Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Prose Poetry Courage Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Courage

These Prose Poetry Courage poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Courage. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Courage 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 | |

I Shall Never Love Anyone Like You

I Shall Never Love Anyone Like You


My heart ache as I watch you fall for another.The pain hurt so much I felt sick.I didn't have the courage to tell you my feeling I din't have the courage to tell you what my hearts feels.But  I can't refuse to watch you fall into he hand of another.May i blind myself may i break my own heart may i give relief to the feeling that I had when i could no longer hear your laugh no longer see your smile and no longer feel your touch.To me being alone and feeling nothing is worthless I shall miss what I have lost but this I have done to protect what little shard of my heart remains.You feel another never knowing my feeling for you.but it fine now for I shall never love another like I loved you.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Message to You

Please dry your eyes, now don’t you cry...
Let me share with you a lullaby....
I used to tuck you into bed....
Back when you were young....and such a sleepy head....
Disappointments are many in this life we lead....
But I know you’re strong and will succeed....
Please trust in me for I have a message to send....
You will never back down or crack and bend....
It is your nature to love and be kind....
Negatives don’t linger in your mind....
You're still that little girl who once sat on my knee....
With those big blue eyes looking up at me....
So I would like to take this opportunity....
When there's not enough sun....and  too much rain....
Lots of happiness, and very little pain....
Just like the moment, when my heart did sing....
With all the joy that you did bring....
To each, and every one of us....
Without any fret and not much fuss....
I am very proud of what you have become....
And all your accomplishments of what you’ve done....
Unconditional love will never go out of style....
When your tears can be replaced.....
With this Grandmothers’ smile....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Close enough

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


Metempirical
Scenes
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
Home
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

Pause
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

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Day at a Time

When I was young the stress clouds were more reliable, they came and went just like the light of day and the dark of night. As I got older, the stress clouds became more obstinate, seemed more serious, and stayed in my head as permanent residents. Then one day the clouds stopped moving. The dark foreboding clouds just sat there putting pressure on my body like an unattended pot of boiling water. That’s when I got the first message. One of the dark clouds spoke to me in my sleep and said, get your act together; there’s a difference between family and things.

After that, the stress clouds started moving again, changing their position in my head depending on the time of day. The pot of boiling water calmed down and the things got fixed and faded away into the light of day. But the family stress clouds were different. They had more energy and talked to me every day in the language of dying and the language of struggling and the language of trying. The pot of water continued to bubble around the edges making a painful clamor within my spirit.

That’s when I got the second message.  It came from the bubbles and reminded me of an ensemble of singers. The music was warm and inviting and sounded like elegant thinking. Manage the stress clouds one day at a time they sang with an encouraging voice. Manage the stress clouds one day at a time.
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Super Man

The rise and fall of a broken soul; the pressure was too much to bear
The letter S was too brave to wear. He was a symbol, a pure form of admiration. Yet his life was 
not his own; full grown; denied the freedom of one’s true life journey
He could never fathom an opportunity of free will for he lived to will free others who hide in his 
silhouette
The darkest shadow brought an abundance of light to the needy. And greedy.
An unadorned model of self-less love dug him an early grave being a slave to aiding. Although 
help was never offered to a man that had a sense of direction. Every step forward followed 
echoing steps behind.
His feet became a carrier. The load was heavy
Regret was constant. Where was kryptonite when he needed it?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Vision She Seeks

Through her eyes-

a vision she seeks;

Over and over-

Her thoughts repeat;

Analyzing a future,

That may already be bleak.

Fearing the peak- So very often, She does not sleep; Her restless eyes grow weak.

  A women so fierce and strong-

Though now she weeps;

Not aware that I'm watching-

So out it seeps.

 

The pain that she harbors inside- Intensified, By what her thoughts had verified.

I watch her giving heart-

And observe her habit of self sacrifice;

And I know on her its hard,

And I see that she's immobilized-

As the loneliness rots her insides.

 

A certain depth that lives within her;

An undiscovered truth;

I watch, as she pleads adventure-

Escape from a painful youth.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DAMAGED MY TRUE LOVE

written 17th Sept 2013



When it comes to love, I AM poisonous
 don't let me curse another, leave me loveless

For the first time in my life, I felt your pain and cried for your heart
 my heart finally hurts, knowing I passed this pain from the start

Please find help to set your heart free
 trust me, it's not a life you recover from easily 

Damaged goods I told you, unrepairable
 but some how, you managed the impossible

Unlovable for my entire life
 yet you had no problem, getting me to become your wife

Yes, it's been more than both of us should have ever had to bear
 at this moment, every cell in my body is overwhelmed, so I really do care

Please don't enter my life's pain and despair  
 you don't deserve it, you are so patient and filled with such love

I'm sorry I let myself fall in love knowing it would poison you
 soul mates forever and eternity, my love belongs only to you...




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Soul Awakening

Soul Awakening

Wrapped in your arms
My soul awakened 
From a long dark sleep
My heart is now alive
No more do I weep
My lover’s smile 
So tender and true
A sweet ray of God’s sunshine 
Lead me to you
Blissful now
Content somehow 
Where once my heart 
Was pummeled 
And pounded
No more do I fear
Love sounds
Sounded…
Love is now all that I hear
So hold me close
My darling one
With you by my side
All fear is gone….


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 | |

Moon Said To The Sun Aeon Sphere

Charms of Dusk,
A Pure Baptist touch,
Display lurk of a rush plus battle scares
Of blood and rusk what have this man endure,
Even, if this is a man or by luck a higher evolution of a being?
Orion sire from resurrection of most bitter defined
What is being?
Deepen the touch of the man of literary erupted,
Powers of king’s powers of rings could dare to touch great barriers to discuss
Future of youth design to up hold generation haven witness sure a creature only, 
Mythology to have indigestion years of years on end of generation on anarchy
Devolution of a tone of a rowel stone of eyes to brush and look,
What is being?
This was a warrior of the highest status,
Reincarnation 10 years of a millennium on the break off end
Greatness of evil dares not to evoke sin of tear to jerk to tears away,
At revenge of a sting of moral tongue of numb of blood & dirty learn in another realm
Of a death ray,
What is being?
He was a wake from chained of musk body tone build like a statue of pure marble,
This would be a battle of war of wars to end wars
Seas felt like empty towers has he was storming to thunder to walk,
Mountain lift and trees flatting what power be stole in this mystic creature
Wait to amaze we all would know,
What is being?
Blood in the street footprints left of dead mystic foes
Almost in roll of red roses of a garden that stain the street with blood,
He picked them off one by one that splatter like a ring of salt and ashes turn to dirty
Left the sight for the dead to walk,
And set sight of the ultimate evil that evil of destruction should envy him
And once more Orion stood to meet the question,
What is being?
This ultimate foe and his self-war craft at it fitness as prediction,
By the Sun and the Moon he was their son and he knew
The beginning and the end as it was predestination,
For this event to take toll
What is being?
“The Moon Said To The Sun Aeon Sphere”.


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
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

i wish i was his

What is this that makes me blossom with bliss                                 
making every part of my body freeze
and the whole world and its occupants seize
when i glance at him i wish
that i was the only one  he feels
but am wrong,oh!how i realy wish i was his!

I see him everyday,in my heart i pray
that one very day,he will have something to say,
that will make me stay ,
and hear me say,"i have waited for this day"
oh!how i wish i was his!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Begun

What was to begun,began
What was at hand needed a hand
On its own two feet it will stand 
And all of the kings pawns and all the kings men 
Couldn't get it back in order again
Where will we achieve
Where will we compensate
Where is relief
Where will we dominate
Well dominate in belief
Cause we shoot for the stars 
How can we calculate if we don't know who we are
If we are who they perceive us to be
We should succeed naturally
Straight up organic
Making decisions in a panic
Will make all the difference 
Our actions speak for them selves we don't need reference 
One day at a time
Without rhythm or rhyme. 
We chaulk up another day 
And we accomplish it our own way


Details | Prose Poetry | |

About Face

I lurk in the shadow of band with words worthy of the pianist's hands. My nature speaks, not rings in tones. Sadly my lady's words rain dour doubts building wall's of stone; let the music of voice reign! pleasure rain! Chip the stone pebble by pebble and remember your name, it has never changed though life's outcome shall by not embracing the day. Love me as I love you and we will be love true. Remember your mother's music, for it is the womb's tune that guides you through and through. Do those young eyes forget their right to stare without regret at revelation of a soul bared? My world harnesses lust, truth, love, desire, these attributes I long to share. Befuddled? Yes, I can be. It's nature not the choice of me. Even thoughts forgot wander wondering at how it can be, pride over perjury? Shame takes precedence  sadly through time, preceding all I believed to be mine. Defeat? No... I don't think, though, I cannot deny slight retreat. Where are the lies built on emotion? Those protective cries that hold dominion over forward motion? As always, truth stands in solitude as the only word as brave as love. When truth possesses love and selflessness! Can it actually be as it appears after all the year's of the damned favoring me? In closing it seems I'm fending the fears that taught my years the wizardry of all that I have seen.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

OVERCOMING FLAWS

OVERCOMING FLAWS I heard laughter in a distance and wondered why this annoyed me. Then I realized that what they laughed about was what did not define humor. Therefore, who laughed twisted their senses. This morning, as each, I awoke with a mood swing. Things were going as they should from what had previously occurred. Let me explain. I go through this twilight form. I am zone via income. You may go ridiculous but this is done via the government. Quite an annoyance... What annoy are mediums that are formed from corruption. In a storyteller form, I developed the imagination. To implement, I tell a tall tale through the lens of non-fiction. However, true accounts are hidden within the excitement. The tale goes, once upon a time, in the world of expression, lived a woman who was quite annoyed. If you spoke to her, she became annoyed. When you smile at her, you found that she was annoyed. This would annoy you; therefore, I begin to not speak to Maxine or smile at Maxine. Maxine had Graves’ disease, which caused bulging eyes. She was a refined woman but wanted you to see her otherwise. What annoys is that she made it seem as if you caused this negativity in her life. Aggravation makes an annoying situation. When your life is not as you want, whom do you blame? What annoys me the most when you blame me and I do not have any means to cause you any pessimism. Provocation of such states you have not done what you should. You are liable to you own self-identity, self-worth, and self-esteem. Do not accuse me. Inasmuch, this is what annoys me!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

L O N E B I R D

Limb of my domain

To sing of crying pain

Clouds fill the sky

My heart does fly

Wisps of cool wind

The ground full of sin

Let me leave my limb

Floating on air prim.

3/23/2014  JOE POEWHIT

JESUS SAVES


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dark Night

Dark night of my soul
Where fear and pain reside,
As rulers on their throne,
What courage cannot muster
To fight this battle within
And overcome its hold.
I seek to find resolve
To enter and seek a way to find
A way to remove its hold
In the dark night of my soul
And morning joy I seek
When it’s time does peak.
Dark nigh its lessons bring
If I seek to find them, 
While morning waits to come.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The art of blessing


As a pediatric nurse
One may least expect 
To lead by 
Very young children
Sensing
The art of blessing.

These are not angels,
Invisible messengers
Or winged beings, but
Dying children 
Heralding
The art of blessing.

Soon after birth, Leslie 
Began dying of hemophilia,
The large general hospital
Become his second home, 
Transcending darkness around
The social taboo: death.

On the day of the inevitable 
He was four, acting forty:
Doesn't act like a little girl
Told his weeping mother
I am made of Light
Is it possible for the Light to die?

Before departing, prophesied 
Her mother will be blessed with 
Two other sons:
Only earthly angels 
Raising sick children
May share in the art of blessing


The prophesy materialized,
Both suffered the same ailment
Proclaiming:
Being the children of Light
Heralding
The art of blessing.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A light in the dark

You are a light in the dark

the shadows follow but Your

love stands inside to keep me holding

Your hand so wide.



You are a light in the dark

it's scary out here in the

deep wide world that's not my home,

but Your love holds onto my heart

deep inside we never depart.


Your a light in the dark

when I feel so alone

You take hold of the inner parts

deep in my soul.


Oh Lord, how I long to be home,

YOUR my true light in the dark.



Written By:©Betty Bolden


Details | Prose Poetry | |

EYES SHUT TIGHT

EYES SHUT TIGHT

Afraid to look, eyes shut tight
l am a child in the
DARK seeing shadows
in a room all alone.
I pray for a brother
or a sister,to laugh
in the dark with me.
We could play
until day break, and
then fall asleep.
Shadows bouncing off walls
lights from the passing cars causing  
reflections to dance in my mirror.
The music is not sweet,
loudly it booms
scares me I cannot sleep.
No one to tell me stories
no one to chase away
the boogie man.
I hit the floor on my knees..
I pray to the lord."
"God please" I need a friend to be
here in the dark with me"
I am not picky a sister or
a brother will do,
I will be brave.
I shall shield them
from these shadows;
I will hold them and comfort them,
I will open my eyes for them..
and no longer be afraid.
I do not want to be,an
"Only Child.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

QUANDARY

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 | |

CALIBER

CALIBER

The mental quality of spirits is unveiled.
Anne saw them in imagery.
They were in small shapes as a displayed mural.
A bust of lives demised with estate being conveyed as an inhabitant or the occupier.
Their capacity was that of full animation and stream.
Anne watched the mystical images that were once all men.
Their colors came as black, white, and olive.

Attuned to their surroundings, they did not alter their position on the wall.
They desire was to rectify a wrong.
Calibers are competent to their form in which Anne was not afraid of being forewarned.

Anne began to name them the ones that she saw.
The black one was called Magic because he was the leader of them all.
There were two level of white men seated by rows.
Anne named them Parchment because of their lab coats.
The olive one was called Mixed-Blood.

Stature they formed with ability to construct.
The degree of their mental capacity paraded the capability of the physical you being possessed.
Might they enter via an oval of the body?
They haunted this house to influence cognizance.
Anne’s knowledge is such that she may not be aware of their existence from where they exist.
Ignorance is the perception Anne lived in.

Anne and her family moved from this house in her seventh year.
She saw their presence first when she was four.
Once Anne and her family left, she did not see them anymore.

Anne moved on Briesch when she was an infant.
She never spoke of what she saw until she relocated.
Anne’s mother stated that a veil was over her eyes, a pall of despair trying to develop premonition.

Caliber is a degree of mental capacity or moral quality.
Anne cultivated this identity.
_________________________________________|
Penned February 17, 2014!
For Anne Currin Contest Any Poem/Any Subject! 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Is There Still Hope

I beseech thee to
answer
Is there still
hope???

Forgetting their
vows of chaste they
become lecherous
Fighting for power,
they become
ambitous.
Their actions make
people shock
For they forget why
they put on the
cassock.
Respect for God, our
clergies no longer
have
But so greedy with
the things they
have.
They make not,
benedictions to
empty pockets
But go for the rich
to enrich
themselves.
Churches are now
business centers for
money
Clergies bless only
those who make the
offertory box full.

SO BROTHER, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??

They stand as if
pious to duty
But pious are they,
to money.
They check not the
motor
But go for “500frs”
which is their
motto.
They can be seen
standing with zeal
Hands stretch, they
stand still
First, they stamp
After collecting
bribe, they champ

SO SISTER, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??

The rich live
mysteriously
And enjoy themselves
like angels
While the poor live
in mysery
And die because of
negligence.

TO YOU, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??

Embezzlement in
Cameroon is a virtue
It is practised in
all offices
Thieves go in broad
daylight unscathed
While the innocent
ones are caught and
they cant fight.

My country is said
to be democratic
But elections have
never been smooth
For  a score and
ten, the president
has stayed in power
Using deceit and the
gun to rule.
IS THIS HOW IT
SHOULD BE??

Virgins have now
liquidated
themselves
They prefer being
ravishe.
Whores, they become
in quest for money;
My black girls don’t
like their colour
They strive to be
whites
Thus, monsters they
become in a bid to
peel their skin
Very few believe in
“black is beauty.”

Brothers copulate
sisters
While fathers
copulate daughters.

IS THERE STILL HOPE?

" 1st price, poetry
contest, 
 poemsclub.com,
April 2014"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wishing you could love me too

You mean so much to me, more then you'll ever know. 
More then ill ever be able to describe.
But I'll try.
Voice of a angel, touch ever so soft you would think its a feather.
Eyes so beautiful seeing them on a sunset day, medusa stare ever so hypnotizing locking eyes can't look away.
Baby in the tummy, heart just started beating giving me a rush that I really needed.
Love so old I feel defeated.
Even though I do everything for you, I'm looking out for me just keeping a close over view upon you.
How can I fix your life if mine isn't alright, but i don't know where id ever be with out you by my side.
And I thought I'd never know but as of now I'm pushing through. 
Now that your gone, I miss you every night.
But I gotta be strong.
Cause if not you'll be gone and ill be with a baby missing its mom.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Martyrs

'' I love my country! I love my India! "
We hear slogans loud and clear,
On 15th August, on 26th January,
When the days of celebrations are near.

Where do these promises die?
Are these patriotic feelings a lie?
Or just to make an impression,
And snap pictures as tri-colors fly.

Apart from these days,do we see the need?
To apply these emotions, do we pay the heed? 
Or just a way to celebrate something,
Like every other event and gathering.

Remember that ugly era,
Where days were like nights,
Where no one was allowed to dream,
And were suppressed when there were fights.

Remember the atrocities against which,
Our previous generations suffered,
The whips from the '' Outsiders'' 
When rejected '' Their '' rules offered, 

From heinous crimes against goodwill,
" Jallian wala bagh"  to "Simon go back!",
After so much struggle and so much pain,
To fight for freedom which we lacked!

Sacrifices which cannot be measured,
Patriotism where sky is the limit,
Refusing the injustice and opposing the system,
To free the country from the"foreign" hit. 

Gandhi, Nehru, Patel or Bose,
Difference in name, feelings the same, 
Salute everyone and the sky glows,
With only respect and not due to fame. 

Why do we forget our history of freedom?
How can we not respect and honor its prestige?
And witness our nation in such a dirt? 
Of politics, corruption, crime in fatigue?
Why not raise your voice? 
Against these social evil deeds?
And give our patriotism meaning,
To the nation on which we feed. 

Its October 2nd some days from now,
And no one would admire Gandhi's work,
A formality completed, a speech given,
While actual celebrations are somewhere in cirque,

Friday it is, the new film day,
And We ll watch movies in this holiday,
Give a thought to what you do,
Give a sense to what you say,
Slogans and tricolor turbans wont help,
If country's rising generation is watching movies in national holiday,
Be responsible and step up for the nation,
And make it a country, you can be proud of,
Where women are respected not only on women's day,
But with true sense of love in each and every way.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Garden Club Ruse part 1 of 2

For years no one ever had a clue...
Of the secret she hid..no one knew..
The child inside her never shed a tear...
Although she lived everyday with fear...
She grew up never knowing what love was...
Till that fateful day, when he met him on the bus..
He was tall and handsome and had a great smile...
Knew all the words making her feel worthwhile...
They fell in love and soon were married...
And that’s when things changed...the love got buried..
The days were long and the nights were lonely...
They seldom spoke, and if only...
She hadn’t seen that ad...this never would have happened..
Join the Garden Club today and...
 wipe all your cares away 
There’s more to this story..I must conceive...
So please follow this sequel and I believe....
You will stop and think of the words I wrote...
And perhaps even take your own personal note....
	


Details | Prose Poetry | |

BREAK THE SLAVE MIND CHANGE

its time to get a new task
before you run out of gas
leave hate behind
this is a new time
for us to gain stop this pain
FOR HEAVEN SAKE
break the slave
MIND CHANGE


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The war that can be won

The mind commands the body immediately obeys, the mind order itself and it meets arrogance and lets that mean genie out of the bottle.

In your addictions the line between life and death is very thin a war that has only one win if you keep using and letting that evil genie in; death is slow and sure. These are the guideline that you have set; stop and think, do you like being satan pet? keep this thought on your mind, the setting of guidelines belong to God not man!

Logic is blinded and you forget about the past, the future is an unknown; why just to get high? Every endeavor is a challenge is it not, just for a high that just don't last.

Fear not all is not lost! Addiction is a war that can be won, that is if you keep certain things in your mind, fighting it with all your heart, and all of your mind. Lean not on your own understanding, but finding faith in God of your own understanding;. Place your trust in Him; He not demanding.

Addiction and recovery encompass neatly identical tactics, they are both learned behavior and they are both controlling factors. Neither one accept anything less than total victory. the first one will bring about your destruction and second one brings about a chance to live a life free from bondage.

Open your eyes don't let illogical thinking be your guide, living life with satan by your side, just for the brief moment of that high. This life type of living is shaded and it is unkind; demons controlling your mind.
 Word to the wise, wisdom and strength comes from the One that is Setting most high; let the Lord edify. Life in the Word will become excitedly gratifying ; in this your will find strength without any boundaries and all that you need is faith and belief that Jesus can set you free; Pick up His words and read John 3:16.  
Nothing beat a failure but a try; so I pray for you and so please stop getting high.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DEATH BY BIRTH

                            "It seems hollow and cold, in here my dear."
                               Said the stange small voice from inside.
                 What happened to warmth and the beating from within?
                          As the pound of a beating heart faded on.

                           "It's all part of life",of this,I've been assured.
                    Sometimes things change,but people, almost never do.
                     As blood rushed to my head and my lungs filled full.
                        More than my last breath,yet less than my next.

                Sacrifice is such a strange word.Though it all represents pain.
               One will hurt for another to thrive,One to win,the other survive.
            But no rest for the wicked.No time for the meek.The runt,must fend.
                       Bore but last, so willing to follow and slow to feed.

                As the first to come is the first to lead,the first to leave.
                               Only the runt knows how to hide, 
                                it's tiny legs barely able to shift.
                             "Hide little one" and the rain begins.   
                                 RJM  2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

train ride

Riding on the train 
Trying to make it to my destination 
Getting on board with different people 
Feel like a replacement, 
Each stop gives you a sense of direction 
If you miss yours,its a hint of rejection 
Its a blessing 
You get there on time 
You may not have a seat 
But you.dont look behind 
For your not blind 
Or you clearly dont want to see 
That you could be next to someone who are going through misery 
They feel as if life couldnt  get  any more tears to be set free 
Is it me, the only one who notices, 
Have we honestly lost all our focuses 
All we have left is hope and its 
Seem like its slowly fading 
Somedays awaiting 
People on the train asking for help 
We never reach.out a hand because we stuck on self 
Id rather.have wealth in my heart than in my mind 
Id rather make make someone smile anytime 
Talking talking in the spirit 
Helping being a change i can feel it 
Crowds and crowds of people getting off and getting on 
Carrying loads of heavy luggage 
God youve made,them strong 
Youve given them strength 
Their lifes not so drinched 
The strong are able to survive 
they start appreciating you and praising u 
For granting them a,gift of staying,alive 
People so lost in their,eyes 
Tired of trying to make away 
The,passengers go up and down 
The bounds so freely 
To clear their minds 
Know that its fine 
Remember those asking for help 
Whether its a prayer or some change 
What would jesus have done 
In his fathers name 
He wouldnt complain 
He would help 
Turn frowns upside down 
Help you climb those steps 
Help you up the elevator 
Hes here for us now or even later He will never leave our side 
And ive had a great experience of the,train ride 
By: Concetta Hardnett 
     
 
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.


Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,


Details | Prose Poetry | |

KIDS AND FUN GAMES

they love the ropes
jump like a doke
they love the swing
its there thing
love park to play
some do it everyday
to them its happy fame
KIDS AND 
FUN GAMES


Details | Prose Poetry | |

On Verge

Have you ever jumped in and out of your skin?
Found yourself on top of a hill with no shade to stand under, the skin around your lips and eyes starts to crack and peel.  Don’t you wish for one moment you could simply have a hand to cover the glare and give you a screen, to sooth them for just one instant and feel a breath of relief.

Have you ever bled without pain?
You are soiled red but the gates of pain are simply numb. You simply watch the drops stain. If only a hand could compress the hurt and brake the flow of this rouge river game.

Have you ever spat words of scorn? Only to discover it was a feeble attempt that bounced the daggers back at your wall of ice. They simply echo back, the acid splatters in your face. You regret what you said; you wish you were dead.

Have you ever defied your own line of fire? You’ve broken down your walls of guard and allowed trespassers to rape your morals. If only a hand could pull you back and tug you in, the rules you made would still be in.


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!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

She was not delicate

She was not delicate,
she was an athlete,
poised, confident,
yet withdrawn.
She had competed,
pushed herself to the
edge of her limits,
overcame the long,
dull, training sessions,
and finished her race.
Now she stood with her
team mates, her adversaries,
watching the sports therapist
knead their muscles, ease
their tension, reward their
success for they had all
succeeded.  She pulled her
hat down tightly over
her head, and watched,
edging slowly closer.
Finally, she committed
herself to the inevitable
and took her place.  It was
a simple occipital release
technique, and it had dislodged
the hat from every head.
She pulled her hat tighter,
and slowly relaxed.
The muscles were eased,
the tension allowed to
drain.  Then – it happened!
The hat slipped, falling 
to the ground.  She made no 
attempt to retrieve it,
made no attempt to cover
the emblem of her cancer.
When her post event massage was
over, the therapist picked up
her hat and handed it to her.
She did not put it back on.
She was beautiful, in the delicate
innocence of childhood.
She was an athlete.

John G. Lawless//for Make Me Cry contest//
7/2/2014          //Dan Kearley – sponsor//


Details | Prose Poetry | |

STREET BUBBIES

 we hang out
no doudt
we're on the same rout
at times
we drink wine
and go have a good time
some them sutties
MY
STREET BUBBIES


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Impact

The hardest thing in life

Is seperatung love from spite ;

Separating the truth, 

Even when you think it sounds right.


If you don't know your enemy,

there's no way you can fight-

And Sometimes the greatest hints are slight ;

As I recall them- 

Laying down at night .


There Is no remorce in self advocacy, 

And no shame in doubting their accuracy;

The intent of others is incalculable,

And you will feel their wrath;

Life is our hourglass- 

So who cares if your an outcast? 


Make the contrast-

Because their *****is all stagecraft; 

Shoot a counterblast,

Stay steadfast- 

And make damn sure it has an impact. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Phenomenal Angel- Maya Angelou Tribute

You are too dark, 
too unimportant,
your stomach is bulging,
they said..
Thank God for this angel,
she didn't let negativity settle in my head,
Although I am a man,
I never thought the day would come when I would see,
myself not as a failure but phenomenally,
Ms. Angelou was a single mother,
the struggle was difficult I know it,
but she still found time to become America's favorite poet, 
her words were like animals running free on a meadow,
never ending like rejection by the world while living in a ghetto,
who ever thought a black woman from Missouri could recite a poem at the inauguration,
Ms. Angelou,
you are the face of our cultures perpetuation,
you gave faith and hope to many,
including me,
Thank you angel for teaching us to live,
PHENOMENALLY..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My End

There was a day where i met my end
A cold truth i can't pretend.
Since then my world is dark, not bright
And everyday is one long night.
I can't see the day when I'll be right.
Until I make up for that day.

So early one day I left from this
To where I could rebuild me.
To the place where to go I swore I'd never
To the mountain cave where he rests so evil so clever
Holding my soul in the room that he sever.
Where I met my end.

I was going to take my life back from his hands
And change myself, expecting no demands
For soon I would be leaving this horrible land
From that place where I met my end.

**an Imitation poem of where the sidewalk ends**


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TIMEING

its light its the night
its hot its part of a box
it all how it fall
when to do too
its part of designing
its call
TIMEING


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Phobia For Adrenaline

We're together in this, the fault is ours withhold the explanation we'll share the blame. "Not in this life! my take is already on the billboard" Now is the time to stick together holding each other, sharing one umbrella until this trying moment is over. "No way! I'm definitely leaving the squad". On the first sight of danger and an unpleasant situation of horror. 'Forgive me! but I'm stepping backwards" Persistence pays refined is the product coming through thick and thin be a risk taker and have guts. "Please, I don't need the award". Now is the time let's seize the moment a fool is the person who kicks opportunities away. "You go ahead, I'll do that afterwards" It's all about sacrifices subject yourself to undue limitations for the benefit of your next generation. "hell No! I'm definitely going overboard" The battle may seem bigger but you're more than capable examine the challenge, but focus on your strength. "Thank you! But I'm dropping my sword" Be unique, be different don't follow the crowd be a trail blazer and a pace setter. "So that I stand odd?" On the road to glory and a monster appears despite the capability to overcome he deviates from going goalwards. His achievements make neighbours bored his fury towards strain makes him seem awkward and his strong will becoming flatter than an Apple Keyboard What a being! His excellency, Mr. Coward.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pretentious

Your so pretentious,
The repetition is endless-
And the conversation relentless;
Though my restraint is tremendous.

Trying to keep cool and collected-
But even I, will be affected.

I'm sick and tired of being falsely 
corrected;
I'm uninterested, in the fact that you feel 
offended,
Unprecedented-
Consider this the new me; reinvented.

-Carly Larkin


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Dress

When I had a lovely dress but not like all 
the rest,
Beauty inside is not lovedon the outside.
Hurt is like a electrical shock in the heart.
Running lonely from the start,
Is  like moving waters to higher rocks,


One rock heart but not living, while eyes 
red.
Like fire, and feet running away from me.
God's love find's me in the corner of 
darkness,
Bearly feeling. The light covers me while 
darkness surrounds me.


All my dreams come up close to scream, 
you are lovely but not like me!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Faded Letter

On a dirty grey Monday morning a drizzle in the wind, a black car stopped,
From the car stepped an officer who gazed around looking for door numbers,
His head turned it fixed on a woman's house he slowly walked up to the door,
He gave three very hard knocks stood waiting, fidgeting for it to be opened.

A lady opened the door and he introduced himself he then handed her a letter,
Before she opened it he suggested going inside as it was so very cold and wet,
Standing in the warm kitchen her hands shook and she ripped at the folded note,
As she read the letter tears rolled down her thin cheeks she held onto the sink.

Her son had been killed at Flanders, the officer lied told her how brave he was,
The officer sadly looked at the floor he had done this a thousand times before,
He said no more and quietly left the house, the grieving mother sat on a chair,
She stared at the crucifix on the wall bitterly and cried as she had never before.

She could feel his ghost as a child not so many years ago so proud, when he joined,
The letter said the bugles played and drums rolled at his funeral his friends wept,
They raised the flag high the sun shone off the polished boots of the many mourners,
Had she lost two sons she would have had two letters both would have been identical,

The letter browned in a frame over the mantle piece and with time her heart healed,
Torn fields of battle became a field full of red poppies and little white crosses,
Grass grew slowly over the land, nature trying to erase history the madness forever,
There is light and dark as the days roll by, in reality it is always black as pitch.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Gentleman

On a cold misty morning an old man had some things to do but they could wait,
Taking his walking stick and dressing for a damp cold morning he began his day,
He stopped at his old florist every day and bought a flower he always sniffed it,
He was a a kind and loving man he walks on sticks his hair as grey as the day.

The shop next door a sweetshop and as always he ordered a packet of barley sugar,
Popping one in his mouth it was an orange spaceship and it took him back in time,
A time when all was good no worries or responsibilities a time never to be returned,
This gentleman had to hurry a little as he was running late the bus waited for him.

As he made this journey everyday we thought it might be interesting so we waited,
He got off the bus at its terminal stop the driver and conductor always shook hands,
As the old man wandered down the road there was the sharp tap from his old stick,
Then the tapping noise disappeared as he walked across some of the well cut grass.

The gentleman made his way to the town cemetery carefully walking round the graves,
He knelt down with the aid of his stick then planted his single rose on the grave,
There were hundred's of perished flowers all over his plot he stood up to go home.
We could hear the tapping of his stick again as he now walked on the concrete path.

The man in charge was sweeping leaves so we walked over to him and asked the story,
He was fighting in the war and spent thee years in these rat infested fighting fields,
He was in the Bangalor Torpedoes behind enemy lines right up to the end of fighting,
When he finally mad it back to England he was told his family died in the Blitz

Since all those years ago he has put a rose down on the plots and never missed a day,
His loved and dear family to him are always listening to his news and odds and ends,
There is something else that not many people are aware it's written on his own grave,
This sad very brave man held the Victoria Cross,when I pass the cemetery I lift my hat.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A songs true power

When we speak, it shall be only in songs, bursting in life and love it belongs, to the speaker of 
songs, the heart that is gone, the warmth that spreads beneath our bed sheets,
Speak in song, for stories are to played out, worn down, trampled, there is no rhythm to 
stories,
The push and pull, the push and pull, the aching throb, the ocean of emotion, stories.. They 
don't own this, for songs speak out in the darkness when there is no light, boldly treading into 
narrow spaces like the souls of might, beating on against the rain, making an appearance,
Where stories wait for an end, an unidentified conclusion that will satisfy those left in the 
dust, songs tread into darkness, creating their own endings, and beginnings, but not in 
stories, in songs,
The beginnings of a new and unexplored song, waiting to be sung.

- Trey Capello


Details | Prose Poetry | |

MELODIES OF SHAME

 Blind senses of my soul
keep on protruding in my mind
Pop,pop, popping
inside my head
hot tears flow down my cheeks
as silent words shout unsung
songs
silent hymns dominate my erect
eardrums

Minds are blinded,
notches of heavy hearts misled
as the intellect produce Havoc,
Havoc of no purpose at all
And the young buds slip down
the slippery road
the road to destruction
taking with them our discordant
dreams
as sachetted whisky rule their
blood streams

current affairs,poison to their
ears
daylight snatching,songs that
entertain their null heads
as their mental intellect stays
chaste
when the royals on the hill
shambles their produce
while fake smiles swallow their
sweat
and a cough they produce not
though they are sick and ill

minds they have condensed
emotions they have frozen
and click,click, a lock
locking their naked hearts in
cages
while letting their intellect rot
and their futures stuck
a deliberate conception of no
words

is it choice, fear or mere humility?
That they sniff a fathers dangling
pseudopod
snatching the innocence of
sisters pride?
And zip their loud toilets?
That they see a brother in the
streets
and fail to drop a coin, or even a
shirt?
When will you take the wheel
youths of Malawi?
To steer the ship to other tides?
To take a sober leap of leadership
that will transform the poor land?
Melodies i sing- melodies of
shame


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TWO OF A KIND

you and eye
see eye to eye
here's why
we don't try
its do or die
and thats know lie
thats our sign
TWO OF A KIND


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invisible Man 11

An innocent angel one made of pure happiness brightened, cleaned each golden day,
On the grass outside our class you making daisy chains, me football, during play,
Friends moving away leaving school gone forever young faces we will never forget,
These young friends were precious gifts we were lucky and we should never regret.
Treading these pathways of the past saddens me then brings a big smile to my face,
When the grass was much greener the flowers smelt stronger and life a slower pace,
You, so tiny such good fun so kind and beautiful I looked forward to school days,
Learning skills for life that were not taught in the classroom but in other ways,
I had known you most of your very short life and for that I am a very lucky man,
I wanted to carry on knowing you my beautiful friend now only in my heart I can,
I see you on the playground laughing and always smiling happy and full of health,
Beautiful days my gold, my priceless diamonds, but you were my precious wealth,
Those beautiful days are lost and gone forever you left me alone when you died,
There is not much I can do I'm lost, scared now you have gone and left my side.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invisible Man 31

There is no force that can take me from this darkened, wretched place,
Maybe once many years ago, someone special, a girl with a heart of gold,
Only she would have dared touch my shoulders when I was scared to go home,
With courage a brave friend who thought it not courage, her heart so kind.

A friend shone in my mind and glowed of hope in my brutal childhood days,
She and said one day we will be together always when my hope was hopeless,
Taller and much stronger then I could ever be she was always there waiting,
Standing next to her she was so small but strong I had to look up to her.

Her sweet words chased fear away her mind more beautiful than beauty's self,
In dark clouds of my wretched days she stood by my side and gave me spirit,
Later when Invisible was down, he knew who's malice and hate created his hell,
One stood out and gave me strength a little angel stayed with me night and day.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

SUBWAY NEWYEARS EVE SEX

subway was pack
as I held the rack
I could a touch
it was tomuch
got me hot
we had  a cot
no parking lot
it was newyear eve  day
to have my boby set
it was
SUBWAY NEWYEARS EVE SEX


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Writing for a Purpose

With purpose she writes
To inform and enlighten.

Some find her pen frightening.
A sigh, nod and grin
No acceptance or comments.

Injustice done to her and others.
She takes personally.

Knew her when she was younger.
She never spoke, unlike now.

She addresses difficult issues,
Others pretend don’t exist.
Dance around topics.

Recognized to get ahead
One cannot be so straight forward.

She insists for change,
She must, until ….
The world discovers her truth.

She momentarily lies buried in frustration.
A different generation will comprehend.
What this one could not grasp.