolutionary-strong theories 
of intelligent RNA/DNA fractal-rooted design. 

Then again, we find dipolar appositional dynamics with David Bohm, 
ExplicateYang v. ImplicateYin Universal/Integral Orders, 
probably analogically equivalent to Fuller's ConvexYang v. ConcaveYin,  
nonduality of ExteriorYang with InteriorYin 
Janus-faces of ecological double-binding temporal harmonics,
focused on the far more wise regenerative space 
where Yang's truth of language 
defines Yin's beauty of balanced proportion, 
as positive equals symmetrically double negatives, 
and light's time equals dualdark cosmology of NOW.

I'm jus' say'n,
when Philosophy lost touch with TrueLove as PolyCulturingWisdom,
wealth devolved away from balancing analogical health,
of politically well-published communication
strings of DNA's regenerative health-centric 
True Creation Story Poems
of rhymes with reasons,
language signs of seasons.

Why are nondual philosophical poets
analogically juxtaposing ecologists?

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Doorway in the Forest

Gingerly I walk upon the fallen autumn leaves,
Pondering as I stroll among the maples,
All around me living forest, sentient glen,
An unending maze, a whispering guide,
Golden blades pierce the brilliant canopy above,
I pull my coat against a bitter chill,
Whilst I come upon a trickling brook,
Liquid diamonds glisten o’er smooth pebbles,
A hop and skip atop the creek, deeper into the woods,
Shadows grow denser, I tread lightly on,
In wonderment I creep onward into the copse,
When suddenly my eyes behold a curious sight,
Within a small glade stands a mighty stone doorway,
An intricate design, though it’s edges crumble,
A relic from a distant past, a forgotten people,
The woods fall into a hushed silence,
Even the creek I hear no more,
My vision of the other side takes away my breath,
And slowly, I enter the curious doorway…

Copyright © Pendleton Arkwright | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Flower

A Beautiful Flower

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Earth's Final Answer

A society
culture
religion
humane species
forgetting,
or more likely under-valuing,
how to regeneratively suffer loss
may never have learned to face our universal fear of death
as a badge of permaculturing respect,
dignity through suffering sacred absence
where once we knew nondual co-arising relational life
together incarnate.

In response to loss of love's opportunity for further cultivation,
incarnation of life's positives and double-negative equivalencies
of loss to lose ego death's ubiquitous omnipotence,
we could reverse our Interior and Exterior Climate feedback loops,
turn down our YangLeft competition
another half a notnot notch,
where loss to EgoDeath equals WinWin
for society
for internal and external cultural climates
for reconnecting personal identity
as timeless revolving of Earth's holistic loves
and/as/from/toward death's dualdark TransParent BiLateral CoGravitational Primal Time
of EcoConsciousness
as SelfAwareness of HereNow Light's CoArising NonDual ReVolution.

An absence of integrative dignified death culture,
mourning process for love's loss,
reflects a lack of good and peaceful humor
for Earth's lively lovely enculturation
of regenerative health and beauty,
right as now-ness,
Tao (0)-Balanced Left/Rightness,
where Tao begets co-gravitating dualdark exformation,
dipolar light = CommonsSquared = PrimeEulerianUnitarian-Integral Function.

Failure to celebrate life
merging light's co-investment in stretching love,
emerging norm equivalent to denying death's dark ultimatum,
translating light's co-arising dualdark CoPresence.

Ego,
each AnthroNature,
emerges bicamerally embryonic from warm-heated light,
as each SuperEco/Ego
each Earth(0)-Balanced DNA/RNA fueled cell
speaking intergenerational fertility,
memories of timeless love unfolding,
folding,
refolding climates
toward prefolding Post-BiCameral Earth (0)-centric DiPolar
HumanConsciousness.

Each Ego loss
a sacred loss from Earth's pay-it-forward evolutionary economy;
each Earth gain
a natural win for cooperative EarthTribe future love,
healthier global culture 
sharing a natural-religious sensory awareness 
of ironic double-negative nondual WinWin  sustained fertile humor,
ProGenitors joining in our DNA-designed celebration of life
as notnot death's grand eulogy
for Internal/External Climate TaoBalance.

We each live on in loving light
or not so much,
depending somewhat on the dignity we hold
for each other's natural right to live and die gracefully,
with freedom
with gratitude for this climatic great transition,
toward our cooperative beloved climaxing
(0)Mega Point.

Cultural wounds of enslaving others
stretch a profound investment in basic integrity
of nature's equitable evolutionary intent,
dissonance feeds on evolution as competitive survival of mightiest wealth,
rather than revolutionary health as cooperative thrival
of our self as other co-optimizing EarthBalance 
resurrecting PostMillennial ReGeneration.

Springing strong-rooted sense of cooperative and actively curious humor,
co-arising nondually throughout each love-filled feisty day and embracing night
of generation's future
living toward climatic religioning conscientific balance
of Tao's bilateral bicameral Time,
in which incarnation explicates restraint on Ego's imagined freedoms
of ownership and power
as disincarnation implicates freedom of Earth's diastatic,
nutritiously universal EcoConsciousness,
co-arising, co-present light
revolving day into dualdark night
of Queen Shabbat
as GrandMother Moon's warm multiculturing integral light.

It is this dream of ego-death
inviting future's health-incarnate life,
regenerating Earth's Tribal Balance,
that understories each moment's daytime active love,
backdrop aria 
bookending vibrant grand climatic opera;
ReGeneration Story.

What our global political and economic climate could most invest,
in this PostMillennial Moment,
becomes integral religious sense of Allah's zen-scientific humor,
beauty truly loves terrifying death-as-emptiness,
expressing diastatic fullness of implied autonomic intent.

May truth in each repose
bring each diastatic cooperative bliss,
evolving rich nutrition
for future smiling contented political and economic peace 
with justice for this replete Universal PolyCulture Network of
EarthTribal ReGenerations,
Internal as External (0)Soul Landscapes of Time's Eternal Light;
Active Love 
CoArising CoOperative DiPolar Yang/Yin Balance  
of DualDark DiaStatic Potentiality 
(O)Virginal WinWin EcoLogical Integrity's Universal Teleological Intent,
enspirited day explains night
as nature's night blankets each mythic spiritual dialect,
speaking our regeneration story,
reiterating resonant resolving harmonies
conjoining Earth cathedral grace 
and Sun's yang-fueled karma.


Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreamer

Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!

“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!


* If you enjoyed this piece, follow the link and share your thoughts
http://echoes19.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/dreamer-2/

Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Heart Of Gold

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Smile

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

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

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I AM

I AM

I am, NOT
What you think of me
I am, WHAT
I choose to be
My hair is not straight 
My eyes are light brown
My skin slightly toasted
My hips full and round
I say how I feel
My heart speaks what’s real
Just the glimpse of what you see
Is not the total me
You look at my appearance
Before you know my name
You make your own assumptions
As if it were a game
I am
Bold and Beautiful
I am
Smart and Wise
I have unknown talents
They are hidden in disguise
So before you try and judge me
 Look further than what you see
For what is on the outside
Could never define me


Copyright © Patricia Mitchell-Nunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Alive In My Heart

What shows itself so
Very clearly each day
For every eye to see

Is also alive and
Doing abundantly well
Deep inside of me

For it tells all who
See your smiling face,
How much in love you 
Really are

At night if they could
look high enough, they 
Will even find it written   
In the stars

Alive are the many deep
Feelings along with the
fiery glow which can never 
be displaced 

For love is such a proud
Feeling which in one’s 
Heart knows no shame or 
disgrace

For what exists daily 
Inside of your smile
Shall never my love have
A reason to depart

For what is seen alive
in your glowing smile, 
Will always reside, locked  
Deep in my heart.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Partnach Gorge the most beautiful place


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

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rich Man Poor Man

Human tastes vary and so are the desperate cravings to capture the best in human ambition,
A more desperate thirst for fame, riches and for power can be a low, vulgar bitter taste,
I admire the spirit of the man who sees richer recompense as a sign of alleviated misery,
And I see goodness in smiles and enlightened hearts of happy people that enjoy their life,
Men who enjoy what's free in life, the softness a beauty of a June night and warm breezes,
The calm clear loveliness of a dark sky where moon beams shine and an evening star glows,
Acknowledging wonder as the smallest sounds of the night, owl's hooting, crickets singing,
Enjoying the night time smell where different breezes unlock, the sweetest secret essences,
It could be the leafy aroma of the trees or the scents of many wild lovely forest flowers,

 
A man who knows the price of a wives 'I love you' when he comes home from his daily work,
A man who knows the value of money and would rather his name valued in poor mans prayers,
There are two choices in this world, greed or contentment but they do not go hand in hand,
So we see these choices as two garments spread out for your selection, which do you choose,
One is tattered slops of your own righteousness for ambition, to waste life chasing money,
Or be happy and live in a world that you can enjoy and afford, no one banging on your door,
Choosing between the two seem to be very simple and even a child would tell which one it is,
The fact is most grown men would choose the road to ambition and riches and all its burdens,
To these men a brilliant morning sunshine means nothing, a morning mist on a lake is wasted.

To rush through life chasing gold, not hearing curlews in far off moors, is the poor man,
The rich see joy on a beautiful day listening to quails piping from green corn in twilight,
To feel a flush of happiness along margins of a beach, waves break in flame at your feet,
To hear strokes of an oar, somewhere in the dim obscure and list, wild cries of the tern,
A plover that never sleeps soundly, sweeps past and plunges onward, until gone from sight,
The man who understands real treasures in life, remembers happy times, into his last days,
Greedy men remember too late when old and grey, reflecting through an ocean of wet tears,
These musing men spring forward forgetting poetry of the ocean and a new mornings sunrise,
Then let them go from beauty, the understanding of beauty is wasted, the poor man is rich.  

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

After Reading Rumi

... I felt the world open up
before my eager eyes.
A rusted gear from within,
began to crank without compensation.
An unexpressed thought,
that words could not describe,
but merely approximated
by divine decree.
A foreign emotion being made
familiar; the Tower or Babel being turned
on it's proverbial head.

I wanted to see it all at once,
the world that was just given,
but handed it back instead.
I treated what I learned
like a four-leaf clover.
May someone else pick it up again
and carry on with that fragment
of well wishes.
In the words of Rumi, today
I seek wisdom by becoming Somebody, 
compared to yesterday and my goals of cleverness.
The world could not be
changed by words alone...

... I rolled up my sleeves.



NOTE: Rumi was a famous poet in the thirteenth century. His work has inspired me quite a few times. I don't know if he was Christian or not, but there was a lot of wisdom in his poetry... I'd definitely recommend him!

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Through my Glare

My face in these eyes;
Shining towards the sky all the time
My shape is a novel with thousands of chapters.
My hair is a forest of thoughts.
My eyes are decades of worry.
My lips are opened door. 
My ears receive the howls of the wind.
My nose is a statue looking for lost spirit.
My body is too weak as Hercules was not,
My heart is arrested there searching for freedom.
My back is affected by the past as an ancient wall.
My hands are wings of bird have just escaped from a trap.
My feet are quickly driving me towards the future.
To nowhere I’m running without fixed level. 
I’m sentient enough with my semblance.
***
My face on the mirror;
I watch a tidy man’s scene with many interpretations.
Have a gaze at; it is deep and brightening.
Realize the motivation:
What really goes on with this reflection?
There would be no disturbance;
Just give that white pen.
I will write about your beauty.
I would show some reality about this mood.
How mysterious are the man and I?
Do not take us with you in this heat time,
Do not push us inside your dreams.
You will see such dusk,
Due to the night is so dark.
And I’m just a night bird.
***
My face on the murmuring stream;
Wet and dry, it is alternative all the time.
Do you like this race?
All this vitality is carelessly being wiped away,
Looking forward the oblivious chair
Who has the key of stopping the tragedy?
It is forevermore, a simple destiny-
Not imagination but messy
It causes a bit horror inside the iron core.
What is beyond the mountains?
The needles in the smooth path are confusing the soul.
The soul is still running wild under lovely trees.
Trees are inside scary jungle.
Though, there is an exit.
I’m fixed in my way,
And I’m fixed in my way.

Copyright © Kanour Med | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One and another

Entering a world, a cold cruel place for some of the unlucky ones
Race, gender, sexual orientation, accomplishments, assets, pant size, you name it
What you are is a result of where you stand in these things.  If you have all the right requirements
You just may be accepted.  But those not possessing the right requirements
Those born into a destiny they may never hold the strength to fulfill
The winding vine of pure evil creeps deliberately, hate is planted in the depths of the untrained mind
Judgment, loathing, murderous, ignorant, fearful and malicious thoughts toward some
Those that are floating through this gray, lonely place.  It is no place for you that much has been made known
Fighting off the thoughts of hate, judgment, self-loathing; just to make it through another day
How can one go on, how can one continue when hate is all that is received
For destiny has been previously decided for some.
However, as you go on through your day
If there is one thing here that you take with you
Realize the pain of ONE 
Is NO different 
Than the pain
of ANOTHER.
No matter your race, size, gender or skin color.

Copyright © Aubrey Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Day and a Night in June

Rolling pastures of green meadows rise to greet the horizon meeting a deep blue sky, 
Beautiful old Perennial Clovers fill the glades and valleys with sweetness and beauty, 
Yellow Goat’s Beard, Dog Daisies with Chervil, shelter under hedgerows and Oak trees, 
A Yellow Rattle and the Lotus meet the Quake-grass and have done since I was a boy. 

As I get older and become friends of Fescues, the Rough Cocks foot is still my dream, 
And warm days of June are brilliant and beautiful the nights very calm soft and warm,
Where moonbeams and the evening stars twinkle in soft silver the background a blue hue,
Trees silhouetted against the starry night sky like a painting on canvas immortalized.
 
What could match the clear beauty of a June sky as bird’s soar across turquoise day, 
Wild oats and Darnell's by waysides, Red Pensile panicles in the light winds that blow, 
Each a friend with the Fox tail and Timothy they all sway in the same breeze dancing,
Wrapped in light air-grass and the Purple Burnett all are loved in a summer’s meadow.
 
The corn grows tall in the golden sea it has waves when the wind strokes the stems,
Walk in a dreamland of wonder over fields and along the footpaths since time began,
The rye as tall as your head and the wheat beginnings to shoot away from the husks,
Then the wild flowers among these crops are a beauty on a wonderful sun shiny day.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Advice From a Psychiatric Nurse

Charcoal clouds thunder heavy rains-
the glowing eye of New Mexico's sky
is bandaged, cushioned with silver.

Sliding drops of rain 
glide silken down her wrists
mixed with red colors of sunsets
in June, as is the month in her mind.

October is black; September yellow gold orange,
the month of her birth is green with white- grey
mixed in as stripes, curving like the road she
lost herself on. 

Moon rises with the evening star, 
night suns. Visit New Mexico, view the skies- 
diamond cut nights and sunsets spread
colors expanding like the universe. 

A sky writes her poem, 
flinging her winged soul
into fresh air startling,
a flock of birds taking off, soaring.

It is dewy softness suspended, 
after the rain. 
The colors are rainbows reversed
or upside down, watercolors by a prodigy

Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lost in Your Eyes

I feel myself being pulled out of my body 
into wondrously beautiful orbs, 
so deep and mysterious but yet so full of emotion and life. 

As I enter I am immediately infused 
with the most profound feeling of love and kindness 
that my only thought is that 
I have passed into the very place imagined by many to be heaven. 

An immeasurable power of comfort and compassion swirls around me 
as if it were a mist made up of tiny soft flowers, 
beautiful and vibrant, smelling like a meadow in the springtime 
when everything that is new begins to bloom. 

The sky is colored a soft and calming blue 
that gives a promise of a lifetime of warm summer days. 
I wander through this place aimlessly but unafraid that I am lost, 
and then I see a form in the distance, 
a vision so beautiful that my eyes struggle to focus 
and my mind is barely able to comprehend. 

As I look upon this angelic presence I am suddenly aware it is you, 
your face softly gleaming with the radiance of life and love itself, 
sending it throughout this place like the sun lights the earth. 

Your hair, streaming upward 
and giving the very sky its color and promise of everlasting summer days, 
your arms feeding the mists of comfort and compassion 
that swirls and drifts through every part of this wondrous place 
and blankets it with your tenderness. 

At this moment I realize where I am, 
I am in a place I never want to return from, 
I am lost in your eyes......

Copyright © Thomas King | Year Posted 2014