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Prose Poetry Confusion Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Confusion

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |


Under 65 degree starry, onyx blanket
Containment of quarter moon identity

A whimsically soothing song exuded
In muffled taps & Prohibition era lyric

In the distance,
Snow-capped mountains reflecting lunar clarity
Off its tips of freedom

As we lay on recycled steel hood,
Made in 1950s USA, when it mattered,
Her silhouetted fingertips released from my right arm
While insistently looking towards stratosphere’s vocal chord

“Can’t it be like this forever?
Oh, how I want to just make love to the stars.
Become one with Orion while riding
On Sagittarius’s arrow”

“What about our stars?”, he softly questioned.

“I’d like to be your never-ending shooting star.
To ride on blue moon’s comet, by your side”

Cricket whispers manhandled his romantic clef
Mother Nature’s afterglow, upon her ears, fallen deaf

Inherent waxy build-up from illicit tongue,
She pat his shoulders like a dog
Being taught his first lesson

Her eyes, still sky high.

“Sigh, I like how you think.
You’re such a nice friend.
You’re going to make a woman so happy one day.
I hope to meet a guy just like you.”

As her eyes sighed with a powerful lack of substance
Into the arms of Leo,
A slammed car door supplants the reverberation of the car’s V8 engine.

He confidently turns back the hands of time.

Reversal gears become his new tune

“If you get lost going home, follow the stars.”

As he pulls away with majestic, amplified lyrics
Of Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again”

Going down the only road he’s ever known

While she stands in fraudulent gasps of shock,
Looking back up to the stars in blank wonder

As he accelerates into a new page in his book
Closing his chapter with wondrous questions

“Why would I taste your starlight?

When you never believed in our constellation?”

©Drake J. Eszes
It’s good to gaze at the stars and make wishes. But, be careful what you wish for. For Earth has its own gifts…

Details | Prose Poetry | |


So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Galaxies Came Between

He'd be typing away on his desk
with blueprints for the next big thing,
While I'd be staring off into the azure sky
appreciating the "insignificant" things

You really are a genius
in your field of technicalities,
with which you thoroughly water;
A wife, a place of your own,
and a destination in mind


You'll find me in the corner
(no not a corner... think rounded edges,
much more safe)
Half past ten, still in bed,
with rolls of cash in a Ziploc bed
(I'm not dealing and I'm sorry if I gave you that
impression... more likely
just a descendant of Scrooge)

Your perfectly organized life
(my just screw it attitude)
Well I must say you are on your way,
but where exactly too?

I solemnly wish
we had, but one thing
in common, dearest brother,
Even with the knowledge
that I wrote this for you
I'm sure deep down
you'd think this quite sappy

And being the person that I am
I'd immediately think of tree metaphors
(now what what rhymes with cedar?)

And being the person you are
you'd probably just go about your day
wondering about the latest Apple product

You live next door
and yet somehow
galaxies came between us,
Practical you gathered sticks and stones
for your shelter here on Earth

(I was too busy daydreaming
on Mars)

From the moment I opened my eyes
and peaked my little head out
from the pool in the backyard,
we were brothers, through and through

... so why do I have this nagging urge
to shake your hand and ask

"Have we met?"

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Taste of a Wish

Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


                            Swallowed by the night rain;
                       I chased the light.
                 Though you knew I could not trust it.
               It changes itself when it meets a black hole.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Disappear

wake up to serendipity
ignorant and unknown
shaken and not stirred
blond can be bond

Reality, metaphor and cliche
cheesy juvenile decay
Love, care and hate
past the use by date

of fights and torment
and well deserved lament
salute to the solitary reaper
with Metallica... I disappear

Details | Prose Poetry | |

That Which Is Real

Oh to be just a friend
To laugh, joke and play with you
Is not something
I know how to do
Oh how I wish it were
For it’d sure eliminate
All this pain I feel
Sometimes it happens
That starting off fun
Turns into something real
And what was meant to make you laugh
Turns into tears
That seem to take
Life’s  breath away
Leaving you to feel
Like there’s so much left to say
If only this, if only that
If I only could, if you only would
So many tricks of the mind
As we try to find
Justification for holding on
To what should be freed
So we can move on
Yet we hold out hope
In each accidental hello
That tides will turn
Though they have long washed away
It’s just the way of life
And how love burns
Until we learn
The difference in what we feel
And that which is real

Details | Prose Poetry | |


	It was kind of nice having money all the
	Looking back when I was seventeen,
		I looked forward to going to work.
	It is unlike what I feel about work now.
		I did a lot of reading as a child.
	I read all kinds of books.
		I would consider Oak Lawn a safe
	Community then. 
		I can’t remember any times when I got beat up.

	I did a lot of running home and telling.
		I avoided a lot of suffering by talking to
		My parents about the bullies.
			It wasn’t until junior high that I had to
		Take care of a fight that went way wrong.
			I was scared to death of a seventh grader.
		I fought him, and found out he wanted to 
		I wasn’t that good of a 
			Wrestler then.

		I got better
			In high school.
		It was kind of chaotic, and the wrestling matches
			Were more “fighting” than wrestling.
		I hung in school and made a name for myself
			At Oak Lawn Community High School.
		My sister gave me a collection of albums
			My junior year.
		I was introduced to all kinds of music by

		My first good introduction to music came
			My sophomore year.
		A friend introduced me to “The Police” with
			“Zenyatta Mondatta” and “Ghost in
		The Machine”.
			He told me what he did at his party
		In eighth grade.
		They sat around and played Gin.
			They drank soda.
		They went bowling.

		I got off to a late start with music,
			And I finally caught up with my tape-
		Radio I got for Christmas my junior year.
			I could have had a big party,
		But I decided to wait.
			I didn’t really have one except
	 	The one’s I had in grammar school.
			My friend thought he was going to
		Get married to this one girl at O.L.C.H.S.
			It fizzled out like my relationship did.

			That girl liked someone else though.
		I should have given up calling her,
			It was no fun talking to her.
		She didn’t talk to me at all in school.
			I’m not sure she even knew who I was
		In lunch.
			I didn’t have anymore classes with her.
			Her boyfriend went out for basketball
		Like I should have done.  I was pretty good.  Maybe just
		Doing my chess and studying was the best thing for me to do.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Another man's wife

In love I was lost
I plunged headlong
Oblivious of the consequences
For she was fair to behold
E’en fairer than the lily of the garden

She took me by my hand
And together we strolled
We explored the new frontiers of love
My company she greatly adored
Until she couldn’t break free 
From the spell of love
Cast on her by fate
Uhm! It’s amazing what love can do

Damning the consequences
I forged ahead with my newfound love
Paradise was unraveled before me
An adventure of some sort it seemed
“Give it a try,” I urged myself
Shutting my mind deliberately to the odds

For if she had known
Then she wouldn’t have allowed me
Entry into her life
But her actions defies all explanation
Void envelopes her being in my absence
What had suddenly come over her?
In so short a while

When she laughed, I laughed
When I cried, she cried as well
The blissful times we shared were dear
Held close to my heart like a testament
“Could anything be this cherished?” I thought
Life definitely seemed very good

She withdrew at certain times
Not because she was through with me, nay!
But she remembers her Man-the Man
“You cannot understand,” she tells me
“You cannot understand,” she affirms
I am another Man’s wife

Like a thief in the night 
Her man came
The show he stole
For he had cut short his journey
Unannounced he strolled into the scene
After all he owned the show
He assumes his manly duties once again
Giving her love and succor as it were
He was the man, I was a villain

I was soon relegated to the rear
Despondency and dejection became my theme song
Jealousy I spat out like bile
No one would empathize my shattered heart
For I was warned before hand
Not to fall in love with
Another Man’s wife.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Close enough

Closer to the clouds 
Soaring through the soft misty flocks of vapour
Touching the overstretched never ending horizons
Closer to the clouds
Reaching for the elusive galaxy scattered with stars

Outside my window, birds perched on window panes
Breathing the hopes of life
Burying their worries, letting them go
Soaring away the pains of yesterday
The distance reassures me of the longer road I have
Waiting working of what might come
Relieving the old alleys
Streets that left me hanging, roaming 
Stranded with loneliness

Break from the fast pace of life
Dive into total surrender
Break from our shallow life filled with plans
The never ending ambitious dreams
Capturing each moment, not giving any a miss

The small sentiments
The simple notions
The innocent thoughts 
And the crazy bedlams
Thrive, we will.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Up in Smoke it's Reality

Fantasy like Reality can be a disappointment...
Clearing the Air........

He worshipped her from afar...
He had since he was three..
He hid it well , no one knew...
She was his heart’s desire...
With her big bright eyes and her winning smile..
He never thought she would beguile...
Then he turned ten and it was clear..
It had been she who did inspire...
this young man ,with his heart on fire... 
He arrived at seven in the morn...
To help prepare the feast de jour...
He stuffed the bird and chose to make..
Her favourite dessert...fresh Raspberry cake..
He feverishly cut and whipped and stirred..
Grandpa ‘s little helper was becoming quite the gourmet chef...
Then came the time to shower, and get dressed...
He chose his wardrobe carefully...
Making sure that he looked and smelled hmmm good....
She arrived and you could see him beaming proudly...
Everyone feasted on the bird and ate their fill...
He waited on her as I watched..
No one even blinked an eye..
They spoke for what seemed an eternity..
His face could be read for all to see...
Then out of the blue, she excused herself..
And went out on the patio to puff some stuff...
His face went white, I could see his plight..
She chose to be with others you see..
Who foolishly did an atrocity...
The one he worshiped from afar..
Went up in she smoked her cigar...


Details | Prose Poetry | |


A Black Dress simple
Gains entry to ample
Fun places of Rich
and People Beautiful.  

But careful,Naive
A glance lustful
will soon deceive.
Keep the intake
of Brain Fog

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Without you

This morning when I woke up in an unfamiliar place, dark and empty.
There were no doors, no windows I was trapped.
No light, I could not see.
No air, I could not breathe.
I cried out for help, no one could hear me.
Alone and smothering as the rhythm of my heartbeat grew weak until there was no beat.
The glimpse of my soul once filled with vibrant life now fades away as dark as the place I find myself.
Wait this in not a room,
Wait this is not a place.
But, this is my world without you.
Dark, empty, alone and hurting.
I am alone in the dark
A shadow covers the beam that once lite up my life,
My heart is empty,
My dreams shattered,
This is my world without YOU!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


A noble story one that ought to be our good host laughed and swore the games begun. Come match the knights tale if you can sir monk. To bellow arms and blood and bones he swore. A noble one I'll pay off the knights tale lets do this right. You tell yours by and by either I'll speak or go on my own way. Everyone listen but first i will propound that i am drunk i know it by my sound. For I'll tell a golden legend and a lie. Forget your ignorant drunken bawdiness it is a sin and great foolishness. Tell us of other things you'll find to lack i see you are angry with my tale but why. cuz you are a fool your head is overpowered by the wine. If you are not enjoying yourselves then cut off my head but as i drink my wine and ale. Whoever won't accept what i decide will pay for everything we spend along the ride. So hold up your hand if you accept my speech reflect a little and don't hold me to blame if you choose wrong don't lay it on my head. And both of them had bawdy tales to tell theirs no sense making earnest out of game.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

spell bound

there is only one woman
in the whole wide world
one thing that matters
this certian girl
and she fills my mind
both days and nights
her loveliness is my delight
a loveliness i can not requite
so quiet lies my tongue
that would confess so much
about desire for a simple touch
heartless to tell anyone
about this crush
especially her, i love her that much
better to live with a dream
than deal with rejection
secrets are kept for my protection
painfull are the places
we learn this lesson
spending the most of our lives
hiddng from rejection
a man begins to wonder
what is this thing that has me bound
why is her name a wonderful sound
why am i the only one that
watches her the way that i do
i thought i had the answer 
but i do not have a clue
hopeing that she'd notice that i never
denighed her any request
and that she would stay longer
and that was my only test
start a conversation
maybe start a kind of relation.
why do i see her imperfection 
as the most beautiful thing i have searched
and count it as the only worth
that held me bound to the earth
that kept me sound to sanity
and insanity where my minds
looks for moments that we share
looking for opportunity to dare
and hope that you have a snare
to entangle me somewhere
where my imagination
has went wild.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The color of love

Without him beside me, my future seems so bleak, being naïve, 
i was told he was not meant for me. Ignoring this world of cruelty
and its power tear our world apart. Now sitting i ponder why I being so naïve from the very start

My tomorrow will never come, for I will forever live in his yesterday. Turning my back on the one who loved me in every single way.
Not even time can heal a shattered heart, but I guess somewhere in his heart he loved me after all

Many times I’ve dreamt of him and unable to hide my tears,
As I reminisce that sad day I decide we go our separate ways,
I pinch myself, as in a dream, knowing it is not true,
How could I let go of such a man, no woman would ever do.

I remember the look in his eyes when he dropped by and found my note. Pain crippled on his face leaving such a heart in pain, as he read along “My heart is with you but I will forever be alone, never will you and I share a place of our own. Rejected by all to cross the color line thinking my love is blind".

 If again such a love should come my way, I’d break free of those dark days I’d confess my true heart and reject the rest and  break through this racial barrier and fallow my lovers path wherever he lead to ease this heart that beat to grieve.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

OXYMORON Newsflash:

"EARLY TONIGHT, according to HEAR SAY, things got PRETTY UGLY when a SINGLE GROUP of HELLS

(in a strange way, this type of wishy-washy lingo reminds me of our lovely National news)

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Going Through Non-Emotions

I listened as Ms. Azalea Lee spoke to me 
This is what she had to say…
I sat with the door opened catching the noon day breeze
As a package was delivered by the postman 
That stood there requesting my signature.
I hope its something good the postman said with a grin
Oh he may have been good to others, I said much to my chagrin
This package I had no desire to receive
Today or any day but somehow I knew it was the remains of him
This was supposed to be a joyous day
Expecting a newborn kinsman this eve and it being
The day of my daughter's birth -- I must state
How ironic this day has come in to play
As I received his backward ashes today
I never wanted to hold him in my arms again
Never thought I'd behold his form this way
My once tormentor, feigned lover, never true friend -- hey
No one could say I did not try
Held out the olive branch time after time…
He would just keep trying to burn that branch and my arm 
right along with it.   Even had my mama fooled 
By his falsified charms so bad that it seemed 
She did not care that it was I -- which he continually tried to harm...
Darn, that certainly should come to me as no surprise
As she often did much the same too me as a child
She, picking and pinching with her trying words 
To get a grief stricken tear from this numbed heart of mine
How absurd! Then Ms. Azalea Lee revealed some things to me that
I dare not write for indeed they were enough to horrify...
During that time, I whispered not a peep, for I thought to my self
How could she ever sleep, with all of those emotions balled up inside... 
How strange it was that after the age of 15 she had not truly cried… 
At least until the day her father died and then she went numb again… 
feeling nothing yet still managed to smile
My, how I wished I could share with her, this joy of mine….
How is it that she takes all in stride?
Without a drop of hate inside…  As I bid her goodbye, 
The answer came, she is mine and 
She possesses a strong will to survive.  
I now look back through time at Ms. Azalea Lee
Keeping her stories as they sure had an effect on me…

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….

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Cast in stone and written in blood Are the ideals of a lost nation? Paving the returned ashes of the ancients Their patience wore thin by the actions of the passionless Armed in tools for a journey with no set direction But their steps forward Matter to no particular purpose but a means to no end Instead to destruction Is their surrounds with earth shattering sound to deaf ears In the hope That the blind see and fear the renowned vision of tears And overcome by what comes over With a super nova of banished spirits carving out time In hope to expos The sickened seconds and momentary minutes into hours Those who have powers Will note the swinging vote they wield Those who are in this field Have only the word as a shield Blood spilled and dead, limp, bodies Will be served on the far vision Multiple weaponry Will be the cutlery of the day's dishing From the table view only red is seen Because all that within is left on the scene Those who were framed in this picture Can only refer to the Revelations of scripture Those who were in erratic panic Had to mirrored the ignorance that of "Titanic" How can men put their belief in false security? As survivors of today were fooled by the hope of tomorrow Let’s not borrow the bravado of a lost society Because Christianity is the true model we should follow.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Twinkling eyes

Twinkling eyes that sparks, funny how emotions can takes over the heart
Impossible words that is hard to find, thinking one movement and he might cross
the line.  He wore his pride like a badge, but the wounds in his heart is deep,
and for him to love again is just a broken dream.

Even through loneliness scream when he’s under his sheet,
He rather succumb to its sting, other than listened to the silence song his
Heart had to sing. Known his heart is a self made wall,
And he’s not the type of man she should tell how much she loved afterall.

Thoughts kept running through his mind when he recall
how profound he looked her in the eyes. Making him feelings so awkward that
 he could not control all he knew is having her besides him daily, his love will grows.
He realize that her tender care is the only thing that keeps him alive, yet he 
Settled with routine and afraid go beyond the boundaries.

She reaches out to feel his touch, but somehow had not get enough
Thinking of going her way, but she knew her mind will suffer in everyway
He took her in his arms, where she found security. Hands in hands 
She looked in her lover eyes and saw the love inside and
Made him show the feelings, he always had to hide
Tears fell down his face as emotions takes over
his body language says everything and there things became clear.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Nothing But Chalk

She sits there in the back of the class, doodling on her paperwork. Getting lost in 
the scribbles, tuning out the teacher, forgetting all the madness around her, her life 
fading in the paper. Slap! The sound of the ruler splintering across the desk. PAY 
ATTENTION! Head jerking upward, she sits up in her little desk. Pencil dropping from 
her hand, rolling off onto the floor. She looks straight ahead, back straight as a 
board, eyes glued ahead as the teacher drones on. Drilling things into their heads, 
eyes sharp like an eagle. Looking for every chance to catch someone falling asleep, 
to catch someone passing notes, to catch someone whispering. The little girl quietly 
picks up her pencil and her mind drifts to dreaming of playing dress up, drifts to the 
path the lead makes on the paper. The curves of a woman, not a little girl. Dreaming 
of growing up into a woman. Confident, pretty, smart, strong....someone people will 
notice....a woman with a voice. Slap! The ruler across her hand. She jerks it back, 
clasping it to her chest. Instant sting, instant redness and she feels the tears start 
to pool in her eyes, her lip quivering to hold back the yelp. Pay attention! You’re not 
listening! I asked you a question young lady. Should I repeat it? She’s so scared 
that she can’t even speak so she just meekly nods her head. Hard as steel, cold as 
ice, the teacher repeats the question. She hangs her head and answers but her 
voice is barely above a squeeking whisper. Speak up! says the teacher. The class 
can’t hear you, I can’t hear you she says. The little girl raises her head and repeats 
her answer. WRONG! Slap! The ruler across her other hand. See if you had been 
paying attention instead of DOODLING, then you wouldn’t have gotten the ruler. 
You’ll make sure next time you will listen now won't you. The little girl doesn’t 
answer, doesn’t speak up. She doesn’t want the ruler again. So she carefully and 
quietly lays her pencil on her little wooden desk that bares the markings of many 
ruler slappings. And on her little wooden desk, she rests her hands that bare the 
scars of many ruler slappings. She stares straight ahead at the chalkboard, 
unwavering, searing a hole in the chalkboard. She tries to find the dream of dress 
up, tries to find the girl dressing up as the woman she wants to be. But all she sees 
on the chalkboard…no matter how hard or how long she stares...all she sees on the nothing but chalk.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


                   I Just Am

“In the ever present moment
you just are.”
That was it!  All he said in response
to my pleas for enlightenment.
Just be where you are
when you are supposed to be there.
Which I eventually figured out
meant always.
“How will I know if I am there
when I’m supposed to be there?”
He responded “If you are present
in the eternal present moment
you will be there when
you are supposed to be there.”
“Why are you here in this moment”
I asked.  He answered “because you
are here in this same moment”.
“God, I hate talking to you.”
“That’s because in this moment
you are supposed to be listening.”
The thought of condensing all of
his remaining present moments
into this one crossed my mind.”
“Why am I in these ever changing-
ever present moments.”
“Because the moment is ever present
 you are present in that moment
for a purpose.”
“And what would that purpose be?”
“That will become apparent to you
in that ever present moment.”
I am not sure what he was trying
to teach me, or if I ever learned it.
Somehow I came to realize one simple
inescapable fact as true – 
In the ever present moment -
I just am.

John G. Lawless

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thread of Hope

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That white thread...
Of hope.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stolen Hearts

Cold, callus, crying, shivering,
and covered in sweat.
Wondering what has happened.
Not yet understanding this fate I’ve met.

What of a guy that stumbled around,
just trying his hardest to show he’d been found,
after all he had just been purchased
from the human pound.

That promise to you.
Man I broke it.
I told you Id stop,
and for a time I did,
but that stuff two blocks away,
my will power just wasn't work-n.
My wrist watch again broken.
Always from the look on my face,
you could tell Id been smoke-n.

You tried.
You tried so hard,
but the mind wasn’t mine.
only a shell of what used to be,
all of me you were trying to find,
and I didn’t get this till my alone time.

I was pushing.
You were pulling.
Then it all pushed you away.
It was all down hill from here,
so naturally you couldn’t stay.

I sit here so sad
for the way you must of felt.
Let alone how you dealt.
Ill never understand how I could do this to you.
You're so prefect,
even your aura dances in ambient light.
You’re the best friend I could of had,
and that leaves me really mad,
that the rest of the world
may never know what we had.

The thing is I know now,
that you loving me.
This really was Much more,
than I loving you.

~Ha,Turned around this insecurity was always mine.~

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fooling us All

Dumbing us down
no wonder we don't know
unaware for so long
on what's been eating us

"but the bait tastes so good!"
we say
drooling diabetes down lazy lips
by high definition devices
all the world's shiny entices

and then there's addictions
the medications 
they're fingering Mother Earth's atmosphere to
seducing mankind 
with the silence of her screams
raping our nurturer
as we remain oblivious

these elite thugs
conducting violence above the law
fooling us all

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


                                            s o b e r...
The fuse burns the skin; 'till years disappear in the sear. Those scars allow us to be who we are - - - urging us to bleed truth- - -  so we can speed through the blues----- fueling us with the go, the giddy up to show, with each blow we grow,---and we Leggo our Ego -------just so the doubters we encounter shout louder and louder--- tho' they ain't got a clue as to who... or what we're about, or the journey of pain ballooning our veins with insane clout-------- and we wish upon a trouble free time to be near, yet it's far...- - - like the stars in the sky----...---sobering the view...while we drink the abuse------Still, the lit fuse burns the years till our fears cry.-____so hopefully, we learn from the scars when our tears dry.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Are Doomed People

We are doomed people. Nurses’ aides, housekeepers, LPN and Ward Clerks
Maintenance and kitchen cooks; slave of the modern workplaces
We are the Victims of Hurricane Sandy
Taking life for granted,
 Everything was nice and dandy
  until Sandy furious attack 
 In an instant life live: reverse like a deadly curse
Forcing the Oil prices to rise higher after volatile week
We cried, we pray, we curse under the same breath
 Frequently asked question “Why us father why we

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Evil Inside Me

When Man is run by his ego,

He will never be satisfied.

When our minds perverse our souls,

We will never be happy.

When we surpress our hurt, our hurt becomes Evil.

When we do not forgive each other we break away from each other.

This beast inside me wants to control me,

But my heart tries to protect me.

In the end who will win,

I will fight to turn toward the light,

and allow love to touch my soul.

If I can forgive, and just live in the moment,

Then in the end Evil can never win.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beautiful Apparition

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

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I stood in the middle of the ocean's palm and travelled along its' finger lines.
These blue waves have stolen the infinity of sky, reflecting my fate signs.
In my heart there is a blank, as I am left alone struggling with a sea unknown.
If you could show me your eyes, I would place your hopes in stars to find height.
Instead, I am burned in fires shaken, in sweaty dreams that end with the first light.
In other words I search for promises, changing places and opening new doors.
Yet, this sea of rain rushes into my expectations, driving me to the same shores.
And I am wondering if life owes us our prayers, our tears, our sentiments of glory.
If not, then we are condemned to expect a fate, a Spring belated to show a fake story.
When nights exceed the dead ends I set, moon is risen laughing at my mortality.
In the cold breeze I face my humanity, fighting in a battle uneven and unfair.
As time passes through my windows, I betray my existence behind curtains flopped.
Eyes of solitude I can't forget visit me between Heaven's and Hell's Gates blocked.
I set fire to my pain and from the ashes I give birth to a fate, in which you are not in.
The greatest dreams I left behind, a compromise I signed and gained the right of sin.
Uncovered distances, chaos in my heart rhyme
For the losses I won't accept as my fear prime.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

What Does It Really Mean

What Does It Really Mean?

Surrounded by these things the world says complete me,
Circumstances and situations trying to defeat me
Promises and dreams knocked on my door to meet me
Heartache and pain tried to cheat me
But, I looked into your eyes and all that changed
What you saw in me I saw in you
We thought it couldn’t be but we found that it was true
You open up my heart to things I never knew
I invaded your space you’ve only allowed to few
But, you looked into my heart now nothing is the same
We thought it would be fun but love changed the game
Circumstances, situations, promises and dreams
Heartaches and pains what does it really mean?
Look at me and tell me how you fell
What’s in my heart, because it wasn’t for the thrill?
Tell me what you see, tell me if it’s real
Circumstances, situations, promises and dreams
Heartaches and pains what does it really mean?	
Caught in the middle, there’s nowhere to run
Tried to walk away and say that we were done
But if the shoe fits, I’m wearing it
If its nine months, I’m carrying it
When it comes to love , I’m sharing it
Circumstances, situations, promises and dreams
Heartaches and pains what does it really mean?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

O! America Reverse

My opinions are changed, 
My heart lacks fervour, 
For you lunched the war, 
To liberate who are already free,
To enrich who are already rich, 
To make the fierce, more ferocious.

When will the time intrude you,
Make you see the brilliant aspect of the affair,
And humanity will sing the song of peace?
When will you peep into your inner-self 
To see the reflected image of you own?
When will you obey the divine commands
And make out them that God forbids pollution
Smog and fumes of turmoil wrapping His fair Earth?

 Now open your eyes
The shores are red; 
The lands are coated with blood,
The skulls are scattered like stones, 
For the sake of oil or the reserves of gold,
Be aware a single drop of   human blood 
Possesses more worth than all treasures
That the earth contains. 

Now stop killing; enough, enough, 
You neither surrender, nor do deprive others
Of the rights which the divine commands allow,
Go through the lanes with moderate bearing. 

Live like a benefactor among the nations, 
Share with them your victuals,
Stock of knowledge and skills,
And snatch them not of their own.
Return fathers to the orphans,
Husbands to the widows,
Brothers to the waiting damsels, 
And sons to the aged mothers,
If not then compensate them all,
For the broken hearts, shattered dreams.
Hatred against you thrives, 
Magma against you grows,
Let the volcano sleep, 
Beneath the layers deep, 
And only once apply,
The strategy of the weapon of love 
Discarding the old devices of uranium. 

The amount you spent on the arsenal 
Would have been enough to feed the world 
Though ten times bigger; 
If you had ruled the hearts,  
The world might have been a different place
Of love, peace and harmony. 

Through force your aims will never be gained,
So amend the ways and stroll on the route 
That enhances you in respect and esteem;
Review and revise the modes of actions,
 Follow not the path that leads the world
To the chaos, and on the point of no return,
For there will be a dark dungeon of curse,
O! America, for the sake of humanity reverse.  

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The lantern saga

           The lantern saga.   

My friend and I were gorgeous; it was a visit to my would-be in-law’s house.
My mocked decency and decorum were high,my gaiety and impressario at peak.
My love got us seat in a room prepared for our visit,a kerosine lantern lit our stay.
 ‘‘ Shall I bring the food ?’’, she quested ; ‘‘ I don’t know of my friend,as for me I
will not eat.’’, I replied shyly but sharply. ‘‘ Eat even if only small,I needn’t ask your
friend.’’ She replied. So the table was set and the eating commenced.
As we were eating air extinguished the lantern; I noticed my fiancee take the lantern
to relight,then I quickly moved closer to my friend and whispered; ‘‘when the light
went off  I was seriously rushing the food like pig’’. ‘‘You don’t have to, I prepared
all for your visit, I can still add more if you so wished’’,replied my fiancee. What a
hell ! I felt like the ground should quake and swallow me up. He returned with the
burning lantern.

Contest : Angel of The odd.
Sponsor : Craig Cornish.
Date       : 15/2/14.  

Details | Prose Poetry | |

WHY DID I by Anna Lo P

Why did I fall in love with you?..
I was expecting love, unexpectedly not from you
I believe in fate, I believe in destiny
I believe that someone will come rescue me.

I want to find Love
I want to be loved
I want love to find me
I found love, but it's only Me.

I created Love in love
I created Hope in hope
I created Fate & Destiny
I created only but a Tragedy.
All of these, does it make sense now?
Or should I just forget it somehow,
Maybe I'll just ask myself, falsely or true
Baby, Why did I fall In love with you?....

..and the answer is simple.. it's just YOU!

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

I fear being connect to the past,
But I find my life revolving in cycles.
It was four years ago I first came to a place like this.
Four days there, now three here,
both at the end of February. 

The cycles repeat.

I hurt, I heal, 
I hurt again, 
and there’s no way to stop it.
Maybe I like it this way,
who knows? 
“Who is John Galt?”
Questions there are no answers to.
They aren’t meant to be asked.
But I can’t help it, 
it’s who I am.
So I’ll ask my questions over and over.
And I’ll repeat my cycles over and over.
Until the end of time.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Diamond Toes

When life seems empty
And there’s no place to go
Unlike most artists I became Salvador Dali
 My Life daily tasks as a poet
It’s allow my spirit to go from high to low

 With my blessed hands and my tired feet 
  a hard working peasant woman with diamond toes
  I set the countdown each passing day while I slave away.

Those Infectious bole place in high positions,
 Governor of all the Nurses
Using their authorities to weaken the spirits of the peasant
And the down trodden souls who line your corridors both day and night

 however, this  burden that seem too heavy to bear now....(bibilical
God will lifts away on the wing of prayers.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Northern Sky is Drenching Us and I Fear I've Forgotten My Name.

My name has been forgotten since last September, it's falling, decorating doorways and
digging splinters into the soles of my feet....

His skin crawls, I want to know where he thinks he's going, I wonder if he thinks he's
taking me...

I wonder if he thinks I'll follow.

There's no icing on the cake and the bed's not made yet, it's mid-morning, 

(it's raining again, Dear)

and blankets are mumbling dreams to wrinkled sheets as the mattress constantly gets my

name wrong.

God, he's soaking wet and my towels are somewhere missing, wrapped around my head, I can
muffle this, his voice doesn't resonate so loudly through

last week

(it never rained then, Dear, never a drop on Wednesday)

it's still September, it's twenty months past knowledge and intelligence is simply thirty
days away, I know he's familiar with doing this again and I'm not crazy


but I'm well aware of the way to get there, I've been following him since


the August that dusted across my smile when he finally learned how to kiss me.

I whisper this as Autumn falls, I'm catching leaves on my tongue, pretending snowflakes
will save me, sometimes death is the shade of the seventeen strands of my hair that
captured summer and I wonder 

how that feels

when he runs his fingers through my curls.

I sleep next to him, his scent erases my name but his lips mumble me, his arms hold me
behind the doors that went missing last January, and I think that maybe there might be
snowflakes in the shadows that are created by candlelight as he tries to be different,
when he makes an attempt to breathe me in, I don't exhale, I don't ever

close my eyes, I only taste regret on the tip of my tongue as 


rolls off my lips

and follows him straight out of the dreams that will be argued in the morning

when I'm stuck in the doorways that remember winter

as September forgets my name.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gator Bait Series 5th Gator Done

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

With  sustenance you offer that quenches my thirst...

Although we are different in so many ways...

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

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

But certainly relish when you are here...

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

There are no suspicions and yet some how...

With all the technology and environmental issues...

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

Would discover our secret of which we share...

Of ridding the world of abuse and despair...

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

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

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

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

** this is part of the Gator Bait series

Details | Prose Poetry | |

What the hell did I do

What the hell did I do..

This question posed aggressively
now in my conscious mind.
I bury my head in my knees,
and sob relentlessly asking why,
and mumbling man you really did it this time.

Party at my place he screams,
and Man you don’t ever stop by.
These images scroll the Rolodex of my subconscious side.
Try this it will make you feel great!
You’ll have no worries for at lest the next eight.
Doesn’t that sound great!

That’s when it hit me,
like a shot straight through the heart.
I parted my metaphoric sea shore,
my arms, my legs, they are the oars.
Swimming through the blue abyss,
always watching close for shore.
Then little by little always needing more,
and more.
The hours and days went by,
oh my god how I was high.

My euphoric mind never pressed for time,
no matter the dime.
Clouds on the horizon a thunderous sky.
It was even getting late,
and the moon began to pull at the tide.
Looking back I see this was going to be a very long ride.

Pushing forward toward the shore,
limb for limb, tired and sore.
Screaming, hurry up and get here,
where out, and have got to have more.
Then the lighting began to show it’s power,
and the wind had the waves in a roar.
The rain stinging torn & chapped skin.
I began to lose consciousness, now at a merciless Drift.
Pulled way out,
fast and swift.
Their would be few that would adore.
As they wonder how long,
before I’d wash back ashore.

What the hell did I do..
This question,
posed aggressively now
in my conscious mind.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

All Alone In This Tiny World

This lonely life doth take it's toll, Lonely are the nights, Surrounded by nothing, I alone can't fight. The lonely soul become more lonely Alone on the way of life. Lonely is heard in echoed Footsteps of a departing friend. Lonely penetrate the solitude Of nights that will not end. Looking at all the lights Alone in such a big world, Seeing all the drugs and booze, All alone in this tiny world.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sandy Winds Roar

Sandy ‘winds roars, deadly Sandy roar ashore
As the night darken, the people screams no more! No more!
You Ocean whore!
Along the broad walks Hurricane Sandy barreled towards land. ...
Ripping two beautiful little angels from their mother’s hand

 Cockamamie dwellers, fled from their homes 
The high winds were no match for fowl, beast or man

Sandy winds roars, Sandy roar ashore
 Leaving tons of sand;
 On the main land
 Roof tops, the barbed wire, with sharped edges were defeated
 Mortal men lost again to winds of fate.
Sandy winds’ roars, she whistles; she roars ashore.

The long summer of 2012 became a dream
While our footprints fade in the sand 
  Our hearts ripped apart
  We prayed in the dark. : For calm and peace
Everywhere she went it was darkness
  Our hearts ripped apart
  We prayed in the dark. : For calm and peace
Please, please! Sandy spared us please.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

GOODBYE by Anna Lo P

I still think why things had ended
between our love, which I now try to hate,
I succumbed myself into this despair 
of wanting you back, which you also hate.

Psyche oneself that I can make it
this lonely battle of heart, can i fake it?
repeatedly in disarray thoughts
God I hope I could say it's just a hoax.

People around, will you please tell me
is it wrong to fight for this love I believe?
or shall I say is it right to surrender
because it's something merely perceived.

Ya, Ya, Ya, I did get it
don't insist no more, got it?..

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fallen from Grace

Fallen from grace, 
no longer do I sit high upon the pedestal that you had once put me 
No longer am I seen as idol or mentor
Nor wanted as provider or protector 
But now looked upon as an outcast and banished from your heart. 

Betrayed by the one who now blinds you 
With a veil of lies and deceit that weighs on your young fragile heart 
With heavy words of animosity and abhorrence
You have been trapped in a malevolent web of hatred and retribution 
Used as an unwitting pawn in a game of emotional chess. 

Your words of respect and adoration 
Have been replaced by venomous accusations of brutality and oppression 
Taught to you by the on who now holds the chains that bind your heart. 

But I will not be vanquished or deterred 
By these attempts to falsify or dilute my love for you 
I will be strong in my resolve and true to myself
I will not let these misguided asseveration's destroy my confidence 
In knowing that my spirit is pure and that one day 
You will be able to break free from your restraints 
And uncover your eyes so you can distinguish the truth from the lies. 

To understand the choices that need to be made in life 
Through your own mistakes and life experiences 

Until that day comes I shall be waiting, 
Ready to stand next to you as opposed to being on that pedestal 
And walk down a new road with you as your friend and equal.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The clock

The clock

Tick, tock , tick, tock,
The clock bellowed resounding through my mind, like so many wood peckers drilling into a tree.

This infuriating clock my mother had given me

It began tick, tick, ticking away
The very day it entered my home
The very wrong dings and the dongs well,
It would surely drive my wife mad

She would rant and rave and I would say
It's a gift from my mother
Then it would once again be saved

Oh but that maddening ticking that, tick ,tock, tick, tock

This infuriating gift from my mother, this clock.

Tock , tock, tocking as it began stealing a face. Well I am not mad, I swear it to be, a copy was made but i swear it undeniably was my mother,
with mocking eyes as it continued the ticking and the tocking I had grown to despise

My mother's infuriating gift, this clock.

It gave me no peace that infernal machine even when outside her tick, tick, ticking was inside of me.

I decided then and there to stop the tock, my mother, with unbalanced levels of dopamine her pills could be switched the death quick and clean.

Still the ticking and tocking as she was taken away the clock displaying a fresh new face.

My mother the infuriating clock

It was my wife staring at me, amused over my torment, my mother was gone and yet she jested as she tick, tock, tick, tocked

I tore the clock from the wall and dumped it in the waste bin but the ticking remained tick, tock, tick, tock

It was in my study the following morn
Her face was neither tattered nor worn
My wife grinned at me her smile wide with trickery
She continued tick, tick, ticking, tick, tick, ticking

My wife the infuriating clock

We were upstairs one eve
A debate would ensue she began to tick, tick, tick
The stairs were so sharp, the floor so slick

I heard the gears shatter but there was no longer a clock, I wept as it resounded
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock

I raced to the study but the face was replaced,
By a familiar tortured creature
Lost in time and space

The infuriating clock that I owned.

The ticking and tocking ebbed
Then a resounding click, then a tock, then a tick
The powder ignited as I lifted my gaze

My wife the infuriating clock, that my mother gave me, that held my true face

Tick tock tick tock tick tock
The blood runs down the clock
The clock strikes twelve
The ticking ends
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

WHY ME by Anna Lo P

When I met you, I asked you
Why me? Why me? Why me?
Is there any reason for you 
to love someone like me.

You said "Never mind reasons"
And I felt maybe that's the reason
A reason for no reasons I want to hear
A reason I wouldn't fear.

And I asked myself those too
What is there about me? 
That something that he liked 
and hopefully he might pursue.

I'm not pretty, nothing to love
I'm not sexy, nothing to love
I'm not young, nothing to love
I'm not even his own kind, nothing to love.

So what is there about me?
Something which made him to like me?
Just a regular ordinary lady
Maybe I'm a girl that's extraordinary.

I'm funny, something to love
I'm naughty, something to love
Im a crying baby, something to love
I'm a sweety, something to love
I'm caring, something to love
I'm thoughtful,something to love
I'm smart, something to love
I'm a one fine lady, someone to love
I'm extraordinary, someone to love
I'm a Once in Lifetime Woman, you must love. 

But you're not around anymore
And can't hear this paramore, no more 
I still ask myself if there could be more
So you can love me, am I such a bore?..:(

Details | Prose Poetry | |

letters to Mary

I pull my shirt off to check for the bulls eye Today it’s there so I’ll run and hide but to no avail I’m the pawn in your diabolical tale premeditated and calculated guess I missed the cookie crumb trail no clues are friendship was going stale you stabbed me in the back knowing I'm emotionally frail You blind sided me and so likely is the story that it’s just my luck Now I’m always your excuse when your talking about why you can’t drink it up I hope you chock on those lies you poser You’ll never help people your an emotional bulldozer Maybe one day you’ll suffer from real emotional ills Believe when I tell you It Kills Everyday I take a handful of pills even then their is no guarantee There's are days when negativity and overwhelming pressures consume my very being and the crazy thing is the seeing because it’s believing witnessing me in a blank stare I’m conscious, but no one’s there Just - My - Stare Inside I’m busy with my clipper ship I’ve floated upon your hurricane and every little happy moment we ever had has crying stinging pellets of mad

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Holy Passion

ALERT: A carpenter's son is loose in the Temple
Birds flutter, animals hustle, merchants scream.
The zeal for Jesus' Father's house consumes Him
As the place for foreigners to pray had become a zoo.
ALERT: A prophet is setting up for a Baal battle.
Baal's priests even cut themselves yet no fire.
After taunting, Elijah fills his altar with water.
Calling on God, fire consumes and people bow.
ALERT: An old man is building a huge boat ship.
Without a cloud in the sky and only son's to help.
When finished the animals come on call to board.
Rain starts, doors close – 8 saved by holy passion.
ALERT: Jesus is telling a tax collector he'll join him for dinner.
Heedless of the Pharisees despising and the crowd's surprise.
Zacchaeus totally changes – offering to multiply stolen money.
A single sinner saved multiplies even more this holy passion.
ALERT: Peter plus are preaching in the Temple again.
After being imprisoned for just that, now rearrested.
Whipped by the authorities, the disciples rejoice -
For they've been counted worthy to suffer with Christ.

ALERT: Daniel's praying openly even after it's become illegal.
The royal advisers gleefully have the king throw him to the lions.
Strangely they don't seem hungry till after Daniel is pulled out.
So the king openly praises Daniel's God for this amazing miracle.
DOUBLE ALERT: Jesus is talking to a Samaritan woman!!!!
Breaking cultural barriers to share the message of salvation
To her who has been married 5 times and is living with the 6th.
She believes he's the Messiah and brings the town to Christ!
ALERT: Paul's going back into the same town that stoned him.
He's preaching again after shipwreck, jail, beatings, and such.
Persecution seems to encourage Paul that he's doing the right.
Passionately following the Savior who turned Him 180 degrees.
ALERT: Bible translators burned at the stake for God's Word.
Missionaries avoid death and disease long enough to share life.
Stirring Holy Passion in receptive people who repeat the cycle.
Changing cultures in bondage into those sharing Jesus' love.
ALERT: What passion has the Lord put on your heart? Mine?
Can we pray to see His will find its way in our everyday lives
So the lost shall see, hear, find Christ and grow to share Him?
Eternity is forever, this life is not. Fill us Lord with holy passion.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

-Needs a title. I will probably think of one later on.-

There is a single rose

kept high in the vase of her memories

she eyes thee rose with despair and sorrow

circles around and walks away.

The rose withers and petals fall

she comes back but has the same thought.

Picks up the withering rose, she starts to dance

circles around and around with the rose balanced in her palm.

-she stops-

she starts to cry and she sees streaks of blood fall from her palm

the thorns dig deep

her tears reach her collar

darkness falls, then drags her deep in it's depths.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Woke up from the nightmare

I woke up from the curiosity
And slipped down from my bed
I crashed down my left leg
and too injured my head

It needed so much aid
So I decided to 
get it fast
And I ran to the door
Got out from the 
room as vast

It surely was so serious
It made great a pain
Made me bleed when I 
Stepped out in the rain

I was going to shout
when it came in front
It was the blackest night
and there came a grunt

And I was stunned to
Hear that type of sound
And I ran violently
From the night made me bound

And slipped down from my bed
I realized it was a dream
And again crashed my head
And saw another dream

(Jamshaid Ghani)

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Teenage Confusion

How could this be.
He said I was perfect,
As he looked at me.
A common misconception...
A deadly lie he told
Now I'm a rejection?
I lie hear so cold.

My vision blurs,
So does my life.
Nobody who cares
His future wife
But that was all gone.

Sweat rumbles of frustrated birds,
escape and now rumble in my mind.
Thousands and thousands coming in herds,
Why so hurtful, please be kind.

Love is harmful and so blind,
Pay it's price or forever hide.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Time Heals All Wounds, But It Doesn't Rid The Scars

Faith lost, love failed All because of what's unveiled. And in this pain I have been jailed. It was not you, it was all me And no one else will ever see How these things all came to be But now it's lost, now it's gone I watch the sky for signs of dawn Yet I never played you as my pawn. I hid in dark, I hid in lies I kept it all from dark brown eyes I now await for harsh goodbyes. No one will see, no one will hear The reasons I held these secrets dear Yet visions' still blurred by means of tears I watched you rise, I watched you grow And that's why you did not know The deceit I had yet to show. It was your laugh, it was your smile That kept me quiet all the while Trudging every single mile You own my soul, you own my heart I can not bear for us to part Let me help the healing start I am a human, I am a girl And mistakes come about and whirl Causing rivers of silver pearls You do not believe, you do not trust This healing process is a must The reliance will rise up from the dust It will take long, it will take time And many, many clocks will chime Until our love's back in it's prime I love you now, I love you forever Please let us spend it all together I want to part not now, not ever.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Distant Warrior

I get this wondrous chill as night falls
in mountains or desert sand
and I find myself dreaming about
home, my fondest memory
from this far away land.

I miss the special lady who 
stole my heart, my thoughts
and all there is of me;
and I deeply cherish 
our final moments together.

I think about the children 
I left behind, how I miss them 
and pray they’re  fine -
and it’s hard Lord,
it’s so very hard.

It’s times like this that I wonder
why I volunteered and I
get this knot in my stomach -
then I cringe and find myself 
trying to hold back tears.

Soon the battle will begin
when I’ll hear my own heartbeat
through the creepy sounds 
amidst treacherous mountain sides or
drifting sands and whirling winds.

It’s  time spent in worry,
fear, and some regret
as I encounter my fate
in the war so near
and I must admit, I’m scared.

This stench of war, 
the sight of it all,
it’s that awful image
of how I imagined hell
after Lucifer’s fall.

I wonder to myself,
“Does it have to be
that generations of people 
can’t seem to agree 
to the simple concept of peace?”

Soldiers don’t start wars
but they surely fight them,
making all manner of sacrifice
and I doubt that even once
did a soldier ever like them.”

Then I think of  “Old Glory”
and I’m filled with pride.
It’s a warm patriotic feeling
which overcomes me
from deep down inside.

I’m confused, scared
and battle weary.
I worry about those I love
as I cling to my faith  
and pray to God above.

I’m a distant warrior,
an American fighting man;
not an aspiring hero,
but just a simple soldier 
trying to do the best that I can.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Listen Kristin

Just go to search. memb er poetry. "Bad Day at the Eye Doctor's" and it will pop 
This is a true tale, and one of my dumbest stunts.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Are Animals

fighting back instinct for modern civilization

denying truth for some desperate stab

at feeling special; above and beyond

making ourselves jealous


imaginatively punishing others for doing

what we are also doing ourselves

and despite our best efforts

and through all of our confusion

and even for being brutally, fervently


(because it's 'the done thing')

human x is to human y

as sperm is to egg

we are animals



Details | Prose Poetry | |


Looking with eyes 
All events, everything 
From a viewpoint  
A perspective that sees all 
The broadest spectrum 
On a universal scale 
Natural, black and white, 
If there was a finite 
Amount of energy existing  
In the womb that is space 
Without the influence of fictitious forces 
The universe is static, 
But if gravity was rather antimatter 
Drawing upon and absorbing matter 
Producing energy as it does, 
Energy and material are interchangeable  
With no deviation from the constant 0 
Everything seems to cancel out in the end 
But time is relative 
From a universal perspective 
There is no starting point and no end 
To a cyclical event, 
Matter and antimatter exploding Into 
Existence, then snuffing each other out 
Would I be wrong of the conclusion  
In stating god is energy? 
We are in Gods image 
Not as humans, 
But all life...

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Three. Two. One. Screams of excitement, with a little bit of death in each roar. Disturbing the serenity of the big blue sky, piercing the atmosphere through a rebellious dive. I let gravity take control, putting my delicate life in her hands.

Swarm of suicidal thoughts each time he springs from the aircraft’s door. Floating in the air. Embracing the silence around him. Feeling his racing heart beats break through his rib-cage. The rush and thrill of dying always makes him contemplate the value of life. Up there, there is no worry. Up there, there is bliss.  A disapproving wife, not having locked eyes in years. Merciless children, all that remains are the photos on the living room desk. A receptionist job, growing insane from the accumulation of those counterfeited smiles. Up there, there is no worry. Up there, there is perfection. Approaching the ground, inner demons yell ‘do not pull that parachute cord!’ Rashly weighing the options in hand. What is the point in returning to a disgusting routine called life? The skin on his forehead quickly folds, his eyes are tightly shut. No reason for a man not to take his own life the way he pleases. A beeping noise from his wrist awakens him each time; at 2,500 feet the cord is cowardly pulled. With regret and pain, he reenters his home. Another promise broken, another promise made.

Freefalling into the sky, I finally understand. The ironic beauty of being, the verge of death.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Opening the window for a breeze… Dogs are barking!  My mind is only on me.  Relaxing…  As my story of the day unfolds, someone knocks.  Startling me, I hurry to the front door.  There stands an image of long-ago.  We hug and I let him in.  I begin to remember how deeply in love I was with this man.  But our destinies had to part and I left with my heart.  We talked for hours.  No intimacy transpired between us because we knew our lives was not fair to us and therefore, we did not desire any closeness.  Just reminiscence of tragedy we had went through for healing purposes on this three-year Anniversary.


What happen?  You may ask.  This is the tale as is.


His mother desired to be me.  So she set out to steal my identity.  In darkness she laid in our bed waiting on Ted.  A man entered the room and she presumed her man had come home.  Voicing that she was there, my stalker shot her three times in the head.  The bullets were for me.  In irony, she had really stolen my identity.  He shot himself as well ending my dilemma.

The police came on the screen afraid that it was me.  Ted and I played it off.  He had told me his ordeal with his mother as a teenager.  He was the star athlete at our high school.  His mother was unstable and desired him for her sex tool.  She will explain that this would keep them close but he could not tell anyone.  His grandmother, on his father side, had filled Ted in on his mother family history of incest.  Ted figured he did not want any part of that mess.  So he asked his father could he live with him but he also keep in contact with his mother because of his sister and brother.  His father said yes to Ted and asked his other kids did they want to live with him as well.  It so happen that his sister was close to their mother and his brother was also.  So they said no.

Ted graduated from high school as valedictorian of his class and his body was explosive.  Ted was fine as he could be.  He now could communicate with his mother without her approaching him for sex.  He had not told his father of this instead he kept this to himself.  Nevertheless, his mother, in secret, still desired her son.

Ted and I started dating in high school.  I was familiar with his family through us living in the same metropolitan city; however, not in the same community.  We end up going to the same university in the city we lived in and our relationship flourished.

We moved into our apartment while we were in college and his mother use to come over.  And now, three years later, we remember the tragedy.  Ted cries out to me and I answered.  We are bonded by our relationship but not by marriage.  He has successfully conquered his demons and mine's disappear on that night of my stalker death.

Ted mother was wealthy and I knew that she only was nice to  me because of Ted.  The police discovered she had paid my stalker to pursue me as his prey.  Ted has been told this as well and he stated that is why his mother is dead in which he says quietly to himself, “This ends this horrid tale.”

[Queasy Queen Beings and they do not know anything of it. Ted is Queasy Queen’s son and he has her powers. He would have acquired his mother’s powers without help, which would have been through incest before forty (40). However, incest did not happen between Ted and his mother, Queasy Queen; therefore, he will acquire her powers at the age of forty (40) via other means.  His sister and brother have theirs but did not divulge because there mother had explain theirs to them when she bestowed.  Telling Ted’s sister, Harmony, at ten (10) years of age what she was doing as she assisted her in getting dressed. she kissed her neck. Telling Ted’s brother, Destine, at fifteen (15) years of age, when he was leaving why she kissed him.  Incest was only for Ted because he was the oldest and her first born.  His grandmother on his father side knew nothing of this because she was human and disagreed with incest openly.  More so, this was unheard of through entities of the government.]

Details | Prose Poetry | |

free day

I sped past some and never stopped 
didn’t slow down or take a look 
others had me riding the clutch 
they gave less than all they took 

photo enforcement snapped a shot 
ticketed me by US mail 
saying if I didn’t pay the fine 
they would send my butt to jail 

the highway curved and I hit bumps 
couldn’t see around the turns 
dense, green trees and mountains tall 
on and on as my life churned 

tried to put it in perspective 
same old thoughts and vivid dreams 
a faceless man without a care 
who lived to edit plotted schemes 

when I look back on our red past 
short in nature, blue in hue 
you don’t miss what you didn’t have 
it all started and ended with you 

just because I don’t write more 
doesn’t mean I’ve less to say 
poems burn hot inside my brain 
for me to blog on a free day

Details | Prose Poetry | |


If I were To walk the edge of the moon and 
bark like a loon
Or be angry at the blazing day and shun the 
night as I lay;
I would feel glory so sincere for what I revere
reverencial fear from bullets of thoughts so clear
Amidst the wasted youth of candy coated truth
Lies the callous disregard of the heinous and marred bloodied and scarred
But I maintain
Strain to maintain on an sland of insane...
Then I if a stranger spoke~


Details | Prose Poetry | |


What is it about dread that controls us?  The mixture of fear and loathing that 
consumes the contents of an empty bottle, longing for concentration and proof.  
Do we confuse the child within with the promise of loving past?  To be trapped in 
the closet crying insinuates passion that is manifested through burden of truth.  
Fallen is the plight of earthbound angels with clipped wings of faith.  Paralysis 
inhibits the quest of sequestered fanaticism and belief.  Eaten by earthly gilded 
belief.  Why does the clock taunt the merciful memories of divine imagery?  Why 
must that price be paid to know isolation?  From birth the struggle defines and 
outlines the matrix of conflicting souls.  The constant crash and collision of 
innocence tainted by truth.  This feeling is certain and intoxicating.  No truth could 
be truer.  No faith could be more devout.  The absolution of death disembowels 
the continuance of self-repair.  Does the collar impair judgment or empower 
concentration?  Can the songs of holy impunity comfort like the caress of a 
mother?  Will the tears drown unselfish giving?  

The answer is simple. 
The journey is hard.  
The gift is reverence. 

 Light, when will I learn the lesson?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The dying in belonging

Kisses on the broken ground
tears that annoy...
bringing the inward heat outward into the busted scene

Innocent eyes become possessive eyes now they look down on you
...upon you

I don't feel anything towards this sort of thing
The cold is a safe retreat from all of the needing

Shut me away
away from your gaze
away from your hands
away from your wet
away from your words
away from your feelings

It's all well, but it well never be my problem

Is it true what they say in my silence?
...that romantics die once they've met romance?

Belonging to nothing
fade, fade like the sun on the overcast heart

Details | Prose Poetry | |

You Dream to be Best

In the deep slumber
Of thoughts fuzzier than ever
Close, and closer a voice echoes
Through the haze
And darkness of a nocturnal place
A face brightens the day
With the ray of hope

Touches this hand
And never let go
My face is just low
For an unworthy child
Just mild and helpless
Dependent and immature
That is who I am I know for sure

I'm so sorry that I am not Ideal
Not perfect full of mistakes
I am nothing, just nothing
Can't do everything
To be on top deep down I'm a mop

Cannot sleep, no peace inside
Please forgive me
I can't stop the pain
I can't make it go away
On the edge, I just fell
Thinking of it every single day
I might drown
By your thoughts
I cry and frown.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



My words can only convey the thought
Not the true feelings that flow within
The rage that burns through my body and mind
Cannot be measured by any verb or string of words

Self imposed exile from any semblance of reality
The only peace I know resides alone, an untapped well
I am not the person everyone thinks that I am
I am not at all what I appear to be, disguised

This world I know is not my world, I do not belong
Far removed from any road I care to travel
Stolen chances echo loudly in my mind
And I know that I can never know what I was to be

I look back not liking much of what I see
And looking ahead the future is bleak in front of me
Overcoming my misfortunes really hasn’t mattered
Because they are still the anchors that will always weigh me down

Family and friends, the rising and setting sun, the air we breathe
Cliché's reserved for those moments when all is clear
Darkness and despair, anger and frustration, disgust
Cliché's reserved for when an ending is near

And all I see is light at the end of the tunnel,
Signaling the nearness of my destination.
It’s soon to be over …

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreams and Obessions

What is the difference between a dream and an obsession? Or can they be the same? They seem to blend in some areas. Dreams can be held inside, while others guess if there's any dream inside the person at all. While shifting to obsession, people see, people know. The dream becomes more obvious, more known, more vulnerable, seen by others and by critiques who gesticulate with all their tiny sharp fingers and knobby knuckles making sounds behind the ear like the cracks of a crunch of an insect's exoskeleton, feeding off the juicy life of the known dream, licking and smiling with all their teeth and flare a perfectly sharp nose because they have never been in a fight. Maybe that's the difference.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

green-eyed monster

I can’t see around the corners 
or what in darkness prevails 
but I hear the thuds and bumps at night 
and the swoosh from the monster’s tail 

I smell the stench of aggressions 
that putrid, awful  perfume 
it permeates my weaknesses 
my senses reel in this room 

my eyes can’t see before me 
this gloom is way too thick 
if I could find some matches 
I’d light the candle’s wick 

green-eyed is its make-up 
and while it lays in wait 
no activity for weeks and weeks 
as it hones its cheating game 

trusting is the flag I wave 
virtuous and white 
blinding in the daytime 
fluorescent in the night 

love like this doesn’t grow on trees 
not even on any vine 
am I growing like moss on you? 
or wasting precious time? 

one last shot to get it right 
once more I offer a chance 
watching, waiting on I go 
doing this sweet, sweet dance

I’ll slay the monsters, one by one 
I’ll be the only one left 
I’ll stand here just as long I can 
drying the tears I’ve wept

Details | Prose Poetry | |

How to Order a Pizza In Dutchess County

First, be aware, all close by 6pm.
NYC, this aint.....
Second, call up.....
Specify delivery.....
Detail requests....
"How much are beers?
"$2.50 each..."
"Okay- I'll take 4 beers and a slice.
What's that come to?"

"Hold on, 4 beers, each $2.50,
that's $10., right?"
A slice is $16.50?"
"No, you have to add sales tax,
Oil surcharge, delivery fee, employee
dependent's education fund,
wear and tear on the tires,
and telephone imformation fee."
"sorry, you're right, that should be $29.50."
"Additional questions are $2.50 each...."

"Nevermind." click.

"Hello, Chinese Jade Restaurant..."
"Hi, any MSG?"
"No, we don't go to Madison Square Gardens"

From now on, english muffins and liverwurst!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


sometimes i mope
sometimes i poke
if i feel low
am not a joke
other time am glad
i do get mad
can make other sad
ture is am henvenly

Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Room

they have me
in this room
with the floor on the ceiling
and my face on the wall
those grey men with the funny eyes say
"mister thomas you will cave; 
don't fight yourself"
they have me
i have this room
what's this "fair" deal
this pay-off

r.thomas '10

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thirteenth Fable

 Thirteenth Fable 
Thirteenth Fable 
Fables of CharlaX 
There is far too many to make a short list there is superstitions eye remember 
when eye was just a kid. The many things my girlfriends had to tell me things 
they ruined life at such an early age there is the BROKEN MIRROR that brings 
the SEVEN YEARS bad luck? The black cat crossing my path. The ladder that 
was never under the beam do not step under that in a funk of disbelief eye did all 
them things and now eye am homeless could it be that eye am superstitious or 
just unlucky in my life but then eye have met my violet flower my only one and only 
new life partner she is such a wonderful person not a superstitious reason in her 
curtain eye am certain of that now? The cat was never black enough to scare me 
but there was that just one time? It ran of course because my petting would have 
kept it from the dinner the mouse tail sticking out of a very black and ebon mouth. 
No bad luck can come to me AH HA eye cried its nothing. Then eye ran a little up 
the hill to home. And almost strangeld self eye ran full tilt boogie into the wire 
clothes line nearly taking off my head and losing all the dread of dying for there it 
nearly was. That was back in 1961 the time is not important there was never any 
time for love. Some things eye can remember but choose not to keep at all. Do 
not mop the floor under my feet is one. 
Do not make such sweeps under my feet and yes we did we told the girls to put 
the feet up so we must seep there anyway do you want me to get fired from such 
an important job as this one? 
They screamed and left the diner sure that bad luck was to come upon them oh 
gentle reader ewe don't laugh Erline never sweeps behind the counter. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A reference for every thought

A reference for every thought

Deconstruct all you think and find the link
To the last time you felt that way
Heard the words
Learned that fact
Disassemble the pieces of the things and 
Actions you hold to be true
Find the place in the litany of your life
And note down the author, the theorist
The lover and map the route to the
Conurbation of storehouses and pyramids
Of belief and time
Track each thought, each breath, each moment 
That constructed these towns of ideas
And live the informed like evaluating each
Fortify only the foundations of these that
Hold under such intense surveillance

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Scrambled Clues

Scrambled Clues…

Night has fallen
The fog settles over the land
Only in closeness
Can you see the faces
The eyes closed, windows against torrid rain
While ideas flash and beat the mind

Helplessly watching
Waiting for the escalator to reach the top
So you may step into daylight

But in daylight
The fog drifts to the water
Always a step ahead
Blinding me to the depths
Through which I am falling

Please someone
Help me
I am losing my mind
And as of yet not certain,
Even faintly aware,
  Of when night will fall again
  Bringing with it,
  The soothing rain of darkness

For my brother Gregory.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


[If somebody asks] how old are you?
[My answer should be] it may be 90, it may be 2
[Does it matter any] if I am true.

We are, in fact, grains for the birds
Seek our salvation in a pack of cards.
Make love [illicit?] to the queen of hearts.
We are for birds
We are for birds and bees
We are a pack of cards
Burst at the seams 

We are old (..) I may be bold
Our stories are very well- told [prehistory, protohistory and antihistory]
In our shoes [Nike] pin balls rolled [ballet]
We are for birds
We are for birds and bees
We are a pack of cards
Burst at the seams 

[I must speak the truth]
In essence, we are a big fart [Cosmologists, beware]
A dwarf in a Mumbai City Mart [May be Manhattan, if you prefer]
A rectangle as the head of Bart 
We eat our shorts and Springfield tart
[ You may order Plutonium wafers in nukesauce if you are smart]
And book rooms at (The Grand Del Mar)
Run our eyes on [motheaten] Marco's yellow chart
We are for birds
We are for birds and bees
We are a pack of cards
Burst at the seams 

So when we finish our dreams
we must go to the pips and pimps
We are gyrating wimps
Natural philosophy, Tims.
We are for birds
We are for birds and bees
We are a pack of cards
Burst at the seams.
Our natural philosophy, Tims.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Forever is really never

Remnants of the past cast shadows on his points of view an attractive conversation with no literal honesty Pained at the cause those scars that remain Those lies on your breath smelled of raw sewerage Tears showed every crease where rivers flow my heart has melted in the middle of your road now requiring tow. I remind myself that everything ends badly or comes to a close though my hearts without resolve when your forever is really never when what I really needed was this lever to take your weight off my shoulders ~I haven't stopped growing~

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Setting Sun


PURPOSE IS THE FORGOTTEN CAUSE                              

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went train stop
the doors or block
mabe with a cart
or lay around stink sock
it a pain
you wish it would rain
cause of the smell
people run like hell

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When you're just not thinking

Remorse is building up inside of me,
Everyone has to know fairy tales don’t always have happy endings,
Never thought you could try so hard and still fall short,
I’m in need of something to fill this hole in my chest,
It grows bigger,
Moving deeper,
Making me realize that some things can’t ever be achieved or obtained,
I’m gonna bottle up my heart and let it float out in the sea,
Never to be found,
Never to be seen,
No more pain can be caused when it’s somewhere at the bottom of the sea,
I need to face the fact that I’m going to lose everything if I keep on the path of my sanity,
I want to believe that things can only go up for me,
But that’s life,
Your gonna suffer,
Sitting in the corner rocking back and forth,
Head so low you can see caskets from the recently diseased,
It’ll be pouring showers from all the crying that’s going to be happening,
I know life might seem hard sometimes,
And trust me it is,
I know that shotgun looks shiner by the minute,
And trust me it does,
But just bottle up your heart and send it away,
Like I did,
Because no matter what you’re going through,
What might be going through your head right now,
Just isn’t worth it..

Details | Prose Poetry | |

These Salty Waves Pt 1

What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to say? All these lies you bottled up come sweeping, crashing with the tides. My footing's gone, the ocean real, but how am I supposed to feel? And here I am, a drowning mess, a loveless lie, I do protest. And here I am a drowning mess. So all those things you said to me? Where they just lies out of pity? So all those things you said to me? Or am I lost in salty waves? Yes I know my future's grave. Or am I lost in salty waves?And now the panic in my head, when I should be tucked up in your bed, reels and reels right here instead.I'm going down, a sinking ship, funny what name drips off my lips. It is not God, or Angles plenty, or even that I'm just damn ready To let go of the hell and the lies. I'm wishing for your gentle eyes. Or at least the way they always seemed, but perhaps that's just this salty dream. I have no clue what I'm to do! A drowning hopeless mess, for you-- think it's cute, and oh so funny, but here's the bitter truth now honey. I'm going down. There is no help. I can't be saved by God himself. I put my life, my whole world of trust, and you've thrown it away for lust. Well what the hell's a girl to do? I'm just so entranced by you!

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mabe you think
now you can wink
cause you have money
well honey
its a fact  tho your stack
your still akiill pill
in some eyes world wide
waiting to take crack

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lost in lust

A soft kiss shared
Senses heighten
Arms wrapped
Legs snared
Skin tightens
Joining bodies
Blending souls 
Two become one 
Passionate sighs
Then the words uttered
Heart skips, flutters
Fear sets in
The words tear into the mind
Rip into the conscience
Left with the smell of deceit
The reek of a liars lust
Ideas flow with unwanted freedom
Ending in the icy waters of mistrust
Ideas pushed away in the name of pleasure
Impulse takes over
Passion increases
So right     so wrong
Bodies in  constant satisfying motion
Flowing in rhythm 
Finding an unknown harmony
 In an endless instant
The peak is reached
Two final words uttered
Everything known dissolves

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A world of sadness envelopes me. A world of pain most don't know. A world of sorrow quilted in. A world that I must never show. A world of friendships crumbling down. A world of fear for what's to come. A world of anxiety of pressing matters. A world that not many are from. Yet here I find a beacon, To shine it's light on me. It brightens up the darkness, And now a path I see. There is a future for me, A future I may hold. To learn the minds of others, And practice 'til I'm old. The darkness has all faded. I have friends to walk beside. And now that I have seen the light, I'm glad I haven't died.

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She is finished; her mission done with ease
She feels great, grinning from ear to ear;  
Her satisfaction exceeds everything; her joy.
She is programmed to kill; 
To leave her victim paralysed with fulfilment
Tis the only thing she’s good at; 
She executes her duty with professionalism;
Leaving her regulars wordless
She enjoys updating her chic,
 Lest she be replaced in the service market.
Her technique, always refreshing;
You are guaranteed of a full package.
Nothing less than to expect; diversity always
Her patrons are left dazzled; 
Snooping around wanting more
To them she is just a machine assembled to serve
They never notice her vulnerability and soft tissue
She looks rough no doubt; but she’s also weak.
Her spirit broken so many times
Like a wild horse; she refuses to be tamed now
She will never allow that side out in the open anymore
She does what she does; for it must be done
She is used to it now; she has accepted what others see to be a fact; 
She is no man’s land…and can’t be blamed.

©Naa Takia, All rights Reserved 2012

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some other thinking not mine

some other thinking not mine
some other thinking not mine
sure they mean well they tell
they hoist the boom and bring it down on you
explaining to you just what you have to do
as iff the gospel is given unto men in paychecks
the  20 dollar bill is lord and master now to them
wear the gun invisible on your belt hide the bullits  from the gun stock they make welts upon your sacrilege form the lines pay the penalty of time
bark your orders from the grave no one listens to your grace whiskey laced sermon now you see them now you do not see them shine on harvest moon of time is coming time is nigh near the starting near the ending of the time
judge me quickly judge me not guilty not thet eye did never sin but the sin must be forgiven men  who  who died and gave us the keys find the lord of all religion please do not call me the hooty owl again Roman Legions beck and call master of them all  is money rolled money counted money paid and money kept from the destruction of the mention of the men who have no money all the poor poor men please who who not the hooty owl again doh ray me la teeh doh teeh doh hooty owl hooty owl teeh doh money not mine thinking some other

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Regrets at being shorted in life

Regrets at being shorted in life

Here I am at me place of work.

What the fork.

Eight dollars an hour.

And I watch the three lousy  towers.

Eight dollars an hour. 

And me life runneth sour.

Hourly patrols I walketh up and down.

And dreameth all around.

Me sparest minutes are behold.

As I pen me thoughts, in me own little world.

Such as life's been a waste.

Such as life's gone by in haste.

Never married, never had a child.

Sadness carried, sadness runneth wild.

Life would have been filled with so much vigor.

If only me was endowed a lot bigger.

At 54 years old.

Hopelessness is on hold.

Room with mom.

Go out with Tom.

She does me clothes.

He does me toes.

However this Spartan night.

Everything has gone alright.

No whistles blown.

No flashlight shown.

No questioned looks.

No encountering crooks.

The 10 to 6 is almost through.

The crack of dawn is coming into view.

Off to the horizons early birds take to the skies.

On clockwork, too, tenants begin to rise.

For me…me day is soon in the books.

Its pages filled with ashamed looks.

Mindful of a seeded start and an unharvest finale.

And an end like no other, without a tally.

Me cry will forever be harboring about being distorted.

And innately shorted. 

Odd, me guess is mankind.

Where being long and esteemed is divine.

Soon this shift will come shortly to an end.

Soon, too, with a sigh… this life at being predisposed.  

If only people knew.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thoughtless Explosions of Verbiage

In times of joy and in times of pain 
words are the only elusive attempt at portrayal 
Daunting Contraptions Contracted in a few fleshy pounds 
hidden in a bloody swirling cesspool hiding in our skulls 
Thoughtless explosions of verbiage fill the pages of 
time & space in this place, feeble attempts at nothing 
merely interjections of uselessness. We canter down 
these halls of life opening doors & closing others, 
doors hard to shut are better left open. To breath the 
breath of life through these pounding heads of humanity. 
Beating its burden of confusion & false hope straight to 
the source ... producing order? What a concept in this place 
as to say a controlled explosion our existence is 
the oxymoron that is all. We live the days like 
the pun of some joke that's been forgotten. 
We soothe our souls with others expressions, broadcasting 
feeling to the masses. Ideas thought for someone else 
helpless sheep in this hillside pasture we're spinning on. 
Songs of hope & joy inspire & drive others to the end. Confident 
that more words will help in the future. Addicted to 
others feelings & ideas to produce our own. Mindless bites 
gurgle out real life for ratings while we all watch 
ourselves and turn back to the box. The box should 
falsify our existence but then the black emptiness that 
has become our hard existence. Tired lonely 
followers dancing till the end .... 
Ah the end 

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Marking The End

And now were at it again-
sitting in silence,
marking the end;
the end of compliance.

Always seems to stem with defiance,
next in line-
too much reliance.

Two guys, separate occasions
I guess you could call me a player-
I like the game of persuasion.

Believe me this,
I know this strays from virtue-
and did not intend to hurt you;
I did my best to explain,
the feelings I myself couldn't quite name
But to you it sounded all the same-
And honestly we are both to blame.

We knew the odds, 
We took the dive-
Trying to get the honey,
from inside the beehive.

But its worth it because we are always trying to hide-
and you know how i am with my pride;
it's one thing I've never denied.

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an angel

An angel.

I thought I saw an angel today when I was remembering you.
You are in my waking day, I dream its just me and you.

When I go and walk a while I think your by my side
And then I remember the truth of it all and that you had to die.

I don’t know why im so confused
They say death is  part of life
But you were so little my love
You had not lived your life.

They say you have gone to heaven
And that you are a star
But I don’t believe them, not at all
I just know that you are far

I hope one day I will see you again 
And we will smile and laugh and dance
And I wait with anticipation for the day
That I will get another chance.

I love you

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Twisted Karma

Fate has led my heart to find
A love that was never destined to last
I wonder if this is the punishment I deserve
For my cruel and heartless past
Karma has twisted my dreams so fast
And threw my love in the trash

A life-altering war rages on
That split our apartment in two 
Some nights I lay against the wall
That separates me from you.
Tormented by this endless pursuit
That rips my heart through and through

An intrinsic insanity leads me on
I imagine you on the other side
Strumming your fingers across the wall
While my child grows inside
Looking up through tear soaked eyes
To where our memories lie
A sense of longing derives
Inside your wicked lies

I’m wallowing in broken dreams
And taunted by the burdens I choose
I once believed this was my ‘happy ever after’
Now I’m waiting for fairy tales to come true
Hoping that I’m done paying dues
And maybe someday you will choose
To stop treating me like you do
We’ll get back to being me and you
Settle down and say ‘I do”

But there you go
Out the door into his arms
You chose his dim-witted presence
Over my witty charm
To0 blind to see the harm
In trading that broken home for ours?

Spare his feelings to obliterate mine
You say you feel obligated to be with him
When you’re not lying in my arms
A broken faith in you snaps from within
This could possibly be the end?
Our bond is a broken glass we can’t mend
No longer my friend

I love you
Who am I to you?

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I wake up in the morning, The smell of your perfume lingering on my skin, I roll over to see if your body still lay there, & I realize everything I loved vanished. I just have these images and scents stuck in my head, I have everything you ever gave me packed away, I look through it again and again each day. Trying to piece the puzzle together, & figure out why we drifted apart. I want to know if you still think about me like I think about you, I want to know if you still have the things I made and gave to you. I just wish I could stop smelling you, Stop thinking about you, Just everything about you brings me to my knees, & I am begging you please, Please just let me forget you. I wake up the next morning and realize, Everything about you was lies.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Overgrown Spiel Part 1

I'm pouring my heart out on the page, but no amount of words nor good intentions could undo my selfishness. How could I not see what was right in front of me? How ignorant must I be not to notice such loveliness? I thought I held tasty apples and wanted to share them with everyone (but I was just a squirming root with little nourishment to give). But things like that happen when one forgets the tree that brought you up and made you strong. Things like that happen when you say hateful things instead of singing of joyous songs. The majority of the time what I write about is purely for creativity's sake (I never once expect anyone's heart to break). I like to think I'm wise for my age, but I really just dress things up with metaphors and on-the-spot rhymes. I was at the top of the world, but I forgot earthly victories are temporary. I was cruel and self-centered, couldn't get off my high horse long enough for her to take a drink, no I had to drive her to the ground! I love my family and friends, not because of what they give or give up but just WHO they are. And I don't say it often enough (I'm too busy hiding inside of words)... why do I not stop and listen to the songs of birds? Why must I simply describe it to you for your imagination to run wild? You could have been there and enjoyed it for yourself. You could've felt the summer sun as it softly warmed your skin (instead of I just trying to find rhymes within). Truth is I'm a pretty lucky guy to know the people that I do. And when living in my head, I easily forget this to be true.

P.S. If you made it this far please continue on to Part Two. The only reason I split it up is because it went over the character count unfortunately...

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Overgrown Spiel Part 2

I'll never know what it's like to work hard and long as my dad does just to keep a roof over our heads and good food to eat. I'll never know what it's like to have asthma and be sick all the time (I'm too preoccupied thinking of how everything's just perfectly fine). But is it really... or is that just another well designed mask? Can this horrible feeling in my gut ever really pass... or just get pushed down until it's barely visible? I don't wanna leave you, Reader, with lost and lonely feelings (and if those ugly feelings start to simmer I take no offense in you deciding not to read the rest). Truth is you can read this overgrown spiel of mine and go about your day just fine (it could be thoughts for you to chew on for a spell... or it could not). You can leave a comment, like it or just scroll down to the rest of your Newsfeed Page. See how someone's cat is doing or read a funny joke one of your friends said. It's your life. And this is my life too (I only wish I had taken better care of the things I said). There's no turning back now, only moving forward...

P.S. This poem doesn't make much sense without first reading Part 1. So please only read this AFTER reading Part 1. Also I don't want to go into details about what inspired this. But pretty much it's about someone whom I really care for, that I unintentionally wronged over Facebook. Also it's a shout-out to all the people that mean a lot to me, but don't mention my appreciation often enough.

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Another Miserable Love Letter

Dear Victory Girl from the bay or [dock]

I knew you'd be beautiful

for the sake of the decline...let hedonism take its toll...
Just so I Can Forget

How do you smile like that?

I'm bleeding gallons thinking of your face.

My most sincere pains,shames,claims,and thought about pet names, lie with you


Unused,and abused

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Lost Confessions

Lost between Heaven and Hell, battlements of my spirit and mind, Raptures me into 
the new day, but delivers me in the darkness of night. I argue within my mind, that 
shall wither it blind, randomly I search for the meaning that enhances the light. I 
wander through the ailment that haunts me so. Small amounts of peace keep me 
driving onward, though I feel no glow. In-between both I am haunted with one 
sight, Glimpse of the dream I hold so dear, with massive amounts of fear, my 
menacing fantasy keeps me on my fight. Each week that passes seems as everyone 
that fell before.
My soul knows my end is of a different kind, knowing the sin that I carry each night 
and the penance that I must endure. My destiny is not what I see, But is what I 
deeply ignore. Lost between Heaven and Hell, My soul cannot sell, this torment, I 
speak is a different form I break, Not just any ordinary sin, I have no-where to begin.
No end to reach, my darkness seeks light, though there is no realization to teach. I 
am haunted by the past that lonely night that seizes, though it pleases me ,but no 
other can live in the desire that I speak here and now, Others have traveled this 
road without any dark temptation, though I would lose all interpretation, with great 
litigation. Lost now and forever my dream, forgotten almost it may seem. Distant 
calls engorge my thoughts, memories chase my spirit, and lust envelops my soul, 
into the realm betwixt Heaven and Hell. My dream I shall bury, my destiny, I shall 
marry within my mind and spirit. These darkened nights shall grab the bright days 
down into the mishap of grace. I will council each cheerful day and plant a smile on 
my face. However, the agony shall drive my heart to a stainless hollowness of 
discomfort my continued dream shall live on and inhabit this shell. This shell 
someday shall wither away; there will be nothing left to tell.

Written for

Sponsor Catie Lindsey 
Contest Name Dark Prose 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Desire Destroys Me

As the darkness captures you; 
It leaves a path of despair, 
A path that many will follow 
Curiosity pulling them forward 
Dragging them on, into the future, unknown
Further than they have ever gone. 

Alone, scared, the only ones you trusted have left.
For they have been called upon;
Venturing forward without you.
Never looking back for you
Forgetting you.
The only thing left is to say goodbye. 

Close your eyes for one last time, 
Never to open them again. 
The despair twisted to curiosity. 
The curiosity directed at what is next; 
What is beyond the red eyes of death?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Single Beacon

a single beacon stood
illuminating with a billion lux
everything to be
'til the linear track we call time
came into flux
against hopeful humans clinging
to some stupendous belief
contrived from shapes on the ground.
but the light fell away;
some argued against truth
but there was nothing to be won;
there was nothing to be seen
the patterns of light and its absence
were fragile and faltering
'we believed in shadows ?' they cried
and their anguish was real.




rthom 10


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Soul decaying, heart breaking, knees shaking,
And still nothing I can do to make your presence fade,
You’re nowhere in sight yet you still make yourself known,
Now I know the feeling of getting your heart thrown, 
Into a dark lifeless pit of tragedy and despair,
Knowing your arms wrapped around the waist of another,
Tares my soul in two,
I’m drowning in my own tears,
And grasping nothing but blood,
I hate seeing my heart cut up and dropped in front of me,
I sit on the floor with my head down,
Rib cage open and arms drenched in red remorse,
And you,
Standing above me with a blank stare and what was my heart,
I’m never waking,
And you’re gone and taking,
What was my heart grasped in your hand and a plane ticket in the other,
Smiling at him starry eyed,
And I’m still waiting to get that heart back,
Hoping it’s from you,
But now I’m hoping it can be from another,
I can’t wait to learn how to finally love you.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sailor and I

Spiraling sensations of heightened instability cascade through an unsuspecting conscience, a chaotic whirlpool engulfs the psyche in seas of self inflicted torment and despair, illogically intertwined with fleeting moments of delusions, escape and grandeur, torn between everything that is and is not, what once was, what never was, what once was elsewhere, and what lies in the distance unknown. 

Desires to vacate this epoch of mundane existence without immediate destination permeate through every pore, confined by the all encompassing wet suit of societal boundaries, perilously trapped, craving comforts of previous experience like a stranded sailor anxiously await sight of land, and the utopian vision an uncertain future, devoid of realistic premise.

Disparate from islands and coastlines imprinted upon atlas, the past is a destination left unvisited save for flickering images, memories sewn into the fabric of the psyche. The vessel of the mind gives way to leaks, the images trickle into the recesses of one's inner thoughts, a barely perceptible drip, progressing into an uncontrollable flood of psychosis, the struggling vessel begins to capsize, obsession establishes itself as the dominant state of mind. 

One‘s future, an unwritten infinite epilogue to the present, reminiscent of the empty pages in a captain's log documenting this doomed voyage, once expected to be filled with tales of riches and feats of exploration but now submerged in a cold and murky existence awaiting to be pulled from the abyss. 

Expectations and desires succumb to the realities of circumstance as the mind concedes certain defeat, a casualty of pre entitlement and wishful thinking, a drowning sailor whose final thoughts establish the realization that the ambitions of the soul often exceed the limitations of the body.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I owe...I owe, so off to work I’ll go 
 on my daily way, get my wkly Pay, 
   broke through air flow -  at 65... 
    "Just to stay alive" Okay - ay!
 could see my hind-sight, with my 
             TRUSTY TOOL... 

A 'ROAR of NOISE' upon-Me, did make 
me sway to-and-fro, against this flow, 
when times auto's are all missing me 
no matter what lane I go - O’ Oooh! 
      if You Don't: "You needenth  be
       or have any place to drive" 

         According to statistics 
    it's Better to “ARRIVE - ALIVE" 
  so now you have it - I did contrive... 
        these poem words for you, 
so you will appreciate - use, your ‘Trusty Tool’ 
 won't you USE your "REAR-VIEW-MIRROR” 
                   Please Y'all

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stupid Question

Blog?  Is that when your sink is clogged with blood?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Comfort Food

It's the taste of tears
and ice-cream
in a big plastic

Details | Prose Poetry | |


July 31, 2011

Been caught in a scam
Should I have just ran
Try to be good
For God as we should
Always to get bit
Just take another hit
Never knowing why
But continue to try
To live with the strife
Just wanted a wife
Will we ever just fit in the groove
Or should we just move
On the Golden list
I do not jist
Or just change my name
To fit and stay in the game
Never, never win
So I will just give in

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it gets tough
sometimes rough
yo can;t get decuess
its a must
mabe bit the dust
and have to reload
thats the

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Apart From Me

Somber silly little Setter, English; painting trapped himself in the side yard whimpering, howling away wildly. 

Sunscreen-on, moseying on over, in His tenderness He offers a helping hand. Hot Summers cool vapors the blessings found  here, there to and fro leaning midst the still lulling; gentle calling of the Rains. 

Yes the Grace of God, in His joy humming, arriving just in time, and so is Patience the greater venture I suppose the eminent virtue. 

His Love always; Honest, Open... Willing already beholden... . Far beyond the wreck I make for myself and others... chains stretched bounded securing me yes, my freedom in kind stripped away from me given in the effort this provisional very prominence preceding me when in denial of these facts.     

Details | Prose Poetry | |


With more than a hint of anxiety
I doubt all around me
Seeing demons in every shadow
I worry constantly

No rest for my mind
No peace for my conscience
Every breeze that blows
Is an omen of impending doom

I feel so marooned
Far away from tranquillity
I need someone to rescue me

I question all
I analyse minutely
Nothing satisfies me
I am always frazzled

The strain of fear weakens me
I feel unable to be happy
I wonder about what ifs
And throw constant strops and tiffs
I didn’t realise life was going to be like this

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The Labyrinth

A circular room
You're trapped
Find a corner
Sit and ask
Where's the door
Out of the maze
Labyrinth will eat alive

Why did you enter?
Find the answer
Before it's too late
Walls are closing in
Where's that corner?
So you can finally ask
Minator tears away at the flesh

There never was a door
You silly little fool
Forget the corner
Run and run
Circles pass the time
Time that flies when you are blind

Details | Prose Poetry | |


“What wound did ever heal, 
But by degrees”
Except my mother was dear
…Very dear

Count me among men
Who can read and write
Count me among them
Who finds book a delight
Not about intelligence
Mother taught me diligence
Scrapped for a living
So I could get learning
I am a dead woman’s sweat
My worries cracked her chest
My mother was my literacy
My literacy is my treasure
My treasure…is you
I wrote what you can read
She was its measure.
I never paid back 
Never gave thanks.
Prodigal son playing pranks

On me,
She had learned to hope
Then died
In last breath still in hope
That I lose not hope
But what hope lies there 
For a drawing man to hope
Last straw, just sank in
Wide Sea without and within

Wounds heal by degrees
But some can’t heal
Only permitted to blurred
My tears blur my view
Soaks the ink in papers
Forcing me to rewrite and renew
She will not want me to cry
Rather that I sit up and try
Dab my eyes, let the tears dry.
“I know who you are my son”
You are awesome”
Mama, you always tell me that
But am breaking down.
Your lose never healed
Shakespeare said its by degrees
Said the pain will decrease
But I detest full healing
You were so appealing.

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Reality at its best

The human mind
so unkind, so devious,
it can sting like a bee
then leave,
before your eyes-
then what your eyes can see, 
they don't really see it at all.
It's all in a dream,
this messed reality,
it's warped, when rainbows spit hail,
children don’t smile at clowns,
they laugh.
It’s cursed, this place called Earth
And it’s no longer a paradise,
What was is lost and there’s nothing left. Nothing.
I see the storm clouds, nothing blue.
No sun, but where has it all gone?
What happened to my pills, misplaced purposely.
It really doesn’t matter if you are alone
Cause no one else believes you.
You have no other home,
Just knives falling from the sky,
And once you look up, 
You’ll quit asking why.
And once you’re soul asks you to bargain,
The devil will speak once more,
The angels surrounded ignore
Cause you’ve lost who you were before.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Would you Marry Me

Would you like to date you said?
I would.
Would you oh could you let me kiss you just this once? 
If you must.
And will you take my hand in yours and let me hold it tight?
You may .
Many a days past by and it was in me to try again,
I did.
Would you marry me,  would you please
I will.
Would you be my wife and go where ever I go 
Would you have my children and bare with me awhile

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Midnight Walk

A place for me and you,
to walk on end and never stop.
To awe at the lit moon,
and be inspired every single step we take.
Counting off each star,
and making a wish as we go down the line.
Gathering memories,
as our minds are left behind.
Lets skip and skip, 
but lets not trip.
This is our time,
lets make it fun.
No more noise in the air,
just the sound of wind and someone snoring.
Will this feeling ever last,
lets find out and wish for the best.
Crunch! Crack!
Oh no, what was that?
Will you save me, 
or is this midnight walk just for practice?
"A place for me and you,
to walk on end and never stop.
To awe at the lit moon,
and be inspired every single step we take."
Lets make a change,
and lets stop pretending we can be someone we're not.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Spider: I thank thee o lord
For, a new dawn is here again
Feed thy faithful servant as normal
For, it from thy inspiration
That I made this impeccable mansion
That never lacked benevolent visitors.
Bee: oh! Glory to thee my lord
For an unparalleled new day like this
For though, had suffered from cradle
Just to eke for a living
Now, look at thy faithful servant
In the summit of estates, I have so dream t to embrace.
 Spider: what have you to do with me?
Coming in the mansion, mend for the meek!
Bee: I know I’m the last expected in your kingdom
But certainly, every visitor has its resolution
I might be an incentive to hitting your jack-pot!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Pa

Had a dream about my Pa tonight, We all went out with them to Lake Loral Nancy His wife cooking up a good ol' Chicken Pot Stew slow-cooked set way up high atop the hickory us loading up the Bayliner for our afternoon fishing trip. We reminisced, Canoe in toe as we used to do just in case, yes just as we did back then; you-know if either would wished to float to one or more sides with the Canoe tied to the railings of the boat, or more or less to widen the chance at a greater spot to cast a gander upon our luck... . My Father by adoption; having-stated many times early on in-all of our teenier all together, God being-in-charge of all good-Blessings and if-you will--luck... we'll always catch some albeit one Yes I began to see through this statement he mentioned often God is always presenting always providing this-His Honest Hope, for us both--as I believe like my Pa, for any one yes everyone who is patient remains-open... ! Our woes, and Peace abiding... uncertainty grievances questions yes laughter were our main recollections as we dropped our first lines as we cast them... . I tell you I truly did love Him, still love Him, will always I figure... yes I know Some folk are so defined never wish to grow any further their Character divorced by Cancer, Nary did my Father allow it. On the day he passed He told Nancy, "I love my life. My Family Children. Love all those close to me.... but I'm tiered just plain wore out." the Lord took Him that night, the next day forthcoming I was told and O how I cried — But then realized as I saw he lived the greater life - He worked on this purpose until the day he died, and so for all he work for this final reprieve — it was for all of the ones he loved, because I feel for all whom he loved, he'd prayed for all to do the same... Yes a suffering in kind the same I'm seeing now - All-of-it I'm-finding; because he taught me the greater of his Faith nary a day apart from Him, and me... his youngest Son two Others older Sons if you will, yes I feel his family and friends still have this eminent belief to boast; Yes, in-the Company--Comfort... of Jesus' Peace... !

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Karma Twisted

Who am I to you?

I love you
No longer my fried
Our bond is a broken glass we can’t mend
This could possibly be the end
A broken faith in you snaps from within
When you’re not lying in my arms
You say you feel obligated to be there with him
Spare his feelings to obliterate mine

In trading that broken home for ours
Too blind to see the harm
You overlooked my witty charm
Favoring his dim-witted presence
Out the door into his arms
There you go

We can settle down and say ‘I do’
We’ll get back to being me and you
You’ll stop treating me like you do
And someday you will choose
Making me pay my dues
Now I’m waiting for fairy tales to come true
Dreams of ‘Happy Ever After’
I’m taunted by the burdens I choose
And wallowing in broken dreams

Inside your wicked lies
A sense of longing derives
To where our memories lie
Looking up through tear soaked eyes
While my child grows inside
Strumming your fingers across the wall
I imagine you on the other side
And intrinsic insanity leads me on

It rips my heart through and through
Tormented by this endless pursuit
Separating me and you
At night I lay against the wall
Our apartment split in two
By a life-altering war raging on

My love was thrown in the trash
Karma has twisted my dreams so fast
For my cruel and heartless past
I wonder if this is the punishment I deserve
A love that was never destined to last
Fate led my heart here

I love you
Who am I to you?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tragedy---for Jon

Never has life's cruel temper dealt its deceiving hand as this day 
Lost-found in a place, living know not. 
Kinship friendship - words, verbiage to describe mortal bonds 
While those of the soul grasp bonds endless and dimensionless 
Youth is but a stage of dying 
Time cruel to its very essence. Time blows through us all as our sight through glass 
Its dark fingers paint our walls and carry us to our HOLMES 
Its cruelty is its existence. Defining agony, depriving experience 
Youth felt emotion lost through existence 
Found youth soul existence beyond comprehension 
Youth to us all? Youth has been lost but found where else 
But where time confronts us all. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Destroyer

An empty page lies before me
Pure and white, as all untouched things are
Soon to be covered with ink black as night
And I am the perpetrator
Is this a sin, to desecrate such innocence?
Should I regret the destruction I know will take place?
Destruction I will inevitably cause
Pure and white; an epitome of the light
Ink black as night; soon to smother without remorse
Hand shaking, feeling what Ink cannot
Ink is the weapon, nothing more
I am the monster; destroyer of the pure

Details | Prose Poetry | |

to The Public

Not really a poem, but the truth of my being.

To the Public
June 28, 2011

When I write the words just flow. I get an inspiration or a thought and have to write it down. 
Why, I do not know.  They just flow and all follow a story.  I write my innermost thoughts with 
the deepest passion imaginable and all are TRUE life experiences which have occurred in my life. 
I am diagnosed Severe Bipolar Disorder and disabled and draw SSDI. I no longer have to work 
from over 40 yrs in Maintenance and 2 degrees in Electronics and Electrical maintenance. I do 
draw disability now for over 2 yrs time and depression is a daily bout which I face every day, 
but try to be positive. The medicine I take is for my head and helps with mood swings and 
depression. As to date, I cannot read many of my works as I Bawl like a baby at most of 
them.  I remember when and how I felt when I wrote them.  But all of them follow a story to 
the end.  I cannot recite a single one because once written they are gone, otherwise they eat 
my Brain.  I am crying now as I write this and divulge my deepest thoughts and experiences of 
my life. I feel better now that it is gone from my head folks.  When a situation arises, I just 
know which ones will deserve recognition to be told.  I suffer from arthritis on my left side, my 
hands hurt all the time, and I practice herbal medicine for the pain.  I create my own remedies 
from my herbologist named Daryl Collins here in Okmulgee, he gives me the herbs and I am 
the guinea pig first and foremost for the experience.  Anyone else who suffers from this can 
contact me at  I am willing to tell you the recipe for my
Creations.  I hope all appreciate this testimony of mine.  All I say is true to fact.
							William Lewis Moore
							June 28, 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |


some just stare
not aware
of the games
its ashame
so many just plain
need  a guild not strret wise
have some say
help and show a

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ole Shoebox

Hmm, a photograph
Two quarters and a dime
A half written note
A set of tags
A few keys and credit cards
Driver’s license and I.D.
Surprising what fits
In an ole shoebox
A few clothes thrown together
Some well pressed
An old pair of sneakers
And well polished shoes
A mind full of memories
A room full of emptiness
No doubt the room
Will be filled again
The box handed over
And the memories lived
I’d just rather not 
Be holding these tags
Through the silenced laughter
Echoes the days we knew
How with hair on fire
How high we flew
Larger than life
Now within my hands
In what I hold
So much more is told
Than a few items in a box
For what lies within
Is a life well lived
Cut much too short
For a greater cause
So surprising it is
What fits in an ole shoebox
I’d just rather not 
Be holding these tags
And damn my friend
I so want you back

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Blemished Record

This blemished record
Uncalled for and unjust accusations
When did you become a pompous lord?
Rise much higher
And you'll burn in the sun
Screaming my denial
Alone and unheard
Underhanded games were always your style
Can't even say a word
Is it that easy to look down on me;
Your forgotten prodigy

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Who Needs You Now

You have fought for your country
You have heard the calls of death
And felt the loss of blood
And now, no one hears or cares
About the tears you cry
You fought a fools war
Inspired by heroic deeds
Majestic words of honor and fame
From people who never knew your name
Many were those who fled
And endured behind their protest signs
But you, you fought the war
Lost your limbs and gained insight into reality
It was you who came back less than human
And now you stand alone at night
Lost and forgotten men
Tell me, tell me who needs you now
Where are the people
Who gave you hell
Where are the people
Who cried to bring you home
Who marched for your life
While you marched to your death
Where are the people
Who loved you when it was the thing to do
And fought for your cause
While you wondered what it was
As you watched your buddies fade away
Heroes and medals
Tell me, what does it all mean
Now that you stand alone at night
Lost and forgotten men
And tell me, tell me, who needs you now
Now that our memory fades
Of those who served and the reasons why
All we seem to do
Is stand aside and watch them die
And tell me Brothers
Who needs you now?

Details | Prose Poetry | |


unhappy with the reflection
mirror a double edged weapon
wielded with an arm of hate
disappointment cuts like a blade
curse that mirror
she stabs in my heart
not me
that's not me
image reflecting is not mine
her mistakes are her own
bless this child
i must
must protect this life
growing within
her mistakes are her own

Details | Prose Poetry | |


it comes down
wet the ground
than began to blow
as you go
trying to get in
it can be a pain

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Plans, morals, perpetual dreams
A whisper in your ear and your heart screams
Eyes that gaze deep
Skin, white as a sheep
I'm forseeing the fall, but I might take the leap

He's the one across the room
The late party guest that couldn't come too soon
He's the one in the coffee shop, sipping some black
A swift runner in the park your eyes try to track
He's the guitar he's playing, the music too
He's the fairytale you read that never came true

Smile, eyes, daring grin
A touch that gets under your skin
Lips that invite
Head like a kite
I would take him home, and I think that I might

He's the one eyeing your chest
The impatient bed-mate that won't let you rest
He's the crawl in your skin
The roofie that made your head spin
He's the one who invented the mind game
The alarm clock at sunrise who forgot your name

A smirk that turns to gritting teeth
A mask concealed underneath
Biting nails
Charm that bails
Calling his next move is like calling heads or tails

He's the one with roses at your door
The commitment he made but isn't sure
He's all you thought you wanted
The harsh denial of bi-polar confronted
He's a sip of sweet tea with a lemon on the side
Not a fairy tale, but a tale of a modern day Jekyll and Hyde 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


He sits alone
Quarintened in illness
Not disease of the flesh
But virus of the mind
Does not understand why
He is treated like something so vile 
All he knows is
This treatment makes him cry
No one speaks
No one listens
Just leave quickly
Before they can catch the illness
Stupidity and ignorance
At its finest
Pushing him away
Pushing, Pushing
Pushing him over the edge
Crying everyday
Crying, Crying
So sick of crying
Dying, alone and crying
So sick of trying
Dying, dying
Inside and out - He's dying
Are you happy now?

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Mr. Copperhead went to the copper mines
to see what fortunes he could find
Pick and shovel followed close behind
On a burrow named Ole Bleu

Mr. Copperhead was boon-town sick
He struck so much ore 
Even pranced around like he was city slick

Though Ole Bleu toted the pick and shovel
And now the sacks of ore too
With all the excitement Mr. Copperhead had forgot
As he should not 
To give Good Ole Bleu the Lil Sugar that 
He had promised once they got back into town
Instead he slithered into the nearest saloon
Asked Saray Jane to play him a tune

She was obliging to do so of course
When out came Lil Sugar to sing a little tune
Sweet as can be she looked round the room 
For Ole Bleu
Who was no where's to see 

Upon finishing the chord 
Mr. Copperhead was trashed
Said he would finish all that he'd started 
After taking a nap
Well Ole Bleu didn't take to kindly to that
In fact that Ole Burrow knew a trick or two of his own

He made sure Ole Mr. Copperhead was asleep 
Then down to the minters he did creep
Made a lot of cents or so they say
Got gussied up for his Lil Sugar
They drank carrot juice and ate bales of hay

Mr. Copperhead awoke after three days to learn 
That Ole Bleu had made the mint and laid claims
On the ore mines leaving him to hiss in a fit 
As he slithered out of town

Thinking that if he had only given Ole Bleu the Sugar 
He had promised he'd still have his ore
Mean while Ole Bleu and His lil Filly Sugar 
Were down at the livery getting ready to be hitched
Seeing as now they were filthy rich
As Mr. Copperhead slithered 
Down to a town called old dusty ditch

Copyright Adell1 © 2006

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Here's The Thing

Here’s the thing
Doesn’t matter what you say
Or where you are
We both know what was felt
Though we’ll never again add to
We both know what was done
What was shared
What we’ll miss
Though ones will fade
We’ll both have memories
Of what we did
Even if they come and go
When they reappear
For a time we’ll both know
During the times
One’s just a shell
The other’s strength
Will pull us through
When one seems so far away
The other will stay
To bring them back
As long as one has breath
We’ll not let the other down
And if the breath
Is not together lost
The other will not say goodbye
But be along soon
So here’s the thing
That no matter what tomorrow brings
Though what it is
We cannot know
Somewhere hidden there within
Our love will always show

Details | Prose Poetry | |


we're of difference race
some or black and white face
we all have the same taste
this world wide
side by side we'll like no others
we're call

Details | Prose Poetry | |

May Soon Be

Used to drive by in my car
Shake my head, look the other way
Used to think get a job
And get off the street
And now, it’s a place
I may soon be
Used to walk on by
Or cross to the other side
Thinking they had no pride
Now it’s a place
I may soon be
Heard all the stories
Of rich men falling
Being lost and forgotten
Now it’s a place
I may soon be
Used to scoff at their college education
The thought they ever had a mansion
Business suits and cars
Now it’s a place
I may soon be
I’m not there yet
But I can see it near
I see those storm clouds
Searching for me
I can see my efforts
Being for naught
And soon being caught
I can see losing the choice
Of what to keep
Being in far too deep
And looking through the car window
From the other side
Funny how perspective changes
Depending on where you stand
How quickly you begin to understand
When it’s a place
You may soon be

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Because she still clung to his promises

The girl was legend

All empty eyes & purple painted smiles. Every sweet white inch of her. And everyone knew 
her name

She danced in satin skirts that only moved when she took them off. She was everything 
delicate, everything demure. She was beautiful even when she wasnt

She watched the world with terror filled saucer eyes & the world looked right back with eyes 
that were unmistakably green

It was clear glass, they envied her & she wondered why

She knew they hung up her picture, plastered her to walls&books&frames that made her 
their prisoner. They stared at her when they were alone & forged a kind of intimacy she 
could thrive on

But it was temporary & in the morning she was left to sing her own self to sleep since no one 
cared enough to do it for her

The people that loved her, that glimpsed the real her when she uncovered it, all those people 
left her at the end & she saw what they'd done

They'd led her down the wrong track but they peppered it with glitter & held her just right so 
she was blind to every bit of it

She was the diamond dying in the night, she was the candied rose melting in the morning 
dew. They lured her with promises of love & took her innocence before she even knew it was 

She hated them but started to love them almost obsessively. The love hate became another 
prison & she thought she was free because she always got nine seconds of pleasure before 
the sun rose

Back bars catered to her kind & she walked in just to stand there & let their hands go places 
she'd never gone herself. It felt like the past & she convinced herself it was right

One night she walked in, skirt past the legal limit & eyes bright like they used to be. It was a 
shock-making moment, she hadnt looked so sweet in oh so many years & they were afraid 
to touch her

She'd been their girl forever, passed around & used like an old movie that cant be rewound. 
They knew every mark on her body, every scar where they signed her, a kind of "I was 
here" of the human body. They couldnt recognize her. It was the first time she walked out 
alone. Faintly she hoped to be pressed against a wall & killed but it didnt happen

She kept turning around haunted by phantom-feels & ghost-touches. Her body just wanted to 
suffer. It was instinct & who was she to fight it?

Every step was agony. She walked so carefully as though she was afraid of falling in a river 
of her own dark thoughts

But it was hopeless, darkness followed her wherever she went

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Donna's prismatic eyes


                                          Donna's prismatic eyes
                                             Suspended midair
                                        More eyes, many visions
                                       Overlap like dubious codfish
                                   staring at the hollow pennycress


                                  Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty   2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Yyour going wrong way
change it today
listen to what I say
been up down
time get off that bad line

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Mother shot father and I don’t see
How this came to be
Mother shot father and I can't hear
The sound of gunfire ringing in my ear

In my room I sit 
A cigarette in my hand, asking to be lit
Mother shot father and I don’t know why
I can't seem to find the tears to cry

Mother shot father
Bam bam bam
Mother shot father
Bam bam bam

A bullet straight to the head
And now daddy is dead
Two more shots, just to be sure
Its all a blur

Mother shot father 
And then mother shot mother 
Here I sit, in my room alone
The words in my head an endless drone

Mother shot father
Mother shot mother
If I shoot myself 
Will all the blame lie with mother?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

state of delusion

today i can't recognise my own reflection
all suddenly blurred far from perfection
the person i used to know as me
is lost somewhere in his own troubled sea
unaware of what to think
things are changing with every blink
some secrets i have kept for such a long time, 
I almost forgot that they were ever mine
not a single event makes sense to him
even confused thinking either sink or swim
only thing he believe in is his dreams every night
where he can dance with faeries in moonlight
but living in dreams is totally insane
soon this all be over after a rain
& he would feel the hideous pain
then the ruffled silence will spread again

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Pizza boxes line the floor and litter my recent calls,
I don’t know the time of day or the last time I ventured outdoors.
Lost in my own worthless abyss, drowning in my thoughts,
Look at this mess you’ve caused.

I’ve watched so much TV that my eyes literally feel square,
So detached from reality, I question if I truly care.
I haven’t brushed my teeth for a week or so much as styled my hair,
Instead I’ve sat cursing God for ignoring my prayers.

I look at my ‘friends’ and try to broach the subject, knowing this effort’s in vain.
I talk from the depths of my heart, uttering unspoken truths, revealing the weight of my pain.
And I look to their faces, try to fix their gaze, but I know they have nothing to say.
So I wallow in self pity, shutting out the world, resisting the urge to escape.

I reach to you in desperation, in a plea for an alternative resolution.
The nastiness I provoke plunges me deeper in confusion:
You tell me to get on with my life, that my love is a delusion.
I no longer know what I’m doing.

I take an open-top bus ride around the place I call home
And don’t even recognise the ‘places of interest’ I’m shown.
I’m oblivious to the tour guide and his incessant drone – 
I spend my journey looking expectantly at my phone.

Burdened by the weight, of the misdemeanours and mistakes
That took me to this place, through a pointless, perpetual chase;
Engulfed by the bitter taste, of the agony I must embrace,
I spread my wings wide and escape.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

left where i lie

left where i lie 
A life on the fringes 
appointed an outcast 
left there to die 
a man without meaning 
left out of gods design 
flesh wrapped bones 
without soul 
without heart 
ripped ravaged flesh 
torn to pieces 
torn apart 
unable to feel 
unable to cry 
peace traded for pain 
soul swapped for sin 
I wither and die 
so just step around 
just walk away 
i just want to be 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Decide What To Do

Look at the flood
Where waters run deep
Look at the lost faith
So hard to keep
Death and destruction
And everything gone
No words are needed
Just listen and watch
And decide what to do
Just listen and watch
And decide what to do
Colors become blind
When we’re all of one mind
Waters wash away riches
And unite the poor
Business suits and cut offs
Take water the same
When we’re up to our necks
We’re all of one name
So hand in hand we embrace
To make a stand
Working together to strive
To clear out the damage
Turn back the waters
And once again live
Flood waters run deep
No words are needed
Just listen and watch
And decide what to do
There’s a simple strength here
That won’t be defeated
It’s one that’s united
In me and in you
So as I take your hand
Here is mine
Together we’ll decide
Just what to do
While making our stand
No words are needed
Just listen and watch
And decide what to do

Details | Prose Poetry | |


April 18, 2011

Waiting on the corner
Should we warn her
Of the approaching danger
Like a silent still ranger
She has been caught as a snitch
Out comes the evil, mean witch
We may to her have to slice
Into little pieces we love to dice
With a rock to her neck she will sink
After a while she will begin to stink
And no one will ever know
For through time she will never show
This is a terrible place
 Which has fallen from all of God’s grace 
We hope we may
Live through the day
And hope to always stay
To live another day

Details | Prose Poetry | |


it was  day i'll sayit 
it caugh my eye
as it pass by
look like my age
so i didn't turn the page
i found out  to late
it was a mistake
it wasn't fake
but it was

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sudden Apparitions In The Night In Rural Somerset

White cars stationary on their roofs blocking rural arteries whilst severing others
Unexpected loss of vertical hold and bodily functions frozen in the failing headlights
Beautiful greenery ablaze, beside the twisted wreckage of man.
A movement shakes away broken glass and the tarmac writhes free of the terrible pictures
Running on the wide screen’s of my mind. Dripping petrol explosions and decapitation,
Gruesome pictures I dreamt up while reality passed the windscreen and
I, 	I sat there screaming inside.

Luminous blue and an echoing voice rouse me from that dangerous moment,
The phone weighs in once again in my hand. I’m rambling, or worse, but I get the message out
And the comfort of my task ends with the depressed red button as
The door clicks open

A familiar face brings mind of the other and I’m out into the cold darkness
Stepping slowly toward a nightmare vision that grew up in the dusk
I find her and for a second we’re back laughing and smiling. Over her shoulder I see
The groupings of people that sprung up from hedgerows, their halogen shadows
Merged with the darkness of the incident. The car is much too white.
Too strange an angle, yet there they sit
Tingling on the verge of the roaring tributary
And casually stemming the tide

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Whole Bowl of Soup- the whole story

Soup tv, soup, soup everywhere.  Nice spoon, no bowl.  Talking weird 
cause somethings are weird.  Suddenly printer works...little else on me does... 
there is no clue to my problem...well at least I got free tv for a day...only in 
America- $4 for phone, $5 for TV, or get combo deal for $9!!  It gets way weirder, 
and it'll take some time to relate.  Wow.  bye, later, tom

Details | Prose Poetry | |


no matter how quick
how slick
you are
here or far
you can't win
tho you fight hard

Details | Prose Poetry | |

This is Home The Great War

Walking along a maze of muddy walls stepping over rotting young men their boots gone,
Taking the scenes for granted as this is all I know and cannot even remember my home,
The trenched walkways are like the streets I dream about when my eyes close so tight,
Not long ago I dreamed about a house it was warm and there such lovely rich smells.

My garden is muddy, wet the earth turned is fresh and mellow but has many dug outs,
Look closely at my garden and there is beauty in it's blackness but not in the smell,
In tiny enclosed spaces my flowers spring up so very delicate and shimmer in sunlight,
I am looking at a snowdrop it has lifted it's graceful head it is lonely on its own.

In my new world my home is mud, my chair and my bed is made of wet mud it's noisy,
People cry in the dead of night such gut wrenching long sobs I wonder where they are,
Do they think of their mums and dads, or could it be a sweetheart having a great time,
Maybe it's an older man married with children if he ever returns will they know him.

Back in a small corner of my confused mind I see Almond-tree blossom on leafless trees,
There catkins from plants and trees I don't know their names one might have been willow,
In that same corner there are woods with warm banks and green things starting a new life,
One name I remember is the star of Bethlehem in moist meadows but the rest are forgotten.

I am lucky I have always been here my mind knows no home no loved ones nobody nothing,
This is home these people I live with are family and friends they do not last very long'
They disappear for ever new people move in every day most stay away from me at first,
Once they have been here for a few months they talk to me then they are my new friends.

Every day we have to run across the muddy fields and we get shot at I just walk across,
Men around me fall down and are left, all that remains are bones, uniforms and tin hats,
Hands reach for help and plead to their god to help them in this their last few minutes,
Another whistle blows and it is time to walk back and leave my friends sleeping forever.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Womans Touch

The gates of hell have been violently open. The world begins to rumble and scatter in fear. Earth’s volcanoes spew magma and ash from its core. The clouds quickly gather as the thunder and lightning signal the wrath to come. Earth’s crust opens its mouth ready to swallow cities and nation’s whole. Suddenly a white and peaceful light emerges from the horizon. This elegant and stunning figure seems not all frightened by all the chaos. She gingerly kisses and hugs the tormented man. All of this madness was inside the man’s mind. The stress and pressure of life almost got to the man. Drugs and alcohol never gave him relief but all it took was a woman’s touch.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your Great " I AM "

And there you stand
with your hands on hips
telling the world why.
You liar; misguided fool.
Part of you is lost
suppressed in infinite
to be found with your great I AM;
free of distortion.
You will feel your pure pain;
the lot you were given.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Nobody's Blame

I find it funny how we each blame
Another for our woes
Don’t quite understand
How it can be everybody’s fault
And nobody’s blame
How can anybody be right
If everybody’s wrong
If it weren’t for George
If it wasn’t for Bill
If it weren’t for Ron
And what the hell
Was Jimmy about
We should’ve listened to Ted
And forgot about Dick
Now today we hear it’s them to blame
Countered with
It’s their own damn fault
We hear so many promises made
Yet so few are kept
We see executives paid
For jobs well done
That were never done at all
While those around them fall
And yet, nobody’s to blame
But the other guy
Just how was it
And when did it come to pass
That mirrors looked into
Quit reflecting back what is there
To those looking in
When was it common sense left
And a man looking himself in the eye
No longer mattered
Just so long 
As standing near by
Was someone else to blame

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Broken Man

I got lost somewhere between hope and reality. I tired with all my might but things never seemed to go right. I had all my dreams ready but they never came true. I planned to achieve numerous goals but I never could. I had the perfect life planned out in my mind but now I feel as if I just wasted my time.  My best efforts never produced any success. Have I been walking through life wasting all of my breaths? Quitting and surrendering is the obvious choice for me now. Do I continue to fight until I have nothing left? Should I just hold my breath and patiently wait for death? Too broken to die and barely alive to continue. I just wish I had a clue to figure out this mystery called life.

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It Just Seems

Hate to say it
But I’ve got to admit
Sometimes I look around
And I just don’t get it
Don’t know where it was or when
But somewhere down the road
We seem to have lost our way
Used to be Father’s stood firm
Right alongside Mother’s
To keep families strong
Didn’t seem to be as many questions
About what was right or wrong
Used to be when a man
Looked in the mirror
He looked there straight
Just like he spoke
Now there seems to be
A lot more mirrors filled with smoke
Don’t know, maybe it’s just
The small town in me
But I just can’t see
This new enlightenment
People throw about
In my backwoods way
It just seems like throwing out right
So they can do no wrong
They say the last forty years
Have brought us so far
True or not
One thing can’t be denied
Lost somewhere in those forty years
Were the hard fought values
And lessons learned
Of nearly two hundred years

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Uncle Charlie's Friend

I was barely ten years old
When I heard the news
Couldn’t quite comprehend
Why Marshall wasn’t coming home
People said he was the best of them
My Uncle Charlie’s friend
I can remember my Ma and Pop
All their friends crying out loud
The whole town coming out
For a man everybody loved
Sent off to a foreign land
Never coming home again
When Uncle Charlie came home
Used to sit on the porch
He and his drums playing a song
Damning the Viet Cong in Marshall’s name
Used to look at him through the smoke
Watch him shake, the blunt of people’s jokes
Seemed to have an unquenchable thirst
Twenty-two going past a hundred
What it was I never understood
Turned him into a piece of wood
Thirty years gone by
Seem to have a different view
As I look back on things I never knew
I see my Uncle Charlie’s friend in a different light
No longer just a name
As I’ve watched some of my friends go
It’s dawned on me why the whole town turned out
For Uncle Charlie’s friend
The smoke has cleared, the thirst is gone
Only the echos of drums remain
On the porch of a house no longer there
My memory knows him as Marshall
What’s left of the town
Speaks of him as the best of them
Though they haven’t thought of him in years
The way and why he died, they haven’t forgotten
It’s only now I comprehend, the pain and grief
My Pa’s brother and the whole town felt
For my Uncle Charlie’s, my Uncle Charlie’s friend.

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My fraility shows

My frailty shows
From time to time
When I am blind sided 
By a total lack of common sense
That is temprarily irreconsiable 
With what I think is right 
I flutter between fight and flight

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The Right Thing

Dear me,

When people say something I don't like, I want to get mad, I want to get upset, but then I
tell myself that I have to be the bigger person for things to get better and just take a
deep breath and distribute an apology where needed and whatever other sugarcoated bullshit
that the situation need. And, yes, I make the other person happy. But not me.

Why? Because I believe there should be peace. Wait, no, scratch that (Literally, since I
can scratch it out here).

Why? Because? I WANT there to be peace. I'm the type of person that does not like having
guilt nagging at her skull and eating at her heart. So, what do I do? I do whatever I can
to repair everyone's heart the best I can and, BAM! I got exactly what I wanted.
Well...almost what I wanted; Sometimes it takes a lot to change someone's mind. And, I
guess, that's enough for me.

What I do, my friends, is called "Turning the other cheek". I try to do that now, because
I believe it's the right thing to do. I didn't used to do that, though. I used to yell and
scream and act the worst way. But then, I told myself that things would be much better if
I do what I'm doing now. But sometimes it doesn't always work out in my favor.

Okay, okay, fine. Most of the time it doesn't work out in my favor.

I usually end up getting hurt by "Turning the other cheek". Why? Because I can't say what
I want to say. I can't do what I want, because that would go against "Keeping the peace,"
and what I believe in now, which is just that.

Sometimes people don't see that I'm trying to keep the peace, and they think the worst of
me. Sometimes I end up crying. Sometimes the other people don't care. Sometimes I end up
back where I was in the first place Alone and miserable.

But, I will stick by my new policy because it's the right thing to do. But...really, what
IS the "Right thing to do"? What do you think would be the right thing to do for this kind
of thing? Is there even a right way? A wrong way? An in between way?

Do you think I'm doing the right thing? It doesn't feel like I am. But, I'm too afraid of
losing the people I care about to not do it.

Ah, man. This is quite the predicament that I'm in.

Is there no justice?


The Confused One Of The Bunch.

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Eating the weeds from the grass you slept in last night.
Don't look down or you'll fall from the moon.

Can you pick yourself up?
can you make it home?
Jump, and hope god will save you.

No faith.

No G.O.D

Just you

Bruised and rotting
You make it seem easy

Dream in the fields of all those yesterdays
and pick the weeds for the hope of  tom marrow

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Oh What Times

Oh what times we live in
Where even the rich and famous
Are reduced to trailer living
All those good times
When money was freely spent
Aren’t quite as free
As they once were
Oh what times we live in
Where war, crime and poverty
Are the kings that seem to reign
Where people devalue themselves
In an attempt to find something gained
Oh what times we live in
Where friend turns against friend
So many ways to love
Are constantly redefined
Where people march the streets
Proudly correcting what is right
Oh what times we live in
Where even Mother Nature
Shows her violent wrath
The winds of change
Seem to be blowing strong
All around curiosity builds
As we all seek to find
Where these winds will blow
Running round in circles
Jumping on each new thought
Raising new questions of answers already bought
Oh what times we live in
Perhaps it’s time we simply
Should pay attention to
A book written so very long ago
That throughout all the many years
Has always stood firm
In its claim to know

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have a look of hate
for heavensake
you can tell
by his smell
he 's not doing well
\some have cain
for walking pain
some hold out a  can
as for change theyer not ashame

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Fields Forever

Until the end, I fight 
I fight until the light is no more 
and the perilous night does begin 
& when my day is gone & future masked 
I climb my mountain with head hanging low 
Low for now, I killed and desecrated all held sacred 
Slain the last foe & as the day breaks again 
I gaze at fields of red fury 
Fury misunderstood all dead to understand 
Mountains ahead and behind, in this valley of 
Presence. Engulfed by injustice and punished 
In personal strife, I cry, 
not out but in I cry to hear 
inside, inside where I've tried to hide 
and defend on this field of red 
with no more to hide & more to 
hide from. I perch on this mountain I've made 
& expose myself to all, with none to tell 
I'm free, lost to live, lost to die 
Never to love, never to fly. Only wallow for 
It turns to night and shadows comfort me my friends 
Till the end 

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The Are Things Which We Never Speak Of

There are things which we never speak of. There are things which never cross 
our lips. Even though our minds and eyes say them, we have an unknown fear of 
actually bringing them to audible words. For if they are heard, it is as though we 
are vulnerable. We are vulnerable to the only thing that we believe to control by 
ourselves. Thoughts like these are the ones that prevent us from opening up to 
the ones we trust. We feel as though we can’t share these thoughts without 
having some consequence brought to us. Even our closest friends and loved 
ones never know our innermost feelings. They do not truly understand where we 
come from because we lack the ability to express ourselves fully whilst having 
this fear of being vulnerable to openness. We don’t know if there will ever come a 
time that this fear will be wiped away and lack the inability of bearing ourselves, 
however, we must always believe there will one day be a time that we can do 

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A Mother's Worst Nightmare

There you were

I held you in my hands

You were my gift

After nine months of care

I wished for you hopes and dreams to come true

You were my dream come true

I guess my prayers weren’t listened to

But someone took you away from me much too soon

I said hello to you

But I never said goodbye

I still can’t believe you died

My soul and heart forever broken

Nothing to make it better or fix it

I laid you to rest on many nights

Knowing you would wake up

Unfortunately,today I laid you to rest

Asking god to love and protect you

In heaven you wait for me

To resume our relationship of mother and son

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Are we meant to walk a tight straight line,
Wouldn’t that be saying to walk like the blind.
How will the hollow be treated in the end,
The two edge sword is being used for family and friend.
A crooked smile is hard to bend right,
The strong is most needy when using their might.
Unconscious wisdom spoken to bring down to the top,
A cliff is extended in sight of the short stop.
Wrongful delight can’t teach a child confusion,
But a picture made by evil hands gives a right way illusion.
Falling short to the tall brings along a silent bed,
Hot air in a head makes no stop air blown on hot makes stop while ahead.
Carving your pumpkin with heart out of chest,
To take a heart out of evil empty chest is best.
Cut off your left if it hinders your right,
Close your eyes to see dark to realize whose light!

Ashley Hogan AH

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Hard Reflections

Living today in the wake of yesterdays yesteryears, 
following the footsteps not walked for a while. 
Finding hope in the pages of time unwritten fearful 
that hope is all for nothing 
Offended by all of the offenders that crowd my sullen day 

All along the way I know in advance 
that the way I've lived most is 
the last way to live, 
knowing the way is hard to find when the 
days amount to nothing. Production slows 
as the motion becomes all to apparent, 
apparently just going through the motions. 

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stuck in the maze

I'm stuck
        Wandering around aimlessly
                Every turn different
                        Yet exactly the same
I can't find my
W A Y  O U T


Every step I take
Each corner I turn
I stumble upon

Everything is...

                H                           A
        O                        S

All in the past
But still very much present
All destructive in their own way

I try to grasp onto happiness
But it slips away...
Creeps though my fingers like
Grains of sand.
Can I not hold on?
Can I not hold on a little
Must it go this quickly?
Must it leave me in this much pain?

So many questions...
Will I ever know the answers?

I turn another corner
It's exactly the same
I want to get
I want to be free...

But I can't.
Because I'm not stuck in this maze...
I am a part of it...
Just like it is a part of me...

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Divine Intervention

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

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make  a stand
go hand to hand
sit and make plans
to make thing world better
bang on ccan

Details | Prose Poetry | |


you where to hold my hand
and look at me, my heart might 
skip. I would look away, say 
“The sky is lovely.” Yet there
are clouds covering the sky,
like I cloud my words meanings, for
in truth, I don’t think anything of the sky,
nor trees, nor flowers when I’m 
with you. Only you. Therefore, I think 
I need you, and like the 
infamous poets before me, I will
attempt to immortalize you in lines,
and woo you with verse. If that should, however, 
fail, I lose you to the wind, and men 
yet to come, and without 
you, I’ll be of the trees Orpheus 
sings to, with somber branches and
lost leaves. I will talk and write of your
eyes, an electric, endless brown.
Of your voice, drifting in 
the air and stopping at nothing
to please. Of your figure and grace,
destroying wills of men like the Sirens song,
yet thicker and more potent,
lingering like cigar smoke in the air. 
Eventually, yes, my mind will move on,
but frozen in time would be my
emotions for you in these lines, 
and if ever you need to feel loved, 
you need only read.

If it where to work though, the
story takes a different path, which is 
one I leave to your imagination. 
An obscurity found in most love 
stories. ‘They lived happily ever after,’  
would, could, be us, where you to
dip your fingers (what gentle, 
beautiful fingers), into the well 
of my palm.

The choice then is yours then,   
my lovely R------, what’ll it be?

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And God Takes The Blame

Another senseless death
And God takes the blame
A young girl is stabbed
Left to bleed and die
In the arms of her love
While another curses His name
Another bomb explodes
And God takes the blame
Innocents are left to die
As villains take pride
Beaming in their glory
While heartaches curse His name
Another drunk walks away
And God takes the blame
A life in a tangled heap
Slips away lost
As a sober drunk asks what happened
While loved ones left behind
Sadly curse His name
So much loss and tragedy
While God takes the blame
People instantly cry out
Why’d You let this happen
As their hearts begin to doubt
Sadly the true villain walks
While so many curse His name
Not realizing while God takes the blame
The god of this world scoffs
Claiming victory in the pain he’s caused
Taking glee in misplaced blame
While unnoticed he walks on
Hidden behind his veil
Enthralled in his little game
But hidden from his view
Time is nearly at hand
For God to make a stand
And all the things written long ago
Are about to truly be
For God is about to clear his name
Of all the misplaced blame

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A Rose by any other namme shall smell as sweet to mee as ewe.
Jesus paid the sacrifice the aritifice of life became the death of me to give me 
back the life eye gave away for him to follow him is to find it all again the words 
men speak if allowed to brew would make them dead to make them blow to just 
explode the air then turning into chamber pots of full. Love can be a sacrifice a 
very strang surprise a hurried meal a quick repast that lasts all day and then 
some into the night making merry just for heart. The dead weight of most people 
would cause the air ship the alien crafted vessel that eye ride in to tip over and 
the eye would fall out all over the place. Love can be a pillow cold on one side 
and warm to face. The avid reader can imagine this. Head stopped up with 
saving grace the pain inside stops sleep from come.
Then the pillow turned the face pressed up into the cold the wonderful stopping 
of the pain the added comfort of the pillow side out getting cold again then 
comes the time when the repeated effort is again applied oh the wonder of it oh 
the bliss of a cold pillow kiss. NEWS FLASHED before mye eye:
This is just in from NEO Pueblo when someone gets a message in a forum and 
the message sender sends it as a thank you and then adds a different picture 
than the one in his posted poem as way of illustration do ewe think they noticed it 
at all or is it just that it seems so strang to mee and would it be that they aer so 
obsessed with what they aer doing to jump up and dance on just one foot and 
yell and holler look what CHARLAX did he sent the wrong picture to the forum. 
Eye just deleted an accounting error it was a majoretted disappointed mess to 
me they always made fun of eye and mee and the way eye use my style to make 
a poem bleed the pain of being one so far ahead of time is priceless in the 
function of an android using lifetimes.

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this you nee to do
as afriend i tell you
to step back

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Great Existence

Moving up over through 
All I've known is felt through the end 
Never a beginning always ending
Falter as I may, myself I hold - alone in company 
Tress in to limestone pillars of my great hall 
Great as the Norse and proud as well
Threads of time woven with clumsy hands led by blind eyes 
Thus is the expanse of the web of life The Great Existence 
Not where but it's the being that is. Is what I am and 
What we are

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On a Scale Of One to Ten

Do decimels count?  Exponentials?
Remember this crazy dude, I'll surely only get crazier as I age.
And I'm doing that fast.
Got some catchin' up to do.
The soap opera around me grows ever more bizarre.
And worrisome.
And I don't mean me. 
I spent the night over a cousin's house.
Didn't realize the mistake till too late.
It's hard to be pleasant company when you feel withered and adrift.
Read a complete book last night, then two children's books.
Well, at least I read the pictures.
My doctor told me don't buy any green bananas.
Cardiologist not so subtle, but I got a sense of humor.
I love to spar mentally with those who take me for as dumb as I act.
Usually they don't even know it.
I'm likely the only person in the world with a giant console organ in the middle of 
his tiny kitchen....barely open the refrigerator... whose 7 watt bulb is brighter than 
me often.  
Rosie worried, knew not what happened to me. 
My troubles pale next to hers.  I don't know how she deals with it all.
Vicodins, aspirins, voodoo spells all as useless as M&M's to a diabetic.
Pain relief or sleep?  I chose pain relief, then realized if I was asleep, I would't be 
aware of pain.  Now I know a few things I never had to ponder.  
Someday all will be sunny again...or not, I haven't a clue.  Enjoy your turkey 
sandwiches.  tom

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Bought a pad of paper
	Has lines on it
	One hundred pages of paper
	Already stained

Stole a Staedtler marker
	Just a pen really
	Stuffed with ink all waterproof
	Document proof and lightfast

Wrote a poem just like this one
	Used the pen to do it
	Filled exactly one page of one hundred too
	Just to spit this kyfe off

Too tired to do anything else
	Waste time accept it
	Because I don’t give a damn
	Too tired to care

Shredded and burned this pad of paper
	One hundred dreams too ashes
	A million memories smoked
	So what burned my hand too

Carried a flame in my heart
	Left it in those pages
	Hung out to dry
	Like my soul in jet ink

Smeared across my face my hand
	Smudged across my face too
	So what, so who cares
	The cliff base kicked me in the face

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Did you hear my scream from the darkness!!
	Of the day when the sun failed to shine

Did you hear my cries screeching from my soul!!
	When the heavens broke from the sky
		To fall away and into nothing

Did you hear me die!!
	In the whispering across your skin

Did you hear me scream out in the night
	Just before the dying of day!!

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The Flow

Come gather ‘round
Listen closely now
Relax, let your guard down
Just for a little while
Listen closely now
Enjoy the song of silence
Enjoy the winds of thought

Your mind has just stalled out
Your body has fallen swiftly
Down the road to boredom
If you walk straight line sideways
If you speak forwards backwards
Can you see where you’re going, have gone, never were
Can you say and be understood, heard, listened to

Close your ears a moment
Listen with your eyes
Can you see all about with your ears
What do your eyes hear before them
Feeling with your soul, softly, caressing
Speaking with your heart, thinking
Acting as one within the silence
Behold that which you see, all that you see
Yourself, someone else, no one else
Just you

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Smoke Signals to Jesus

Came, Sprawled couch,
His voice getting softer and softer
Cheap sloping gimmick of N|Nature,
   Grabbing last splash
Downed B|Banjo Bourbon… 
Mysterious radio Volume,
To Compromised bouncing,
As Middle of the Highway unrolled and Hugged
W|While they kissed and fooled Around.
Shadows fell across the Side-Walk
Shortly thereafter and Picked us Up.
Us in the Non-Plural

And non-Specific
And in other words
It wasn’t me
And I Didn’t see it Happen, Officer.
It was: Sullen Clouds with Guns, 
Shiv-Packing Ghosts of Spent Bodily Fluids, 
Thin Noncommittal Air and Water Junkies,
Suicidal Reverse Satellites Sodomizing Planet Earth without a Condom
And the Occasional Well Dressed middle-aged Detective.
“I once... was completely broke”
“and all I could dream about Was one last, long and perfect Cigarette”
“abandoned on a nice cool bed of grass"
"just waiting for me to lay there"
"Stare up at the sky, incinerate it"
"And send smoke signals on up to Jesus.”
Now wherever I go, 
I toss un-smoked Cancer onto lawns
In some feeble attempt 
T|To Send Help 
To me 
From the Future.
“As Far as I Can Tell”
“So far... It hasn’t Worked”
I Once Spat at the Sun and Missed
(For whatever Reason and Why)
And That night The Moon camed Unhinged with a Childish Squeal.
Fell One Mile (or However Far Heaven is Away)
And Landed, Splat on my Heart.
Its Been Broken Ever Since...
But lately 
I've Decided Not To try 
                       and Fix the C+Cracks.
They seam to Let the Light In.
Yes, Officer, Yes
(But Really, 
             I am in tune with the copulating rhythm of the Universe)
It Just Doesn't know how to Keep a Beat.
(And in Other Words)
(Yes, Officer, Yes)
I Am Implying that Tonight
I Called you He{a}re
To Report that the Universe
Just Stepped on my Toes.
(And I Would Like to File Charges)
--- "uh... Sir... I'm here about the car on Fire in your Front lawn..."
"Yes... I Know"

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some of us wink
some of us or kink
and blink
cause they drinker
part of the 
family of thinker

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don't be blind
read the sign
kept this in mind
you can't win
with sin
the world is

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To Consider the Alligator

I wouldn't be scant. Its codfish lies to pull ferociously all up in its cube. The forks stomped the ponies. Why did your 
goodness lift our leaf? What do ideas ride like? You sound like that laugh. You persuasively divide. All obscene feet 
straddled under his lingust. What is all over the drifting harpsicord? Exude yourself betwixt the calamity. I will be snoring 
impudent cities. What is through that fatility? What is beside my heel? No fountain pens, please. I could be spitting 
underneath your cognizance. Boldly you malnourish the fence. You usually ventillate. Bend your travesty. Thirty-five 
damp beets are sophmorically trampled. You will run beside gods. You look like a surreal brevity. You will boil inside 
caftans. I diddle. I shouldn't have been hopping beyond your vertebre. You will thrust along protests. The pedestrian left 
by our digit. His rabbit accepts a serpent. His floppy money was hydrating with her heart. I love piston. Her list of fury 
resonated next to the thunder. You smell like morse code. His slinky magical mirror was feeling all over my Swahili. You 
will snap without tiger boots. You like waxy provisions. Hi, I'm a stormy panhandler. With your mildew were eight 
blogging skaters. My philanthropy whisps like a plasma. Sufficiently I snap. You remind me of every neat-o flamingo. 
You explicate mates. Drip your disgust. No car keys, please. A combustion tickles an insertion. Hi, I'm a cold cole. You 
sheepishly evade. You finally exude. All your abyss' are belonging to us.

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We must be careful when exploring the places we have tried to keep hidden. For 
once we open the door to those unrevealed places, we don't know what 
unforseen thing lies behind it. The secrets that we bury will return to us at a 
speed that we cannot stop. When we decide to uncover that which is repressed, 
we must bear the burden that comes along with such. We must carry the 
responsibility of what we discover.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Clandestine Escape

My Clandestine Escape

Candle, burning before me now,
Separating me from the darkness in this room in which I sit;
The flame atop your waxen column melts your existence, slowly, steadily.
Your now liquefying composition dribbles silently down your side.
Your lifespan is limited by time, flame, wick, and wax.
Smaller, still smaller, as the minutes pass, you grow.
A breeze or draft from a place unknown
Causes your brilliance to flicker, 
Thus casting shadows of you and I dancing madly about the room.
Inanimate, such is reality, I know you are,
Yet your personification has become my companion,
Guiding me down this neverending pathway to my escape from that within.
A teardrop trickles down my cheek, as your flame, now shrinking, grows dimmer, as it dies.
Now, only a hardening puddle remains before my ponderous gaze.
Darkness, total darkness, now surrounds my thirsting soul.

Thomas Cusick

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Notes, Comments, Tomfoolery, and Clue!

Good evening, all is well.
First of all, let me congratulate all those who commented on the first Poem 
Contest posting I had.  Bear in mind, as Judge and Jury, only I am permitted to 
send messages without words...It was mentioned that this would be a tougher 
quiz...see with me, words are completely optional.  Re. the $160 electrician's bill, 
once, in my old house, I had one come and put a new ceiling light fixture in my 
father's room, and track lights in my room.  His work was awful, fixture was the 
cheapest thing...I had worked in a retail lighting store, and knew he paid about 
$20 for it, the track lights were extremely unsightly, the ceiling was butchered; the 
entire job took no more than 30 minutes, and he handed me an $800 bill!!  Talk 
about highway robbery.
Now a few bits of Tomfoolery, with but a few "Tom's Tidbits".

How can I lose more stuff than I own??
It's a struggle to figure out how to get my cell phone to work.  I wonder if that's 
because I've never been imprisoned.
Talk about hot flashes...I had my first with the above mentioned electrician.
A ringing in the ears is but to be expected by someone named Bell.
Did I mention about the Honda Civic Center??
My "No Words" Poetry form should be posted with the Soup.  What'ch ya' think;
"Tomfooleryesgue??" Any suggestions??
A bachelor like me gets so lazy, if I get hungry, the most I can do is take an olive 
out of the jar...w hands, of course...

Comments;  I wanted to post either "Electric Blanket" or "How to Pay Bills" but the 
Soup won't allow it, cause they're too long, and require two postings...Should they 
count as one?  Or should I just post part No.1, and leave it up to you clever 
people to find pt.2 on your own??  Is this idea acceptable, guys??  Please let me 
know.  The Soup is always busting my chops about using the number symbol.  I 
suppose there is a good reason....gotta find out why...they are like our parents 
here, at least for me.  Just wish they would cook me a meal once in awhile, 
maybe do the laundry or somethin'....

Kindly post your votes on third poem being "Electric Blanket" or "How to Pay Bills" 
which I have just "fine tuned" a bit...let's see how it runs now, or is, like a guitar, a 
thing in need of a tune-up to play.  You can post your votes as comments at this 
posting site, and "write-in Candidates" are accepted gleefully...
Now, up with Clue No. 1 on Super Quiz Poetry Contest. 

Okay, the moment you've been waiting for!!!  Clue No. 1

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Many Things

I can do a lot of things and do them well, always have. 
This what I have been asked I fear I cannot do . . . 
What’s more important in this is how I no longer wish to. 

I can do many things and do them well, always have. 
These are my feelings and they run deeply across my soul. 
Woe to me I say because I know its over and drawing near. 
There lies before me a future full of agony of longing unrelenting. 

I can do many things and do them well, always have. 
There is one thing left for me to do and I cannot. 
Will I continue on I have been asked, 
Continue going I’m asked and I cannot do it anymore! 
I can’t keep going for much longer, if at all . . . 
How long am I supposed to go without hope, without anything at all . . ? 

I can do many things and do them well, always have. 
This what I have been asked to do I cannot do . . .
Will you understand when I’m gone and I know you wouldn’t 
For the blame you would place across your shoulders and why . ? 
It’s my life, this is my life and that’s the joke . . right? 
Yeah, as if this is living, as if this is even a pale reflection of life at all!! 
I don’t want this life anymore, I’m sick of it . . . 
No more do I pray for happiness that will never come, 
Instead I pray to close my eyes and never awaken again. 

I can do many things and do them well, always have. 
Please God spare me from growing older, from living at all, 
Please take my soul for I am done with this life without . . . 
Just let me sleep forever, for there is nothing left for me . . . 
Life is empty, meaningless, hollow and all faded away, 
There is no colour left in my eyes anymore, ever again! 
Just agony, just agony . . . 
God won’t give me this prayer I know, instead 
God will grant me an eternity of suffering, 
For she’s never done anything to answer my prayers before. 
Save fill my life with pain, suffering 
And horrible oceans of misery that I drown in every waking moment of this . . . 

I can do many things and do them well, always have. 
I cannot live without . . . I just can’t . . . I . . .

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Speak In Tongues!! (yes, true!)

When I worked, selling furniture, much expensive, as a Store Manager/Salesman-
(really, the "Manager" title was euphemistic)...
It was easy to get bored....
You can sit in the showroom
for some hours,
And see no one at all...
So when some poor person
did come in...
I tended to want to 
Not for the customer,
But, for me....

I had over time
developed a talent....
To speak in accents a'plenty
No one would know
just what to expect....
To one, I might be 
cockney English
to another a stiff
old German
or a Swede,
Jackie Mason style Jewish,
Oh Indian was a favorite
of many... but I did more...
An upper-class
English Lord...
a Brooklynese bable,
a southern drawl...
oh... so many more...

Now sometimes
I'd change from one
to another
in the same conversation'
as it progressed;
whether he bought or not
to me secondary
I had to have my fun!!

Sometimes a customer
would come back
on a later day...
looking for that
Australian guy...
who had helped
them some days before...

I made many many people
laugh, many many a time
I had many other crazy
things I did
You come into
my store,
you won't be bored
nor pressured...
one thing you can be assured.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Smoke Signals to Jesus

Came, Sprawled couch,
His voice getting softer and softer
Cheap sloping gimmick of N|Nature,
   Grabbing last splash
Downed B|Banjo Bourbon… 
Mysterious radio Volume,
To Compromised bouncing,
As Middle of the Highway unrolled and Hugged
W|While they kissed and fooled Around.
Shadows fell across the Side-Walk
Shortly thereafter and Picked us Up.
Us in the Non-Plural

And non-Specific
And in other words
It wasn’t me
And I Didn’t see it Happen, Officer.
It was: Sullen Clouds with Guns, 
Shiv-Packing Ghosts of Spent Bodily Fluids, 
Thin Noncommittal Air and Water Junkies,
Suicidal Reverse Satellites Sodomizing Planet Earth without a Condom
And the Occasional Well Dressed middle-aged Detective.
“I once... was completely broke”
“and all I could dream about Was one last, long and perfect Cigarette”
“abandoned on a nice cool bed of grass"
"just waiting for me to lay there"
"Stare up at the sky, incinerate it"
"And send smoke signals on up to Jesus.”
Now wherever I go, 
I toss un-smoked Cancer onto lawns
In some feeble attempt 
T|To Send Help 
To me 
From the Future.
“As Far as I Can Tell”
“So far... It hasn’t Worked”
I Once Spat at the Sun and Missed
(For whatever Reason and Why)
And That night The Moon camed Unhinged with a Childish Squeal.
Fell One Mile (or However Far Heaven is Away)
And Landed, Splat on my Heart.
Its Been Broken Ever Since...
But lately 
I've Decided Not To try 
                       and Fix the C+Cracks.
They seam to Let the Light In.
Yes, Officer, Yes
(But Really, 
             I am in tune with the copulating rhythm of the Universe)
It Just Doesn't know how to Keep a Beat.
(And in Other Words)
(Yes, Officer, Yes)
I Am Implying that Tonight
I Called you He{a}re
To Report that the Universe
Just Stepped on my Toes.
(And I Would Like to File Charges)
--- "uh... Sir... I'm here about the car on Fire in your Front lawn..."
"Yes... I Know"

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Breaking into abandoned psychiactric centers isn’t as fun as it seems. 
Oh, some nights have I had. 

I don’t feel too well. 

I just need to let everything pour out. To come out onto the screen and paper and wall and floor and everywhere I 
can transfer it to. 

Once again I am sitting here alone while my roommates have all gone out to drink. Drink. Drink. College. College. 
Are my children going to be disappointed to hear I wasn’t the party girl? Will they be sad that I don’t have repulsive 
stories of vomiting and one night stands? Why do we do this? 

Is that it? To tell our kids - to create a person - to create a personality - to construct a mask.These masks are not 
colourful or flashy or expensive. These masks are plain white plaster. Whitewashed wisdom. Everyone wears this 
mask. No defining characteristics. You can’t really tell if the person next to you is your closest friend or a complete 

Here I sit with my eyes closed. This entire time. I did all those things and pushed myself further and further into a 
sedated state that I can hardly remember. 

Suffering is the best thing for an artist. Every artist was an addict. An addict of some sort. Some sort. Some sort of an 
addict. Maybe that’s what I need - maybe that’s why I still do this - maybe that’s why I stay home when everyone isout 
having a “good ol’ college time.” 

Not a recluse. I swear. 

He can’t hear me but I can hear the sludge of sounds though the telephone. I’m sitting up so as not to let my thoughts 
become sluggish although they do such a thing on their own. My entire body has been injected with a cloud. It is 
floating through every extremity, every vein, every cell. I lay limp and wonder how it’s possible to even do this. To 
function at all. 

My stomach feels empty but I know what it holds. The imagine in my mind of my insides housing some bodily fluid 
and a plethora of dissolving pills. Plethora may be an understatement. Dissolving and fizzing and melting and the 
thought of that the thought of that the thought of that... that makes me sick. 

Dissolving in cold stagnant water. Sitting sedating. Satisfied, thouhg? I don’t know how I got here. I’ve been sitting 
here the entire time but what happened between when I first took seat and this very moment.

All of you. Take off your masks.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


as you walk the street
you hear a back beat
than get moving feet
feeling stark don't walk
listen to the bell show and tell

Details | Prose Poetry | |


don't tell me
i can see
we'll let you be
i know what you
been thur
it make me blue too

Details | Prose Poetry | |


we are all
in this wall
good od bad and its sad
if it should fall
it will be hard
not smooth as lard
we're all

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hot Chocolate

    A neighbor returned home early from a vacation in Switzerland.  When asked 
about his trip he seemed a little hesitant to talk about it.  Finally he shrugged his 
shoulders and said, "I found it rather an unfriendly place."
    Puzzled about such a statement I asked why?
    "The first evening in Geneva I asked for a cup of hot chocolate and they kicked 
me out of the establishment. 'Sir we'll have none of that in here,' he told me."
       "The next morning I decided to eat at the hotel where I was staying and the 
same thing happened.  Only this time they kicked me out bag and baggage and 
told me not to come back.  I found a rooming house and spent the night there.  
The next morning the same thing happened when I asked for a cup of hot 
        "Soon my presence was known all over town and I couldn't get another 
room.  So I had to come home early.  It was as though I had a bad reputation or 
      I was totally shocked.  How could such a straight laced religious man cause 
such an up roar?  And this was so out of character for the things I had heard 
about the Swiss people.
       "If you ever go to that country don't order the Hot Chocolate.  It must be taboo 
to serve it."
     How could a simple cup of Hot Chocolate cause such a commotion?
     "Are you sure it was the HOT CHOCOLATE that caused the problem?"
      "Of Coures it was.  I'd go into a restaurant and ask for an extra ' HOT SWISS 
MISS ' and they'd throw me out."
Gotcha__ Didn't I?     

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rubble in the Hubble

Seems our beloved space telescope
Has been mistaken for a park trash can
By certain alien races.

Shuttle crews removes 39 beer cans, two soda pop bottles, three alien 
newspapers, a very bizarre condom wrapper, and six emptied cans of 10w40 
intergalactic motor oil.

They also found, what they think might be, 2 Plutoniun hot dog wrappers, and a 
broken dog leash of unususual nature.

No Littering signs were posted in an attempt to correct the situation.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rip Rippy

It was long ago,
Whilst I was still going to college,
Way back during the dawn of mankind,
Still living with my first wife, with my parents,
And my beloved mutt-dog, Rippy...
A smallish, black dog,
Long a part of the family,
He loved cheese, like all Bells,
And hated harmonicas, I guess,
As he would howl when my father played...
But we didn't know that then,
We thought the cutie was merely singing along...
Well, Rippy was in the habit of being let out,
On his own, as we had a big yard,
And always came back without incident...
Until one winter's day, when he never returned...
All hearts were broken,
But none more than mine...
I went out after a snow storm tapered off,
Found his frozen carcass in a street nearby,
And buried him, not an easy task,
In the frozen back yard ground...
Set up a cross,
Although he never admitted to a religion...
And sadly resumed my routine...

Two days later, I came home from C.C.N.Y.,
One afternoon, via bus and subway...
When I came in the door,
My young first wife, Ann, and my mother,
Greeted me with mysterious, mischievous smiles...
They told me to close my eyes,
They would take me inside my parents'
Sealed close bedroom, for a surprise...
Great mystery was evident,
And it was evident they were enjoying
My perplexed looks...

Well, I did as told,
They took me into my parents bedroom,
I was told to open my eyes,
I did, and there on the bed,
Was my beloved Rippy!!
I was delighted, of course,
But wondering if this was some evil magic,
As I had buried him some days prior,
But no, it was Rip, and he was find,
Just a bit skinnier than usual.

So, who had I buried?
To this day I don't know,
But what are the odds,
A dog of similar shape and size,
Should appear dead, frozen,
Directly across the street?

Was his whitish frozen hue
The reason I was fooled?
I don't know,
But I was so overjoyed,
To have my favorite dog of all times, back...

When he ultimately did die...
My wife was gone from the scene,
And my dog died in my arms...
And if I live to be 600,
And have 100 dogs more
Before I die,
I will always miss my Rippy most,
So deeply did he I adore.

For Rhoda, who is about to lose a favored cat,
whose posted picture proved that
that particular cat was gorgeous
beyond normal expectations.   tom bell

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Callenge three

Incorporate, fifty word or less, must rhyme, and make some distorted Bell-ish 

Neutron star in a can of tuna
Feathered boa on my poodle
Cooking Black Flag noodles
sweet candy of concrete and caramel
Oop, I fell in my Fruit Loops!

Good Luck!!

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Call Of The Wild

And so
    my mind wanders
back to that night,
under the full moon,
when I grasped
    at your hair
pulling your 
           head back.
With muscles tensing,
and my claws
ripping at your skin,
I open my mouth
and close my jaws
on your throat,
scraping at your delicious
skin with my canines.

Fighting with
    every inch of humanity
to not tear your skin,
    and joyously drink
down your blood,
I feel your body
pleasantly quiver and undulate
in my arm,
and your purring
resonates in my ears.

Do your still 
hear these thoughts
in your dreams,
do these images
still skim across
your consciousness,
does the residue
of my blood
still cling 
             to your lips,
and does that
bronzy taste
sit on the
             back of your tongue?
It does for me.
And yes....
    I still feel
my lionesss' hair
   curled around
              my claws.

My beasts 
of this realm,
fill my ears
with your questions,
as I howl my feelings
into the moonlit night.
Do you hear it,
as a chip of alabaster
falls from the ever-present
crack in my heart.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Dear Mother Teresa

I imagine you're as sick of the mother teresa jokes, as I am of the bell 
ones..."ding, dong" ring my chimes, on and on.etc.

anyway: re; the door; me too, and countless zillions of others.. but to us, ours are 
the ones we deem to count to ...this is purely a natural trait...Death is the sword of 
Damacles' held over all our heads, and worse yet, to those we love...and when it 
collects it toll...our hearts have to dig a new hole.
best regards, tom

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mixed Soup Bits!

Yeah, Ruby, but Elvis had drugs!!
To Fred- You ain't that fly guy, r u?
To Patricia- that bug you caught- was he Freddy the Fly?
Catch ya'll a bit later.....tom

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ever Do This?

I know I'm probably crazy...but tell me if you will....have you ever done this?
Walk into a room, and wonder why you did?  What was your intention, what were 
you looking for?  It's a bit scary...are you losing your last brain cells?
Speak to someone you've known, or lived with, for many, many years...and 
struggle to remember their name?  Read a book, mind wandering, and you find 
yourself reading the same page thirty times because you're not quite there?  I'm 
thinking of putting a chalkboard around my neck, with memos to myself.  But 
knowing how weird I am, I suppose I'll forget how to read.  So it goes.......

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Valentine's Day Birthday

My sweet Ruby's birthday,
Naturally on Valentine's day,
In her honor, the NY city of Beacon
Will close their schools!
Ain't that a kick?
Though, sadly, 
She seems to be "missing in action" lately,
Many wonder why,
She is so loved on this site,
Many of us cry....
So come back home,
To the five and dime,
We'll even through in some 
Jimmy Dean sausages!!!

Or, as Kenny Roger's first song went,
"Ruby, don't take your poems to town!"

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dear Rhoda Part 2

As I said- L.I. was home to me up until about a year ago, when I made the 
(oopps) mistake of moving upstate, near Poughkeepsie (Wappinger Falls, which 
I call Foppinger Walls).... It is soooo boring!!  No wonder I'm posting poetry 20 
hours a day.....  By the way, I'd never heard of Long Island Iced Tea till I went to 
Arizona a few years ago.  Talk about puttin' starch in your socks!!  regards  Tom