Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

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…

Copyright © Drake Eszes

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

Copyright © Drake 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?"

Copyright © Timothy Hicks

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!

Copyright © Timothy Hicks

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.

Copyright © Umme Salma Alam

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

Copyright © Anwar Hussain

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Things fall apart

i wake up every morning
 questioning my entire existence
 they say i must be persistent 
 but i ask myself is god really present or absent
 you folks say to make it i have to be obedient

Things fall apart
 friends became enemies
 gravity seems to be my worst enemy
 all my plans seems to be rearranged
 things i wanted to establish and accomplish
 have perished and vanish
 they say the world is round 
 and yet i think is a square
 so many hurts we get from 
 corners here and there

Things fall apart
 the sky is covered with a dark cloud
i try to speak but my voice is not loud
i tried to blend in the crowd
 but i always standout
 all my brothers are school dropouts
 my sister works as a checkout girl
 they said heavens gate was built to keep me out
 moments like this i ask God's whereabouts

Things fall apart 
 Just as we say things are getting better
 sweeter and tastier, they turn sour and bitter
 the sky just fall in the middle of a storm
 the trees are unfruitful
 the rivers are dry
 our crops in the field are devoured before harvest time

my eyes are all red and swollen
 from the tears that shed
 my mothers knees are red from 
 kneeling down and praying for a miracle
 her knuckles are frozen from knocking on heavens door
 her voice is all cranky from shouting
 hoping god can hear her

Things fall apart
 mom lost her job
 daddy got retrenched at his
 grandma has a disease that has no cure
 soon she will departure
 to the heavens above
 relatives have turned into strangers
 rags and shreds cover my body
 my little sister singing
is my rhapsody of reality
 as we stand firm together in unity.

Copyright © thabang ramafhi

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I say this with optimism

For now I am in pieces.
I say that optimistically,
Forever hoping that the pieces will come together and form a beautiful puzzle.
I've awaited this moment,
But waiting is all I seem to do.

An inept and crumpled document is what I am.
An aptly written and folded one, I am not. 
The creases are the amount of times that I have encountered a moment of distress.
The rips and tears are the times that life has been unfair.
Inside the crumpled document contains a set of words that reveal a rather special story,
The story of my life.

Copyright © roman cavazos

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

Copyright © Mike Hamill

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.

Copyright © Funshio The Poet

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.


Copyright © Hannibal Lecter

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.

Copyright © craig schaber

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

Copyright © Kieran Pavlick

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.

Copyright © Eli Mahirah

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

Copyright © John lawless

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!

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell

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...


Copyright © kj force

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The failing education system

the Indian education system is the worst
because the parents and students aim for first
this is because education is turning out to money
but this is not funny
each individual has a dream
but sometimes the light does not beam
because of the society
and the parents anxiety
every parent wants their child to get education stardom
and snatch away the child's freedom
the parents doesn't want their child to gain knowledge
and they want their child to put their effort till the edge
no one can understand that marks are just numbers
and they make us climbers
how can numbers be a mark of our thinking capacity in our brain
the sentences we read from our book will vanish like rain
the disaster is the television publicity for the topper
and everyone thinks the toppers are sharper
but most of the topper are just blind fold in mugging up each line
without understanding, but everyone thinks its fine
because of this attitude of Indians we are down
and other country treat us like clown
and mold us according to their wish
like their favorite dish
memory is just a skill
it cannot lead us to the top of the hill
in depth knowledge will lead us to great height
like wright brothers who found flight
whenever this situation changes our country will shine
and other countries will wait back in line
India should make leaders
and not workers 

Copyright © yashika ramesh

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.

Copyright © john loving iii

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.

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley

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?

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell

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.

Copyright © kelleyana junique

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…

Copyright © Adell Foster

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)

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

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.

Copyright © siza sibiya

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Red Flag

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

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley

Details | Prose Poetry | |

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.  

Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode

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

Copyright © David Welch

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.

Copyright © Aya Salah

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.

Copyright © Molly McCarthy