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Prose Poetry Depression Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Depression

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lucila

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 | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A SLave's Cry

Stranded in this place
I cannot recognize
Abandoned and lonely
No one hears my cries
AS i walk through this wasteland
Of wilderness and desolation
I am consumed with anguish
I walk this road with hesitation
On every turn that i come upon
The is more pain than at the last turn
Agony and torment spews from my pores
With every step i take more pain i earn
Until i am enveloped with grief
Buried alive on my feet
Dirt in my eyes,nose,mouth,and lungs
I throw up my flag of defeat
Each painful blow leaves behind a deep gash
That is constantly reopened never able to heal
Infection has now set into my heart
Slashes and scars on my body reveals the detail
Of the despair embedded deep in my soul
That tells a tale of a soul so lost
A soul wandering through this wilderness
A tale of what being born black cost

Copyright © April Mitchell | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My blessing, your curse

Where else do you want to mock me? That my Sister is a Whore? And she owns miserable men under her Lure? Or is it that I have intense body Odour? Maybe you will taunt the clothes I once wore which you already tore. So, what else is it? That I snore? Or that a drunkard is my Family's Core? Is there anything more? Or something laughable you really saw? Perhaps, you just realize I'm poor? Please anymore flaw? If you're bitter, it isn't my fault don't use me as the Salt on your wounds. I know, I stimulate the stretching of your Catapult and my smile makes you want to join a Cult Even with the Insult, never forget that I'm mere Human who can halt; despite not giving a damn just to make you understand that I'm simply a friend.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pink Vulnerability


I continue to feel
the searing pain. 
ever constant.
so keen.
Not the kind
    that heals fast,
      open wound that closes.
But, the kind that stays vulnerably
       with the passing years.
Three decades 
        and still counting.

Woe to this pain!
With laden anguish, 
The heart's bemoaning.
Thinking it was born
     without a name.
Only to find then
     at a much later time;
giving in.
Oblivious now.
Unashamed
    that my bosom groans,
        complains.


Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013

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 | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

shattered

I can't look...

I watch in disgust
As the scale goes up,
And my stomach drops.

The scale is both my best friend 
And my darkest enemy.
It can either save me,
Or be my utter demise.
But either way,
It doesn't lie.
It always speaks the truth,
No matter the consequences,
No matter the circumstances.

Too much
Too fat
Too imperfect

That's what the voices whisper,
Quietly wreaking havoc in my mind.
Silently breaking me down,
From the inside out.

The mirror breaks
As my fist collides.
Hundreds of crystal pieces,
Stained red with crimson liquid.
The image of myself long gone.

Too much
Too fat
Too imperfect

They echo in my head,
Relentlessly breaking my dreams,
Until they're just like the mirror;
S H A T T E R E D

Too much
Too fat
Too imperfect

The ringing in my ears
A mere whisper,
Compared to the sound
Of my breaking heart.

Copyright © Aisha Abdelfatah | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Darkness Falls

Darkness

Darkness falls over me all around..
It helps drown out the loud sound..
Of pain and heartache because I feel okay in the darkness..
And trying to pull me in to light just makes me feel less..
Because in darkness you don't have to talk, go any place or even look nice...
You just curl up and do your thing without needing advise..
I will take darkness over light anytime.
Just because you are in the darkness it is not a crime..
You can still meet me here if you feel the need..
And there is no dress code, subjects not welcome or language to watch indeed..
Darkness falls in my eyes and heart every single night..
Trying to stay out of the darkness has just become too much of a losing fight..
The battle is tiring so instead of continuing the battle every day and night and just..
Will let the darkness fall into me and let it take what it must..
                                            
Buffy Sammons 8/3/15

Copyright © Buffy Sammons | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dis-order

I sit here twitching, shaking, in a panic
I don’t want to do this again, I hate feeling frantic
Don’t let this happen, don’t let me slip away
Into the darkest depths of my mind, nothing to say

At first these experiences seem inviting
But here there’s no such thing as deciding
The light is so bright and luminous at first
Until its’ quickly dimmed and the pain it causes hurts

The darkness creeps in like a predator
With the dim light as it’s’ competitor
Who’s going to win this time, this fight?
Who’s going to give the hardest bite?

Stuck between pure happiness and sadness
There is no explanation to this uncomfortable madness
Waiting, waiting; for this too shall pass
While the emotions in my head encompass

My heart surrounding the insufficiencies of my head
The feelings so heavy as if my heart is fashioned out of lead
Like I’ve got shackles on my hands and around my feet
In this state of mind everything seems obsolete 

Copyright © Aubrey Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

This I know

Why?
The question so easy
So difficult to answer
I know why

Why?
It leaves me broken all over again
I know the answer, I know, no, no, no . . .
I don’t want this

Why?
This pain that’s not all mine . . . hardly mine
It rips and tears and cuts
My heart to pieces 
It bleeds and drains my soul away
I wish I never had one

I know why
Why did I have to teach myself the answer?

I know why
I wish I was blind, deaf, numb and uncaring
I wish you never made me

Why?
Why did you put me here?!
What did we do to you?
I wish I knew what to say!

Why?
Every time life turns good and gets better
You smash it all to bits and pieces
You rip and tear and shred me apart
Again and again and again!!

I know why
God help me I know why
It leaves me beaten, battered, discarded and defeated
Alone . . .
Always alone in the end
I don’t want to know why anymore
Take it away
You can do it if you try

 
Why?
I cannot stop myself from know why
And these words sound hollow empty like me
Why not me and not other
It was I who stole and ripped asunder
A world, a life, ahhhhh I curse you!!!!!
Not them, not him, not her . . 
Me
Just me

Why?
Can’t you . . .
Just go away and leave us be
Why can’t I cry for anyone or anything

Why?
Would someone please tell me
Please
What good is a heart and soul anyway?
You break and take them both away all the time
You bastard!!

Why?
Ask me why I don’t believe in you!
Ask me again why I believe I live in hell!

Why . . ?
Just tell me why . . .

Copyright © Neal Freeland | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |

And Then I Pray

You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad

Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Harvest Of The Seed


  
  Each field is barren white with snow, 
around me blind, they know.
I see.
Darkness brings the haze of dawn, 
how many must it show.

While many miles of web it's barb, 
my flesh, 
it tastes and grows.

Bringing home the wheat, 
ground white, 
and powdered souls, 
spread open far and wide.

Touching only youth, 
not men, 
Each gem from stone, 
pours out and lost our seed it keeps.
No more.


j.McC. 

Is It Poetry 
 
 

Copyright © Poetry Is It | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Controlling Men: Physically, Mentally, and Verbally Abusive Men

All men (the loser boyfriends/husbands) think that it's their right to be physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward their female companions (girlfriends/wives), well they're wrong. Most guys are always beating their girlfriends/wives up every single day just because they didn't make their men dinner, do chores around the house, or whatever. It seems that these womanizing losers are way better than their women. Actually, they're not; they're idiots. Controlling these women and being physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward them don't make these Neanderthals men; they're like childish cowards. All guys think that they're the only breadwinners in their families and the women aren't. But guess what--they're not; some of them don't have jobs. And does anyone knows what gets on my nerves? Men always cheating on their girlfriends/wives with other women, getting them pregnant, and not taking care of the children they already have. And those controlling, abusive men, they're always telling their female spouses/lovers what to do, what to eat, where to look, and who to talk to. I mean, who are these womanizing losers to judge other men and to boss these women around? I mean, who does that? Everybody doesn't even know why they'd bother spending the rest of their lives with those abusive idiots. This whole saying by these controlling abusive men have been getting on everybody's nerves and my nerves, as well: "You're-not-to-speak-unless-spoken-to," this "You're-not-to-talk-to-your-family" ordeal, this whole "You're-not-to-have-guy-friends," and this whole "You need me! You're nothing without me! You have no money! You have no friends! Everything's in my name: the house, the cars, clothes, everything I own! You're useless! You're worthless! I own you for life! And you will respect me!" Where I come from, the rest of us nicer guys, we treat our women with the respect they rightfully deserve. The last time I checked, the mothers have raised their sons to treat women and other people with respect, but they now know where they've gone wrong with those womanizing clowns. My suggestion for the women is for them to leave their abusive husbands/boyfriends before it's too late because if they don't, they'll end up in the hospital or the morgue. To be honest, these women, they never should've met, let alone dated or married those abusive men to begin with. And if these abusive men think that they can control those women forever, they've got another coming.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ANGELS AND DEMONS IN HER HEAD

ANGELS AND DEMONS IN HER HEAD "Abort it!! and from this day and on, no more us. NO. MORE. US.!" (These the earthshaking words she heard from him.) This was the man that made her feel she's pretty. She's nice. She's worth every care and touch, but this time, he denied her. He want her out from his life. Blues skies he promised flew fast like the wind, so are the smiles, moon and stars he vowed to share. The light and shades, they are painting nine months ago turned fast in a minute in an envelope-tinge of black. Liquid diamonds- a curtain flow from her eyes as that one test. Two red lines now change her life. Sponge soft are her knees. Gypsy are her shaking heels. Chilly sweats cascade to chaperon her tears. Alone. Scared. Frightened. Torn. Horror is the athlete running through her reverie for she knows... She knows the world she's in may stop and stare at her. No lax brows no smiling eyes rather arched brows and big eyes ready to claw. Lightning fingers and tidal palms may grace her face. Lashing monstrous words she will hear. All these plugs, churns... regurgitating to her nerves. Angels and demons knocking to her head-- they, she --all in a battle for life. Should she tell her parents about this? to her mama... who didn't even care to stop even for awhile just to ask how she is? Her mom who prefers going out with her friends rather than with her? To her papa, who like more to watch a television? who likes staying out 'til dawn more than paying attention to her talks. Yes,her phone is always new. Her room as big as her school's classroom. Her pocket like a walking bank. Her parents taught her to speak but when she wanted a talk no one there. She walks so well. They even tell her she could be a model. Yet, her parents refuse her for a stroll. Ah! She is hurting-- HURTING... Her hurt is cutting deep reaching further to her already broken soul... Her life-- like the leaning Tower of Pisa even a collapsed castle; a black hole but lo! some voice within tells her: "soon from your belly a new life will begin..." _____________________________________________ Sponsor Debbie Guzzi Contest Name Tam Lin Placed 3rd... O.E. Guillermo 11:49 pm, April 14, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Life BeLoving DualDark Night

Some days and nights I am terrorized by death, cold silo ache-echoing fear, claustrophobic breathless dark barking inevitable factness and finality of my decomposing mortality, and posthumous demise, probably post-humorous as well, should we discover any essential difference. What good is death if it cannot at least absorb timeless entertainment? Hopefully, even some recreational opportunities with their concomitant issues soaring through our DNA-syntaxed CO-OPERATE tissues. On better days and nights I am merely fearful that I am already dying by not choosing to live fully. For my terrorist days and nightmares, a message from Yin Speaks her feminist Truth, I have earned my sadness and depression, my badness concomitants gifts of Fear, more primordial than mere anthrocentric Anger about vanities of power. I have earned my rights of anger about this existential predicament, this issue about our own inevitable mindbody mortality, this opportunity to stretch my love of life cooperative muscles for myself, just as I am, incarnating all our sadness and depression with all our competing terrors and climatic-dissonance repressions of love-centric health PreMillennially suboptimizing as LeftBrain deductive-only Yang temporal-syntax dominant regenerative DNA-monocultural-normative trend Settling, when we could choose more sublime poli-eco-colored Times and Gods and Goddesses of choice as ecoconscious light Right PolyNomial Sacred Space as Time Her DualSelf. Outlined in NotNot = LoseLose EcoSystemic Devolution reverse dialectic-temporal WinWin CounterRevolution, EcoLogic, YinYin PermaMythic Tao’s wu wei, ++/(-,-) prime fractal Yang OVER YinYin, CoOperative-ReGenerating TransParent DualDark SelfOptimizing Continuous Quality Improvement Trends predicting tellus polyvegetasty-rhythms, reiterating river-trees of bilateral-neural function. Well, anyway, more about that whole PostMillennial History of Time of eco-evolution as reverse double-bound revolution co-gravitating equivalent dipolarity, later, or earlier, depending on whether we are already looking into my future bicameral time travels with Yang’s pen and right hand dominant language, or not so much feelin’ that in your (0)-centric sad and suffering heart of perpetual loneliness and loss of hopefilled purpose. But, back to politically competitive oppression and our economic dis-ecological cognitive dissonance about our self and other and Earth repression of cooperative, and yet surprisingly Trinitarian, triple-bottom WinWin Line, healthy economic/ecologic opportunities. When I’m sad and depressed, feeling repressed and or repressed, that’s because I am not crazy in a too-Yang dominant-deductive consciousness now co-arising emergent political-economic global networks of cooperative opportunities co-echoing-conscious health and therapy vocations bicamerally DNA with dipolar RNA syntax confluent tipping our two eyes and ears to hunt optimal mainframe WinWin Health and Safety and Equity CQI Outcomes, new notnot impossibilities of hope, empowered by divesting, starving, decomposing LoseLose Devolution MonoCultural Political-Fat dissonantly, yet transparently, dipolar, OverDrafting Earth’s EcoNormic Balance, defined as love of health outcomes equitable to full DNA/RNA spectrum of polycultured life. It’s hard to hunt this bicameral balance when my well-earned sadness about self and other depression oppressive repression, stress of chronic dissonance sparking global autistic-overpopulation DNA-dissonating ecto/endo symbiotic co-empathic political and economic feedback messages It’s time to turn increasing DNA rabidity around to find more cooperative and grace-filled WinWin healthy gifts and eco-normic opportunities. It’s time to find each other and give full-voiced co-empathic hope. Hearing voices may be less crazy and more polypathically functional than not listening to our own voices of permacultural and ecological healthy-reasons for our seasons of sadness and gladness as LoseLose AND WinWin as losing to win ecosystemic “healthy” balance for Earth, and therefore RNA, and therefore DNA’s further, more cooperative and graceful kinda’ endosymbiotic positive-trending WinWin, Both-And dialectic-dipolar continuously reiterative positive Beloved Conversations, choosing both Internal with External EcoCentric Voices. Speaking of ecocentric, Richard Dawkins speaks in my dominant Left mindbody voice investing systemic, bionic, robotic analogies for our shared exegetical consciousness of evolutionary survival as anthro-logically required, and, if not continuing evolution, then how would a robot trend climatic devolution? And, should that become anything to do with LoseLose hierarchical-monocultural, mutual-competitive, so that each EgoPlayer must choose either Win or Lose and is prohibited by Ego’s bicamerally self-blinding restraint, repression, sadness, suffering LeftBrain dominant environmental nurture, temporarily blind to double-binding regenerative resonant resolutions ubiquitously copresent in fractal and double-octave functions and frequencies of light as energy and sound and feeling and taste and touch… to always prefer choosing Win-to-CoWin, regenerating-revolving EcoRNA/DNA confluently double-bound (0)-soul centric political with economic and rational Left-Right bicameral balancing love as synergetic life. When my mindbody will let me choose more self-with-other, both-and, Win-Win wu wei life, that is choosing empathic love, so it helps to always try to choose it, one CoPresent Conscious Moment within timelessly unfolding grace of Time.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I want you to know

I know a girl more broken than the aftermath of a bull in a china shop. She knows that her pain wont stop, so instead of trying to fix that, she only ever tries to make others happy. She puts everyone above herself and if life was a shelf shed be the ground. The most common sound escaping her lips is sorry. She cries herself to sleep every night, she has cuts on her arms as if too tally up all the hate she receives daily and if she could pay the bills in blood she would be able to afford a living. Lately all she's been doing is forgiving. 

	I want you to know that it's always darkest before the dawn, so if you have to wait another hour for the sun to rise, I will sit beside you with a watch and a red bull the size that two people need to keep them up just long enough to fall asleep together. If the weather is on our side or not, I will stay just to make sure you know you stay up long enough for that sun to rise. It's not a surprise when it does, and if it means you've gone a day without painting in blood, I will do what it takes to keep you from it another day. I suppose what I mean to say is;  

	Put it down. Just pretend its not there; let it disappear into thin air without a hair of a trace, because all it ever does is hurt you. those cuts mark the scars of your pain that will never fade. Cut into your skin, you don't remember the beginning, but you can find the end. Send a message to all the people that made you start, you're a work of art that just has a splatter; it doesn't matter, you can paint over it. Just sit down and look around you. You've built so many walls. You're trapped in a labyrinth made to keep people out but in turn you've locked yourself in. You can't climb the walls, all you hear is the echoed calls of your pain. 

	If you search for a while, maybe you'll find another face trapped in their own maze and you'll both smile; because it's comforting to know that you're not alone. Maybe that person you meet can give you a boost over your wall so you land feet first in grass. You don't need to ask, they're still there; trapped in the maze. Its sad how the price of happiness is almost always someone else's pain.

	PART ONE

Copyright © Will Ayling | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Legacy of Time

Reflections mirrored of memories past through the windows of the soul
The Sons of our Fathers gaze accusingly back, rarely timid more often bold
Darkly shadowed beneath hooded lids, broken loyalties and promises sold
On the wind hear the ancestors warning, the waters of River Styx ice cold
Charge recklessly the horizon, absent vision but not sight
Forgetful of where the sun dies, ever perilous the night
On the rim of the great abyss, rides Death on a horse pale white
Eternity is long, the grave is cold, and tomorrow is no mans right

Copyright © JD Caperton | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

To weather the storm

Storms above me, storms below, Storms of violence, Storms of sadness, Storms of anger Storms of people laughing, mocking my existence Sorrow, and the joy of the few lights of hope and friendship echoes Through the storms The storms surround me night and day No land sight Poseidon’s rage is all I see No mercy found, twix’t night and day But for the brief repast The gift night brings To weather the storms I travel unseen, unheard Past those who give the storm its powers To the places in my dreams Where night and day are side by side And Wolves gather below the moons Midday and night, to sing Their songs of peace Of legends from long ago Of loyalty to their pack And the fight to survive. To weather the storms I look to the wolves As a cub, to the mother The strong live to be the hunters Whilst the weak become the prey The storm takes all Partial to none it hunts One by one, boat by boat, all fall to the storm Human, Animal, Angel, Demon, the storm resides in us all waiting to take hold to drag us to its depths when hope is gone darkness rules until the Light is found hope is gone

Copyright © Wolf Lief | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Losing A Friend

As I am awakened by the dazzling rays of the star we call the sun,
 I am appalled by that peculiar notion,
 because as I peek out my blinds the day is so dull,
 thunder rolling ever so treacherous,
howling like the night time winds, 
the trees are usually green but now all I see is the origin,
pain in my cranium I begin to feel it spin,
 as I try to cry out for help my jugular tightens up,
 I can hardly get any wind,
 as I lay there on the floor struggling to remember last night's events,
 I begin to have flashbacks, then I get a glimpse..one sip, two sip, three sips, or four,
 I see abandoned whiskey bottles and joint papers crumbled on the floor,
 before you begin to judge, yes I know its a sin,
 but this is the only way I know to cope,
 after Losing My Best Friend....

Copyright © Jesse Pickens | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Suicidal Notes

Do you sometimes wonder about your self identity
seen through your lens for suicidal risk as opportunity?

It interests me that this lens
evolves as we age.

In later adolescence,
we often look in the face of transition
from good nutritional outcomes on a small stage
about to enter more competitively sharkish waters
within a significantly larger landscape.

Or so I focused my lens in my younger lack-time of wonder.
Not sure why or how these same transitions did not also apply
to nearly all those nonsuicidal 18-24 year olds,
enjoying a more Positive Psychology.

But now, in later adulthood,
I more often look in the face of a potential suicide
as one with at best mediocre outcomes
on a too-small stage,
often familial, or lack thereof,
about to enter no stage at all,
thinking maybe why postpone this mortal inevitability
of decay.

From younger suicides,
"What would be the point of continuing
this WinLose Game,
when we all feel RealTime drill,
you never clearly win
until you stop losing,
and you never stop losing,
until you stop playing.
Clearly I am about to lose
what I don't feel all that great about
ever having won
at others' expense."

From older suicides,
"What was the point
of taking so long
to end this rigged Lose to Lose
death-embracing game
called life?"

It feels like these despair and suffering questions
co-arise within exponentially more of us,
asking echoing silos
as our encultured Earth moves
into a new revolutionary millennium.

Given the now nearly inevitable demise
of our polyculturally and climatically climaxing
exterior and interior lenses
of healthy hope v. toxic pathological 
and monocultural decline
of ecological
and economic
and political balance,
how do we know
we are more than an overpopulating parasitic blight
riding Earth's mortuary-in-waiting
where Elders remind was once
a healthy regenerative place
to continue living?

Yet it is so important to notice
not only all despairing souls
jumping off roofs
but also healthfully repairing souls
building polyculturally positive-deviant landscapes
of organic and synergetic opportunity,
cooperative networks of resonant resolve
sounding Time's dipolar appositional
issues of despair as opportunities to repair,
still seeking reasonable,
yet deviant,
hope for shared regenerational vocations,
with WinWin reiterating integrity.

No ego is autonomously responsible
for feelings or thoughts,
ideation or even beliefs.
So it is no one's right to judge feelings,
our own feelings,
the feelings-beliefs-ideas of others
as unacceptable or somehow cosmically dysfunctional,
condemning or worthy of global applause
is to take all that we have been given
far too personally,
too unrealistically removed from comparative
and nuancing context
to discern how we might choose to carry on.

It is our responsibility,
personally, and as a species,
to notice trends of suffering and despair,
compared to trends of multisystemic diversity,
polycultural density of nutritional choices,
ranges of harmonic freedom and healthy cultural balance,
as they appear to reflect
and not reflect
our shared experience to date.

Not to judge and condemn failures and despair,
but to praise our most regenerative successes
and love for equitably accessible hope
to include all Earth's cooperative economy
among our emerging synergetic Tribe 
of curious interests.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Homelands

====================
Homelands
Arabic poem by: Adel Said*
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
=====================

At the end of the line I stand
As should a professional homeless do
Exactly at the end of the line
Before the committee on homelands distribution 
Among those who fall in the overflow
Over the needs and capacity of time, place, 
Maps, 
Population records,
And cemeteries. 

At the end of the line I stand 
Hanging like a teardrop in a funeral 
Collecting what have fallen of my years,
My fables
And my extinct dreams,
In the bundle of my childhood that missed her doll
And my deferred share of my mother’s tenderness.

I have a flavor the midwife failed to sever
With the umbilical cord
In my heart, there is still a nursery rhyme
About a duck swimming in a river
And a songs about a fair maiden’s tear dripped down with  kohl
And my fingers are still trembling
In fear of the lesson and the swish of the teacher’s ruler.

I have in the piggy bank of my life
Volumes about hunger and wars of social classes
Burned by the fascists 
Who also snuffed out the tears of forbidden love.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Dates I saved of palm tree’s yearning for the land
And some palm pollen dust still traveling in my lungs. 

I have no signs of prophecy on my forehead 
And no halos of saints 
But my homeland that’s sitting there 
Amidst the committee on the homelands distribution
Will recognize me
And I'm in the queue 
I will not compete with the homeless comrades 
For their homelands 
And will not accept that illustrious one on the right 
And not that opulent one on the left
I’ll accept only that one,
That one whose head is a palm tree 
And whose arms are two rivers.
 
- You , O Mister!
 You who was at the end of the line,
 You haven’t been recognized
 By any of the homelands gathered in the committee,
 The exiles snuffed out your flavor
 And withered your songs;
 Despite the high level of adoration in you
 No homeland on earth
 Understands your language.

 - Even  that one? !

 - Even  that one ..
And out of pity 
We decided to grant you a berth,
A berth that will never come to an end
You will waste on it  
All that’s left in your lifetime’s piggy bank 
Of tears, 
Of dreams loitering outside the fence of life 
And of years flying, like neglected pieces of paper,
Out of the window of history! 

===========
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam al-Hashimi
USA
*  Adel Said is a poet from Iraq who resides in Norway

Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013

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,

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beans on Toast

two more days before i get paid
the pantry is almost empty
4 slices of bread and a can of beans
if i'm careful this could be plenty

i have half a pint of milk and 3 bags of tea
and a little bit of sugar
things could be worse
i could have nothing
i'm really a lucky bugger

Copyright © John Scott | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hopeless

When mothers are delightful to deliver a male child 
And fathers feel huge pressure to see a new born female child  
The Almighty is hopeless !

When people are busy for more money 
And children are growing to destroy their childhood 
The Almighty is hopeless !

When political leaders leave to the king of policies  
And democratic people are silent for personal interests 
The Almighty is hopeless !

When Temples , mosques , churches are captured by communal forces 
And religious people forget to their original religion which is humanity 
The Almighty is hopeless !

When truth is defeated by untruth 
The Almighty is silent and The Sun rises in the east .
I am hopeless ! 

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA

Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ID

I have a secret place to go whenever I feel the need.  It is a place that is visceral,
dark, and so unforgiving that the joy of being there sometimes makes me want  to stay
longer than a moment.  There, I am like a beast uncaged, running free, and devouring all
that I see.  When the beast runs, there is no stopping it.  There is no leash or muzzle to
keep it at bay.  There is no place that it  cannot go, and its desire for retribution is
like an insatiable hunger in its belly.  The beast there is ever hungry.  "Where is this
place?" you may wonder.  I always try to remember to take the key with me.  For it is the
barren, lonely, and impassable door you cannot reach...it is the Id within me.

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

No More...

Hello? 
Is there anyone out there?
Can anyone hear me?
Hello?
You there. Yes I am speaking to you.
Please can you help me?
Where are you going?
No. No. wait.
Please dont leave me alone.
I need your help.
Why is this keep happening?
Why does it hurt so bad?
What did i do to deserve this?
Im trying. Believe me Im trying.
Im trying as hard as i can,
But i just cant do it.
Everywhere i turn
seems like an opportunity
but when i turn to that opportunity
it seems to jump everywhere
I cant no more. 
I just simply cant do it.
Doctor. Nurse. Best friend. Mentor
So much potential but will it come true
Or will they just disappear into the blue
I just cant no more
So many times i hear im sorry
i have never seen this occur
then i get a shrug of the shoulders
They dont care really
As they move on with their lives
to my pillow is where i run 
To shed my tears
thinking about all of my fears
Thinking of all my faults
No where to run, nowhere to hide
All the pain is just building inside
it hurts so much but i must smile
because i must fulfill my duty
My duty to serve all out there
but what happens when i cant
will the world end?
will the earth shatter?                                                                                               
no they will move on and find another
one to be strong as a father and
as caring as a mother
but what about me? huh.
Is there no one, anyone
please hear my plea for help
please hear my plea for guidance
the pain. the hurt. the disappointment
is just too much to bear.
please what more can i do
please what more can i say
i dont want your money
I dont need your pity 
A shoulder to lean on
is all im asking for
A caring heart is all i seek
please...please....please
do you see these tears flowing from my eyes
I hope you do because this might
be the last time you do
For after tonight,
there will be no more me...



Copyright © Steve Malebranche | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

To Touch The Heart

                                                       To Touch The Heart

                                           I to feel and gain respect from love,
                                           But knowing that your lover is much fond of,
                                           That warmth and caring that love gives,
                                           From feelings shared and now love lives.
                                          
                                           But that of life's little minutes one can see,
                                           A picture of perfection and reality.
                                           Surrounded with love's handy touch,
                                           And that glitter from feelings felt so much.

                                           But with much beauty from loves shame,
                                           One noticing that hate has lost this game.
                                           And now tell me of how to feel from pain,
                                           When my heart touches your name..

Copyright © Michael S. Johnson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The jungle of doom

The jungle of doom
 Lies mysteries beyond the grave 
You hear the calling of desperate pleas
 thou the wind blows pain of hope
 you know there is No escape
 All else is lost in the mist
 He stalks you with cunning warp
 You feel his wrath afflict you
 As the violent trees attack
 You know nothing but fear
 rapid forces of evil violate you
 The grass smothers you with shame
 you can see there is No comfort
 Nothing but the cadence of darkness
 The future is gone
 Nevertheless the clouds of fury taking over

Copyright © nastoshia siedlecki | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

APROPOS THE REFUGEE

     APROPOS THE REFUGEE...

There is nothing left here
for death to claim; even hunger
has abandoned the swollen bellies
and parched skin of the walking dead:
eyes of gigantic pupils sunken deep
into desiccated cranial caverns.

In this fenced graveyard of waning life, flies
soar to and fro---depositing metaphoric maggots
in the midst of the festering wounds of despair.

In this God forsaken place, the flame of hope
grows dimmer with the wrinkling nipples of the breast
of time---her hourglass---haltingly emptying its self:

There is no refuge here
for the refugee.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One and another

Entering a world, a cold cruel place for some of the unlucky ones
Race, gender, sexual orientation, accomplishments, assets, pant size, you name it
What you are is a result of where you stand in these things.  If you have all the right requirements
You just may be accepted.  But those not possessing the right requirements
Those born into a destiny they may never hold the strength to fulfill
The winding vine of pure evil creeps deliberately, hate is planted in the depths of the untrained mind
Judgment, loathing, murderous, ignorant, fearful and malicious thoughts toward some
Those that are floating through this gray, lonely place.  It is no place for you that much has been made known
Fighting off the thoughts of hate, judgment, self-loathing; just to make it through another day
How can one go on, how can one continue when hate is all that is received
For destiny has been previously decided for some.
However, as you go on through your day
If there is one thing here that you take with you
Realize the pain of ONE 
Is NO different 
Than the pain
of ANOTHER.
No matter your race, size, gender or skin color.

Copyright © Aubrey Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Toll Of Duty

weak,and bleak
no food,sick
not speak,so wrecked
shy and meek,because idyllic

uncapable,inacceptable
unbearable,flexible
to any attack, vulnerable

*wealthy,*
healthy,and strong
always wrong,for long
no worry,there's money,
days are sunny!
no worry ! no worry ! 

sad,nearly mad
never glad,things go bad

mistreat,misbehave
misunderstood 
for strange mood

weird feeling
odd person,
midsummer madman,,,,,


at zenith to watch
and outside stand
and scorching sun
to burn his brain

paranormal
paranoiac
psychedelic disorder
eventually diabolic !


A painter
A writer
A feeler
Not Sinner
A word dealer,,,,,

scorned
abhorred
ignored
marginalized
uncivilized
decentralized

*The brainy one*

Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2015