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Prose Poetry Beauty Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Beauty

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |


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

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

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
I come from love.

By Patricia Templeton

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell

Details | Prose Poetry | |


When you are sleeping in the bed, with the bible god be my witness
I don't know if I can love every again.
I mean I try to date but something just keep hold me back hold me back, 
self confident is not even the worth trying found words,
word, this type love could bring a grown man to their needs- 

I never reallie got it when they said but your had on the bible,
and swore the oath for better or worst,
or when you hear music at a wedding and you dance the night away,
what are school proms for?
I though I better night would be resident evil and game cube
only if so one would clue me in-
Self consciously years later you question your action in school,
why was she the first I ask if she would buy a key chain from fbla 
and the first time she said uh and then maybe the sentence 
didn't even make sense so natural like
natural selection like we was sync- 

Why in the world am I going to a baseball game another county over she was their,
and I did not realize I
was good at baseball in till I got older a simple sport I sware but I am part puerto rican it come natural
what am im saying it is to early for this like five in the morning-

but oh my god that dream a dream dream,
I don't even think I was on earth and 
then two year later on mother day at western sizzle before
they shut down she came out no where like a ghost 
and was sitting behind me with her family,
but why aren't you eating but texting-

but the real question is because im like slow is did they 
reallie write me straight out of high school, 
I mean I am like a street fighter the alpha type,
but a vibe like that 
you gone have ask her because im shock when she took my sit in first period 
like what are you doing?-

I don't know if im lost my mind or if she playing mind games? 
They say it is the end of the world I say so what is she doing?
I guest the world will never know-

I got the chills and it not because of the weather all I want to know did he cry 
when he walk you down the ally,
people always say you know when know but,
what am I saying I have never experience love like this before-

and im usually shy and word on the bird is uh right cause you took my breath away- 
I don't think any one going get this
what was she doing at that ice cream store 
I didn't even know that was a ice cream store 
I did but I never notice it in till it was gone-
dream a dream dream still shaking up,
first thing I did was hit speaker on the phone 
and hit every number it was it was scary but it beautiful,
a beautiful nighmare it was indeed,
I can not catch my breath let me go get the bible
this would be a reason to go back to church every 
Monday Wednesday and Sunday-

All I can say is A-m-e-n , A-m-e-n, A-m-e-n
Cause world felt like it  has already ending,
Friday thirteen J-a-s-o-n!!! and "Jason is my nickname"-

Copyright © Louis Borgo

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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!

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Copyright © Samar Saleh

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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

Details | Prose Poetry | |



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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Heart Of Gold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Ken Jordan

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Flower

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Partnach Gorge the most beautiful place

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

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday

Details | Prose Poetry | |

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

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

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
No matter your race, size, gender or skin color.

Copyright © Aubrey Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Red Flag

As I look around me, I see beauty that my eyes have never seen before….like taking in a majestic view of the Rockies…I never knew that beauty such as this existed. I feel ever so fortunate to have stumbled across this, surreal, breathtaking, making my heart skip a beat…air so crisp…no thoughts, only seeing what’s there….the splendor of it all, hearing nature exist, the striking landscape, the fresh pine scent, not believing what my eyes are seeing. Wondering how much longer could something so astonishing last, experiencing this all for the first time, I soak it in. Delightful, feeling free, I stretch out my arms and just spin around, like a little girl in a field of flowers….until I hear a sound. A sound that doesn’t belong in this picture, almost like a flapping sound. I scan the valley, the mountains, the lake, being so blind by the exquisiteness, I find it hard to find the source of this noise … this noise that is interrupting my happiness in my moment. Searching and searching …I find where the sound is deriving from….standing alone in the distance, almost lost in the surrounding scenery…is one solitary red flag. Flapping in the pine scented wind, the red flag is dominating, even from a distance. Had it been there all along? How could I have not seen it? Was I that blinded by my regal surroundings that I never saw it? Like a stain, the flag is ruining everything, taking away from the beauty I behold. But this flag is all too familiar. I have walked through a field full of them, like weeds among flowers, I tried to walk around them, to smell the flowers….but eventually all the flowers wilted…until I was in a field of flags…crimson red flags. But this is only one…one flag…will I choose to ignore it in order to be surrounded by this beauty…or does the flag make it all seem like a dream that fades away…will I find myself amongst more red flags…until I’m tripping over them …or will I walk up to the flag and pull it up out of the ground and throw it away…in order to stay blinded by this beauty….who would have thought…that one red flag…would play such a important part in my life….one….red…flag….

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Beautiful Flower

A Beautiful Flower

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Wendell Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |



It is as if the world stood still
A moment froze in time
No sound of water rippling through a stream
For peace possess my mind
I lay alone, my time to rest
A cloud beneath my head
My thoughts my dreams
Of pleasant things
My life is at its best
It is as if the world stood still
Of a time only I could know
As I have laid in a bed of peace
Like sand upon the shore
Escape the scorns of worldly test
My eyes are gently closed
As the scent of roses fills the air
My worries are no more………I rest

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Unconditional Dog

First of all, it’s a big responsibility,
especially in a city like Jacksonville, or Philadelphia, or wherever really.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you’re walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain’t no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
Broken glass bottles.

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Somethimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Sometimes love just wants to go out for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise. It will run you around the block
and leave you panting, breathless. Pull you in different directions
at once, or wind itself around and around you
until you’re all wound up and you cannot move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.

Copyright © Spenser Jones

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sacred Mother Earth- Colors Of Nature

Oh Great Woman of all Nature
  Mother of our Divinely blessed, sacred Earth
Your beauty has kissed my lips
  with the splendor of your clear, sapphire skies

The golden, moon bathed Sands
  that are gently caressed
 by your crystal blue clear flowing rivers
Your gentle rain that ascends from the Heavens above
  to delicately soothe and blend
with tears that flow from the broken hearted

Your moist, emerald green hills 
 filled with enchanting, lovely flowers 
of every elegant shade and hue
I have beheld the splendid beauty…
 of your green weeping willow's gracious bows and limbs
of iridescent greens and golds
that whisper gently in your swaying, languid winds

I have witnessed golden eagles fly so gracious and free
  in your pictorial, periwinkle blue skies
I've feasted my eyes on the sublime splendor
  of your enchanting, golden harvest moon
as its elegant beauty paints a rose, gold, splendid image 
  so deep within my mind

All your violet-blue endless horizons
  Your smoky, gray mountains so grand
in the rose blue cool light of dawn
  Your chattering bird songs in skies of azure blue
The fragrant scent of amber gold pinecones
   in the sparkle of the crystal clear early morning dew

I pay Ode’ to you Great Mother Nature
  for every golden ray of sun that warmed my skin
that hangs brilliant and dazzling...
   in your glorious skies of cerulean blue

Copyright © anne p. murray

Details | Prose Poetry | |

What We Shared

Take my hand and help me climb, wedge my tumble,
Let me lean on thee, halt my heart throb, humble
Me with thy warmth. Once there was a guy who
Knew me and identified  with me, my heart
Would skip at the sight of him. "I love you"
He had said to me. His lovely smile
Thought me gentleness. His caress made my 
Heart dream of an eternal bond. And it
came to pass that he found me for a bride
But he passed away with the enraged wind  
Of life and my heart had since endured this 
Coup. None have been like my John, no; Their brain 
Registers no truth. Love is not money,
No, nor is it honey. Love is all so
Deeper than beauty or form. Oh! It's what 
My John and I shared. Beauty shall always
Urge body attraction, attitude shall
Birth true interest and commitment shall 
Birth care. Money maintains love, not money
Brings love, my teacher had once said to me
Rich or Poor, man has a right to be loved.
They say everything  that goes around
Must come around. Let the coin turn it's back
And bring me love with treasured moments or 
Let tide and time reverse, that I might meet
My John, and enjoy what time had denied us.

It is completely fiction.

Copyright © Ingibo Benson

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

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Am I in love with myself

Labors of life
I till the soils
Like a farmers will with seed.
Intent is good
So is promise
The season will show.

So do I have love
Urging and restless
Searching in your eyes, heart and soul…….
Somewhere to find rest
Somewhere to remain buried
With hope it will grow.

Butterfly in the wind you dance and play
Flower upon flower you impress
With a coat of many colors.
Perhaps you will flap your wings upon me………..
Play with me
Natures intention.

I admire your beauty 
And your ways too
But many are of my kind
With hopes and wishes like mine……..
The reason I await
Until you make it my turn.

A flower beside a pool
In still waters my reflection shows
My petals set in Godly beauty
Aroma I give to strangers…….
Free of charge, for all, for you
But you never give response.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
I check just to be sure
If she will notice me
For I perceive what I deem fair to her?
Perhaps I don’t know yet
That I am in love with myself.

Copyright © Robert Hanson

Details | Prose Poetry | |

beauty of a girl

she is short
in other words she is hot
when shee caries an African pot
my body looses salt

her smile is never ending
as her love is never fading
since she never likes to see me falling
as I hold while she is vibrating

she acts shy
but me and her we are so fly
up to the limit we feel so high
but we always remember to say hi

all the people say she is mean
at least that how she is seen
even you say she is thin
but my heart she will always win

she likes to observe
although we don’t meet at a reserve
but she never gets on my nerve
since we will meet at a cave

she is polite
as everything she does it right
she likes not to answer my call at night
 we don’t even have a fight

Copyright © tanaka chirombo

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

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 

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Color of Autumn

I lie on the grass, still green and soft as a featherbed underneath, 
lift my eyes upward to the sky and feast on robin's-egg blue and 
bleached cotton candy. Mineature butterflies drink the last drops 
of nectar from faded blossoms. Tiny yellow wings fan the heated 
air while leaves drift to land softly on my skin and spray russet 
bubbles through my lazy view. I close my eyes, absorb autumn's 
bright notes, relax with heart and soul full of gratitude and peace.

Copyright © Cona Adams

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.

Copyright © Mark Ramon

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

Copyright © Emma Kalliway