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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 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


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.


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


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


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/


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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….


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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.


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
unpredictable.
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.


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



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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......


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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

I am what you call a hopeless 
romantic,
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 
me
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 
flame,
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.


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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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled

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"-


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your Hands

You might think it’s strange.

But along with my seemingly awkward gestures, and my dazed expression…

You’d never know that I was paying attention.

Paying attention to the way your hands rested in your lap.

As if they were waiting for another perfect mold to keep it safe, warm, protected.

Your hands…

Pink, ivory, delicate.

Soft, course, sturdy.

A dark scar bruising your right ring finger.

Your tiny fingers in a knot, looking for release.

Folded like the pages of the Bible. Holy, yet unspoken.

I just want to know what it feels like to have a hand like yours.

Do you think people would assume that I was delicate too?

Fragile? Feminine? Dainty like a flower?

Why are women so defined by the texture of their hands?

Why am I glanced over because we held hands that one time and yours were clammy, mine were rough, and you looked at me.

You looked at me and it was not a look of conviction, nor a look of disgust.

It was a look so much worse.

The one expression that let me know that I was simply not enough.

No. Bath and body works just can’t fix the callousness from my steel guitar.

Or the dry palms from scrubbing bathroom floors.

The things I’ve had to do with these hands have been strenuous, crafty, and beautiful.

You might think it’s strange, but I just love you for your hands.

Pink, ivory, delicate.

And his.

Clammy, dark, indifferent.

You’d never know that I was paying attention.


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!

Cont'd


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.  


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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

For Love

If you love me very small
I will give you a new pen

If you love me more
I will give you poet Rabindranath Tagore

After that you love me
I will give you my intuition 

Known , you love me
I give you the poem

Now if you love me
I will give you two drops of tears

It's the ability to give by me...

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


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.


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.


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!


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 | |

Flowers After A Morning Rain

Flowers after a morning rain
Reflecting a prism in you eyes
You will never see two alike
Each  has it's own surprise
.
When I wake up your by my side
It can be raining or skies be blue
For your my prism every day
That's what I receive from you
.
When I was feeling dark and gray
You brought color in my life
Showed me how to live again
Rid me from my angry strife
..
These flowers that I send your way
Have a special meaning too
I see their beauty in a prism
That's the beauty I see in you.


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 | |

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.

.2.18.2014.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

YOU

When you search "am i too" on Google the top three responses are
skinny
fat
and sensitive.
If you are wondering if you are too much of any of these things i have the answer for you 
and it is no.

Stop looking to a search engine 
with no heart
soul
or mind
to tell you how much you are worth
instead try looking in a mirror
because there you will see the only person qualified
to tell you how much you are worth

it should not matter what others think of you 
but what you think of yourself 
I know you have heard it a million times
I will stop saying git when it stops being true

do not look for acceptance from strangers on line
but look in yourself and there you will find
who's acceptance of you really matters

you are not too much of anything 
anyone who thinks you are
is not worth looking to for acceptance 
any one who thinks you are not enough of anything
obviously doesn't know enough about you to be qualified to think that

in the end you are amazing 
and you are the ONLY one 
who needs to believe that its true


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 | |

Resting

“Resting”

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


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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Arturo's Princess

As a burgundy mane of curls envelops her fair complexion, 
Arturo whisks her up in his arms seductively...playfully 
He is not just a beast but a sensitive lover to her 
complex and intimate needs..she longs to feel him 
embrace her body, soul and mind 
and ride the waves of exotic and deep pleasure, 

For Arturo has long been misunderstood 
seemingly confident and serene 
inside he swirled and churned.. 
he knew of his deepest and wettest desires 
as he longed for them amongst the strokes 
of pleasure and climax, 
He watched the moistened petals part 
and wanted his own intimate flower 
to seduce with his intoxicating words, 
Although Arturo could weave a bewitching spell, 
he cared for her with the scarlet mane, 
Their passion was timeless yet a tempest that blew 
winds of hypnotic and earth shattering ecstasy 
He longed to plunge her to the wall 
and take what is his while she raged with emotion 
He craved the taste of her neck and her sweet spot all the more... 
he couldn't help himself..he ached for thew smallest sip 
and then drink from the berried rapture, 
She ravaged him as she turned and convulsed deep inside her body 
He drank of her carnation tinted buds of beauty 
and swallowed her whole and hungered still for more, 
She writhed in pleasure as he was a vapor swirling above her hair, 
her long wings opened wide to show him of their beauty and hidden places 
within one another 
He stiffened at the length of them 
and desired to taste them in his mouth 
and bring her to ultimate heights 
in the midnight skies as his darkened eyes 
looked into hers and the breath drank of the other 
in pitch black night of erotic wonder... 
Arturo would not ever stop loving her 
his precious flower scented with the essence 
of incredible need and passionate lust. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

He was the broken Mirror

Standing with your back turned to me, I can still see that you are 5’11” with a short juice cut that is just cute enough for me to notice. With a smile that can bright up all three galaxies. With the most desirable hugs and laughs that kept me motivated to go through all the nails and hail just to see you at the end of the bow. With a personality like yours, you needed not an extra piece, for your beauty was 100 plus and then some. But who are you? Who were you? Who told you it was okay for you to disappear? Did you not think I need you? Well, I do, indeed need your shadow at least! 

You were my shine in the rain and my warmth in the blizzard. You were very much needed. Please I ask that you return with a response of none. You set me apart from the world, as I set you apart from my soul. I am just glad I kept a little dignity so I have not to die in despair. You disappointed me to the point where I trust not a spirit that brushes my essence. I believe you cursed me you fortunate jackass. You came and destroyed what I said not to be ever destructible. You thought you were the light when I specifically said you were my polish only. How dare you be conceited? I never said you were my world, whereas when I was with you I never conformed so I do indeed thank you. 

Standing with your back against the wall and facing me I now see you are 3’11” with a south fade cut that is just ugly enough for me to notice. With a smile that can dim hell. With the most unpleasant hugs and laughs that kept me unprovoked to survive the snowflakes and drizzles just not to see you at the end of the road. With a personality like yours, you needed an extra piece of beauty plus 100 and then some. But who are you? Who were you? Who told you it was okay for you stand in my presence? Did you think I need you? Well, I do, indeed need you to take your shadow and vanish.

I live only for God, and then I live for me.  Who said I need you to reach the stars, when I have God to take me to the next galaxy.

JazzieAnn Brown   10/17/12


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Still

Haven’t they seen where time stands still and the sun kisses the morning sky 
Running free from the break of day, laughter echoing for miles
Oh yes, it was easier then, when we were only 10
Spirit alive with tomorrows promise and innocence 
Watching sunsets disappear and then soon came the years

Innocence, memories from an easier time
Beauty fades, but not for you, I can see through
The soul never weathered and aged like your skin  
Spirit worn from facing each day without hope 
The soul renewed, found peace, stayed true 

Honesty is living life through your soul.
Life is more than meets the eye. 
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder 
And eyes are the gateway to the soul. 

Souls which have no color decend unharmed
Reality unmasked, the soul of compassion and forgiveness
Teach the young that they possess a power
To love each other past our cover.

When time is gone, the soul remains as the body decays
Before the end, slow down, enjoy the still
Give your soul to another who truly sees you
Taking only what you need to see truth
Be still and listen to what remains unspoken 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mix

My desires a butterfly
Dancing in the wind
With a coat of many colors.
Your heart a flower
In full bloom
Striking with beauty and aroma.
How I wish to land upon you
Quench my thirst with nectar as I flap my wings........
Your beauty and mine make mix.


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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Origami

She would fold, refold then fold again 
And from the paper arose a swan 
I was always amazed at what she did 
A creation of beauty from paper 

She would fold, refold then fold again 
And from her heart arose a song 
A creation of beauty from hope and faith 
And like the swan she helped me fly


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Trapped in her beauty-

Trapped in her beauty-
oh such beauty so uncommon in this world,
such beauty she possesses like a jewel in a dust cloud
of destruction, greed, violence, and death;
her beauty is such a thing that possesses my heart
and entangles my soul;
for trapped in her beauty is beauty in itself.

She is lovely,
like no other before,
and she knows something
that none have known before.
She is beautiful,
and she is kind;
love conjured me and her beauty
locked me away from society;
I lost my mind when she'd gone away a year ago today;
now I see she is no where to be found-
still I am still trapped in her luxurious beauty-

.2.14.2014.


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 | |

The Flowing Water By : Nesar Translated By Hatem

The early morning, the edge of spring And the flowing water 
My Beloved, ask God to grant you me And the flowing water.
She was gazed in her picture, while the picture was gone with water 
The girl stands on her place and the water flows 
When it comes in your poem, it may has the relevance
The interpretation of scared beauty And the flowing water 
The eyes of some are full of tears and lips of some are dry  
O God! Combine that desert and flowing water 
 What an unusual dream, I always dream it 
Nesar , you and she together And the flowing water


Details | Prose Poetry | |

When I make love to her

         Whenever I am with her and she is wrapped tightly in my arms, The world for a brief moment, suddenly disappears. Then, everything seems to be all right. I slip into a place of oblivion while tasting the beauty of her charms. We kiss. So gently at first, while exploring the depths of her secret soul as the softness of her body, so sensuous in so many ways,is able to quench my driving thirst.
         She takes me to places I have never traveled before. Making me feel things like Volcano's erupting as my hot blood flows like molting lava. Yet, at times, she makes me feel like I am in flight. A spitit with wings. So subtle is her love, so intriguing is the mystery of her. I sense the wonder of a thousand stars lighted so brightly along with a hundred galaxies filled with the music of the Gods. A million universes all molded into the ecstasy of beauty and love untamed by the touch of man. Each time we make love, it becomes a new experience. She becomes all that I am, I become all that she is. We become one body in spirit and mind.
        She has touched the depth of my being. Pulled away the outer shell. Bared to her is the essence of my heart and all that I am. With her, I am the man, the pebble in the sea. She is all that is part of me, WHEN I MAKE LOVE TO HER.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

AM FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN

you ring  my bell
how i can tell
its a deep feeling
its got me reeling
so why pretend
i know this the way it go
AM FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Endless Dawn

There is a soft meadow golden
where there now stands oblivion
wild mustangs comb the hard
dry grasses after a long arid winter.
 

In the distance, wood smoke
from a silent fire that crackles
'neath a hungry touch.
 

An aubade's warm hand reaches
from the silky horizon to touch love
gently upon her shoulders and roam
the hills, and dusky valleys of the
paradisiac dawn, as it stretches each stone.
 

...and soothed; by palpable stream;
each bend a lover's nape
endlessly explored by endless wait
to greet the welcome rise again.


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 | |

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.


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 .

LOVE BILL .

   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 | |

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dance Poetry In Motion

Dance…Poetry In Motion

A body in motion,
a river flowing…?
connected, never far apart.
?A figure swaying to her inner rhythm,?
a trickling stream rushing toward the open sea.
?Silence gives way to a single note,
?the body awakens; the hint of a dance?.
The chord has been struck, 
there is no turning back.
?Hear the music, breathe in the melody,
?linger there, let it guide you freely,?
Can you feel it?
?Take the first step, never regret it…?
A promise never failed…live your dream,
?Become it!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Driving Out West

        Where the sky meets the earth and the highway goes on and on, a white satin ribbon snaking across a sea of brown. You can see far into the distance with no trees to obscure your view. No billboards mar the landscape, no skyscrapers rise out of the ground. Rolling hills, tumble-weed, yucca, sagebrush and distant mountains range on forever. Herds of antelope roam freely, wearing coats of butterscotch and whipped cream.
        Artists leave their signatures, huge metal sculptures drawing the eye, many miles in advance. Anticipation grips you as you wait to identify buffalo, roadrunner, jackrabbit, Brahma bull or horse and rider.
        Contemplate a life so different from your own, experience the serenity as you roll along with so little effort, feel the fulfillment, the contentment, the embracing freedom. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Funny

If you want to I want to
I tell her
after she asks me if I would jump off a cliff
if someone told me to.

very funny, she says
taking off her clothes
no, funny is something else
let me show you funny

I say, taking off mine.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beauty in Poverty

Along a dark and dirty alley under anvil leaden skies, 
Flowers on a windowsill would come as a suprise, 
And even if the grubby walls had not been blitzed and scarred, 
Beauty does not last too long when life is grim and hard, 
But in this misery, a splash of gold behind some grimy glass, 
An oasis of loveliness, in squalor, if any chanced to pass, 
To conjure up this strange scene beneath the darkened skies,
To bring daffodils into poverty cheers one walking by, 
Someone in that ugly house that has caught the suns pale gleam, 
Someone in that gloomy room had dared to dream a dream, 
Someone wiser than they knew, had done a lovely thing, 
And brought into that ruined street the magic of the Spring.

Written by Terry Trainor
DodoitsuPoetry Contest
25th December 2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Trapped in the maze of love

The young girls tour the countryside
with bosoms large and egos full of pride,
with noses stuck up in the thin air;
I see them all strutting down a dirt road
leading to a dead end;
as I stand lonely, trapped in the maze of love.
Lost I cannot find my way;
till I sit and listen to the songs of loving angels
they shine me a path of flowers and beauty,
as I follow, I'll soon be trapped no longer-
in that forbidden maze of love.

.2.14.2014.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

10 reasons

Let me count to ways I love you
WLM
4/13/2011
1,  The awesome beauty of your sweet voice when you speak
2.   The fact that you are so beautiful to mine eyes
3.   That you accept me for all of my faults and medical problems
4.   That our lives together will be content, happy, and wonderful
5.   The beauty of your eyes and the smile upon your face
6.   Your luscious lips which I kiss as often as possible
7.   The fact that we will always be as one entity
8.   That we can lie in bed and talk for hours on end
9.    That when we make love, it is always as if the first time each time
10.  That I can change for my sweetheart and wife when needed 


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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Dreamless Tree Dweller

Swaying. Dancing. Let me carry you.
Dance for me. Dance for me. Dance for me.
It's beautiful how you hold on so tight, but reach so far.

Up and Up and Up.
Begging sunshine and starlight and moon beams to fill your cupped palm.
We' can sip from it together but we both know you'll never be satisfied
Until your silver leaves can dance to the symphonies of singing constellations.

The diamonds sprinkling down your face would look like tears.
But you, and I? We both know this isn't real. Put away your fears
And dream for me. Dream for me. Dream for me


And please darling, Let us never wake.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tears

Tears
Tears like a warm summer rain, help cleanse the heart and soul.

They give you the knowledge that when we wake the next day,
The fresh smell of that summers rain, remind of us of the beauty GOD created and never 
meant for us to mourn the living or loved who have left us. 

Each season passes and we wonder what we’re meant to do; we question our motives of the 
past and the plans for the new. We forget to let the past be gone and start out new like with 
the wonderment of all that is out there to capture because we can’t close the door that says 
yesterday is gone and tomorrow has not arrived and today is where I am and where the new 
beginning is going to start.

Just as the leaves change colors and the snowflakes fall from above
We go on living and wondering what if? Shed the tears and let the beauty of our friends and 
those we love and love us
Bring that last tear we shed for all the yesterday’s.

Flow my tears cleanse my heart and soul let the pain drift
Away just as I have wiped the last tear.

Rose M Bauerle  2008


Details | Prose Poetry | |

with you

you're not young and not old
to me I like it that you're bold
to me your sweet and innocent
I want you in future and present
I love your smile as you pass by
I love the gleam in your eye

first night kissed you in the street
sleepless til next time we'd meet
with you everything feels so right
with you my future feels so bright
with you I can see myself living
the acts we do no use forgiving


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ (~) ~ Tides Revel in Their Rise ~ (~) ~ (Part # 3 of 3) ~ (~) ~

Or owning the beauty of an unconditional unity with God, abiding in peace with one another, the world around us, one that existing through His goodness, I believe now is already and in always, through Him, abounding within, and consistently surrounding all of us ... ? I mean if you would, look around, and within yourself ... . Because I have found whether rising up or drifting outward ... like myself I often do, we are all like the tides, each in the end running towards or away from God, everywhere we are, in some way at some given time, given whatever the matter, or eventuality. And as I feel it is as it should be ... . I will to know God, and to live a righteous life, and so God willing, with this attitude in action ... hoping to never again be apart from Him, I believe I'll be taken again back home to Him ... . Even whether I am of the understanding of this or not. So given these facts, I know now, what my choice is to be. It is so clear to me ... . Like the tides ... through Him I must be Honest ... with myself, Open to Him ... and Willing to ask, yes allow myself room for His forgiveness, and wash my hands of any and all past present and future frailties, then continue to revel with Him, as He brings my spirit within my body, to rise. Until the day given His faithfulness ... love and mercy my body quite simply, cannot ... . Not unless given the inevitable beauty, the nature of His Sovereignty, He chooses one day to lift it Himself. Because I know too ... "as I desire to live and love, have faith and to be loved, embrace His mercy ... fully, my desire, is the simple aspiration of Gods' same longing for this" ... . And having been awakened this morning again ... . Truly, though I may try, as the Sun rises and sets, upon the day, God's love and faithfulness, mercy ... in all of its honor and beauty - asking me to rise myself and revel with Him and you in this glorious opportunity. Having been made aware of this, the perfect beauty of His grace, this today I cannot, no I will not myself ... with all that is within me, deny Him ... again... . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xLdpM01inM


Details | Prose Poetry | |

BABY I WORRIE ABOUT YOU

baby please call
your my wall
so much you do
you are chooses too
BABY I WORRIE ABOUT
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 | |

Rusalka

 She flickers in the borderland
 In the mirror and the marsh
 Sparkling like the morning dew
 On a grateful corpse

 In the bog her murmuring
 The echo of a cry
 Travels on the plaintive wind
 Like a phantom sigh

 The merest of a semblance
 Shadowed by the moon
 In the murk appears to flirt
 Behind the sinking dunes

 Like an orphan of the sea
 Or a widow of the sands
 She shrivels in the noon day sun
 Glimmering in strands

 Written by © Raven Drake


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 .

 LOVE
 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 | |

Angels Dancing on Clouds

Working mowing a meadow there was very faint singing from very far away,
It sounded like a group of angels singing and ringing sweet and clear,
I must be a choir singing outside of the church just outside the town,
So sitting down I took a break and enjoy the voices carried on the wind.

The voices floated into the meadow it blew, rustling grass and flowers,
Then the flowers swayed and they began to dance in the heavenly tunes,
The songs became louder and more clear and I could make out some words,
Voices drifting up high to heaven passing fluffy clouds into blue sky.

My meadow came alive and the smell of my sweet cut grass made me giddy,
Have I died gone up to heaven nobody would have noticed any difference,
All the wild birds stood in silence even they could not sing any sweeter,
Sitting in the warm cloudy sunshine angels in heaven dancing on clouds.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beauty, like most things, is subjective

Beauty, like most things, is subjective
Some people prefer a statue, marble, 
Crafted at the enervation of the sculptor.
Others prefer smoke, thin and intangible, 
Dancing in plumes to an atonal rhythm.
Call me crazy, but I prefer neither. 
I admire you in your skin in clothes 
Shorts and a tank-top, as you move
So exotically your hips to a drum in time.
However I don't find beauty in arousal, 
Yet in a connection seen in eyes, 
Held in hands, and know, I find
Large amounts of beauty in you
I could sit with you and die. 
As we all do now, sad and alone, yet 
As soon as proximity is reached
Between us, dying becomes more.  
It becomes the tobacco between
The fire at a cigarettes tip, 
And the filter, that sweet sin 
That has so enticed you before.
However, that's just me,
As beauty is subjective.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ (~) ~ Tides Revel in Their Rise ~ (~) ~ (Part #1 of 3) ~ (~) ~!

Or owning the beauty of an unconditional unity with God, abiding in peace with one another, the world around us,one that existing through His goodness, I believe now is already and in always, through Him, abounding within, and consistently surrounding all of us ... ? I mean if you would, look around, and within yourself ... . Because I have found whether rising up or drifting outward... like myself I often do, we are all like the tides, each in the end running towards or away from God, everywhere we are, in some way at some given time, given whatever the matter, or eventuality. And as I feel it is as it should be ... . I will to know God, and to live a righteous life, and so God willing, with this attitude in action... hoping to never again be apart from Him, I believe I'll be taken again back home to Him... . Even whether I am of the understanding of this or not. So given these facts, I know now, what my choice is to be. It is so clear to me... . Like the tides... through Him I must be Honest... with myself, pen to Him... and Willing to ask, yes allow myself room for His forgiveness, and wash my hands of any and all past present and future frailties, then continue to revel with Him, as He brings my spirit within my body, to rise. Until the day given His faithfulness ... love and mercy my body quite simply, cannot ... . Not unless given the inevitable beauty, the nature of His Sovereignty, He chooses one day to lift it Himself. Because I know too ... "as I desire to live and love, have faith and to be loved, embrace His mercy ... fully, my desire, is the simple aspiration of Gods' same longing for this" ... . And having been awakened this morning again ... . Truly, though I may try, as the Sun rises and sets, upon the day, God's love and faithfulness, mercy ... in all of its honor and beauty - asking me to rise myself and revel with Him and you in this glorious opportunity. Having been made aware of this, the perfect beauty of His grace, this today I cannot, no I will not myself ... with all that is within me, deny Him ... again... . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmAQ0Ct49tY>center>


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Summer has Gone Away

Winter steals its unwanted self upon us and the sultry heat of forgotten summer is past,
Torrents of rain painful hail have battered away our fond warm memories of a summer day,
The pasture now cloying feted mud which were hard ridges that hurt unsuspecting ankles,
Now the cattle in the fields breath out great plumes of steam they stand in deep puddles.

The sweet air that was filled with scented wild flowers from the richest meadows has gone,
The rich green seas of swaying grass and mighty oaks that groaned in breezes is now bare,
Leafy masses and the refreshing voices of our summer birds both have been silenced or gone,
As the shadows grow longer earlier in the day and warm nights are just gloom the magic gone.

There is no warm glare when the sun does shine it is low it hurts your eyes we look away,
Cool moisture of the summer months were welcomed now the foggy damp is wet, uncomfortable,
The beauty of a sunny day stimulated every sense in our bodies now it stimulates the cold,
Vials of clouds scudding across blue skies stroked by nature now falls as rain sleet or snow.

Clouds like airy lengths of gossamer drapery amid the azure of the lofty immensity of the sun,
Are now black and shaped like a blacksmiths anvil flash with lightening with heavy wet winds,
Gone is the sunrise of brilliant days of the calmest and the most impressive beauty has died,
And the children of men scattered over our nation are not on fields nor hills they sit indoors.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ocean Vs Walls

When I first met you I felt like I've known you forever telling you all my secrets and what I didn't want ever. I felt like my world stopped and you were the only one in it. I stood there looking in to your eyes getting captured by the enchantment they hold on me. The feel of being swept away by the ocean waves into a mystical place. Crashing against the walls trying to bring then down. The sound of your voice reassuring me that everything will be okay telling me to trust in faith. So I have decided time answers all and if it is meant to be I will take down these walls.


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 | |

Summer has Gone

Winter steals its unwanted self upon us and the sultry heat of forgotten summer is past,
Torrents of rain painful hail have battered away our fond warm memories of a summer day,
The pasture now cloying feted mud which were hard ridges that hurt unsuspecting ankles,
Now the cattle in the fields breath out great plumes of steam they stand in deep puddles.

The sweet air that was filled with scented wild flowers from the richest meadows has gone,
The rich green seas of swaying grass and mighty oaks that groaned in breezes is now bare,
Leafy masses and the refreshing voices of our summer birds both have been silenced or gone,
As the shadows grow longer earlier in the day and warm nights are just gloom the magic gone.

There is no warm glare when the sun does shine it is low it hurts your eyes we look away,
Cool moisture of the summer months were welcomed now the foggy damp is wet, uncomfortable,
The beauty of a sunny day stimulated every sense in our bodies now it stimulates the cold,
Vials of clouds scudding across blue skies stroked by nature now falls as rain sleet or snow.

Clouds like airy lengths of gossamer drapery amid the azure of the lofty immensity of the sun,
Are now black and shaped like a blacksmiths anvil flash with lightening with heavy wet winds,
Gone is the sunrise of brilliant days of the calmest and the most impressive beauty has died,
And the children of men scattered over our nation are not on fields nor hills they sit indoors.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

the universe game

the universe game
if i give to you a universe,
you said to me this morning-
what would you fill it with?
a blank universe,
you coaxed me this morning-
tell me what i'd see.
i said, unwillingly at first-
i would not take your universe
not your gift to give...not your stars.
i would not take your universe
if you gave it on 
bended knee.
-but if i had a universe,
a blank universe i'd fill it 
with ecstasy storms
and kissing maids romping
with bright hued braids twirling
and child's first prayer that electrifies grass blades
and butterscotch ice ponds
and fields of wildflowers
and books lining roadways and 
words raining sideways-
with 
trains running backwards and 
time moving slowly
with music for dinner and 
dancing for sadness
with 
lovers and mothers
and 
magic
and 
you.
perhaps i said,
as i rolled close in the sheets 
i'd just fill it with you and i-
and i would love you when the sun
did shine
and when the sun
did not.
and i would love you when you closed your eyes
and i would love you as you wept.
love you as you walked
toes tickling my ground and sand
and i would love you when you sneezed
and as you sang
        and as you aged.
and i would love you 
sleep 
to 
sleep-
my tiny universe to keep.



sahn 
11/19/2014
thank you as always for taking the time to read my work.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Early Flowers

There is a little ficary with brilliant golden disks,
Scattered all along the riverbanks the first in April,
Then a homely happy little daisy rises to look around,
Smiles and grows thinly sprinkled on turf on our walk.

Colts foot shows yellow flowers on many cold bear lands,
Violets blue and white as sweet as honey in its haunts,
A card amine bows to to the sun and his flowery friends,
From a hollow or on the margin of a tiny little runnel.

The primrose in their glory are a punctual as daylight,
Anemones dance a lovers dance in the cool early breeze,
Everywhere the trees in a wood and hedges look crimson,
Nature prepares delight even in these black chilly days.

The daffy-down-dilly is picked and plucked by children,
It has always been known as the good old English flower,
It lives in cottage gardens with rue so bright and yellow
And grows in box-hedges neglected arbor's and dirty alleys.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ Poem the 1st Chap. Inspired Bye ~ Part #23

~ Shown to me here, as it is one now known by me to be the very beauty of His generous character. The one seen shining, on the no truer notions of his. Known now by me as well to be alive, and well, and faithfully thriving, and willingly evolving within the generous opening, of his tiny little heart. The one telling the story of the sweetness of His simple passion and desire for God and of the peaceful utterance and perfect example. (For all to embrace...) Of his selfless humility, and being myself in love with God and being overwhelmed and forever touched by this and by His presence. ~  ~ So in awe of Him, and being so relieved. I begin to cry... As in an new way I begin again, to marvel, and again. I am left here... In complete abandon. ~  ~ And so... so amid this tender moment with Him... I arrive home with family and little Jamie here today. The very same way that I left, and so I reckon... ~ ~ I reckon I'll go out, about a small bit to roam and wander for a while and dream of this glorious life. ~  ~ Yep! The one that is being sown for me and so very sweetly proposed, through the love of God, the one I have faithfully and wholeheartedly accepted now, and have been honestly granted I find! ((( Here.))) Amidst the precious love of my two wonderful children and gracious wife, ( and amid the ever fervent and fledgling hope and certain and ever endearing honestly tender, peaceful offering of His. ) Given to us all through the grace of His greater insight and loving ambition. )) As we all hope and patiently pray and await the perfect beauty! Of the wondrous blessing and promise... Of the glorious birth of our little one Jamie, our new born child. ))) ~  ~ Or maybe, maybe come to think of it," I'll just quietly set here some and whittle awhile, and talk some more with you and our generous Lord today amid the beauty of the season. For a time... (and yes, and I say,) as I do know it will be for me " but only for a spell ". As I think of my fondness for him, and ponder the many splendid visions of hope I have with them and with God. ~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Royal wonder

Royal wonder
~~~~~~~~~~~
All bards in times of old
would vie to compose ballads
of her beauty and charm
and flowing tresses spun from gold
so tender and lovely
like the goddess Aphrodite
pure of beauty and love
sends my heart to the clouds
personification of grace 
and gentle like the dove
a sweetness that sets her far above
all the other maidens near
a smile that sets my soul afire
my burning heart and reeling mind
consumed and awash in desire
no mere words could do justice 
if I wrote from now to all time
there’s no way to express what I mean
but the light in her eyes
and the joy that it brings
makes me bow to this beautiful queen