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Prose Poetry Dream Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Dream

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Surrendered Dreaming

I knew you long before
    pursuit's  intention shone,
felt you in sun's fiery warmth
       & shooting star surrender,
heard your voice on soft
  burbled whispers of sweet zephyrs
    and nectar'd songs of hummingbirds,
saw your depths of magnificence
        in sapphire ocean tides
     cresting 'neath effulgent moons
savoring breaths of crystalline
   snowflakes on crisp sea air,
I knew strength in your convictions    
   for it braved every fantasy's illusion
     acquiesced 'tween dulcet desires,
whilst the strong presence of your charms
     envelop'd every night's dreaming

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Unknown Art

The picture painted is not what 
is drawn
The drawer sketches different 
shades partly understood by 
few.
They see and claim to know 
the 
complexity
Complexity that is the 
uniqueness
Like most words, the art is not 
defined in a single manner
Many have walked with it not 
minute has discovered
The mystery of the art in play.
A creative piece reflecting 
greatness visible to those with 
eagle eyes.
A lone shadow traveling great 
depth to birth dreams
Not an adjective, pleasing to 
those deserving.
Do not desire to be unveiled.
Priceless value hangs on its tag
What a masterpiece!
But not fully discovered...

Copyright © Yei Suah | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Dream

Strands of thick strawberry lace
Cascade and kindle together over a
Serene and still, velvety muse;
Soft sensations of quiet breath
Brush against every line within the frame;
A luminous comma poses
In an eternal gilt about her face;
Every flicker of her unseen candlelight 
Reflects a somnolent kiss
Upon the gazer's nodding lids.
Magically, the mind reacquaints
A taste and scent of red and yellow ocher, 
Along with the sound of a swoosh,
That permeates a freshly painted room;
Soon, the eyes open to a distant, familiar recall,
When two sleepwalking, kingly eras became one;
Every step blending each image
With a different pallet in time,
And while touching overlapping 
Textures, the mixed mediums are forever
Imprinted upon the memories of the two
Motionless figures;
The connoisseur, while he slumbers
And the sleeper, as she awakens 
From her symbiotic dream.

Contest: "A Dream"
Theme: Based on the painting: "Resting", by Victor Gabriel Gilbert
5/12/2014

Copyright © Lisa Lee | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Vase Dream - c'est la vie

       Vase Dream - c'est la vie 

White vase with no design
Dangling there - c'est la vie 
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything
In an apartment rising skyward
Lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or there about
And more - c'est la vie 
The balcony did its’ best of course
Displaying the fragile curves
Morning sun light danced approval
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from… 
Poof!.....And off  it went… c'est la vie 
An alert French man
Pastry smile and all
Happened along
With left handed nimble fingers caressing a Beaujolais 42
The other hand stretched out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie 
Intact
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened 
Something like an egg
A natural death ensued - c'est la vie   
A passer-by seized the moment
Lifted vase and fled
Made off down and dirty
An ally
Another fate for vase awaits
Less encumbered
In a land far away
To dream of ledges - c'est la vie 
If so inclined   
Or so designed
 

Modified on 10/21/14 for - c'est la vie - Poetry Contest
 

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Chance

	High coffered ceilings, 
	an odd filtered light, 
	mote constellations adrift,
	rooms enfilade... 

	In the room at the far end
	— the kitchen, it was — 
	I met my dead grandmother,
	her crooked corpse 
	bothering a hot stove, 
	boiling up a pot of her 
	awful, brown, sticky soup.
	She turned to me, as if to ask,
	“Do you want a bowl?” 

	Startled, I turned to leave
	(She was a ghost, after all...).
	Her boney hand, 
	still holding a soup ladle,
	brushed my right shoulder. 
	I turned. She whispered, 
	“You had your chance.”

Copyright © Jack Jordan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Tarnished Knight And His Unicorn Named Dream

I am a Tarnished Knight 
Dragons do I slay, 
With my trusty sword 
I hold then all at bay. 

  
I have a trusted steed, 
A Unicorn named Dream. 
When we ride together 
We make a mighty team. 

  
Nary is a dragon. 
That will look us in the eye. 
They just turn and fly away, 
As we chase them thru the sky. 

  
For I am fearless warrior, 
Will do battle anywhere. 
Fight that dreaded dragon, 
In your heart or in the air. 

  
So if you have a dragon, 
No matter where he be. 
Maybe flying in the sky, 
Or lives deep inside of thee

 
Call the Tarnished Knight,
And his Unicorn named Dream.
We will come and rescue you,
For we are a potent team.

 
A reward is not required.
Our service is for free
Just to slay your dragon
Will be our only fee.

 
A fire breathing dragon,
Sometimes is hard slay.
With out an open mind
He may never go away.

 
So take this little fairy tale,
That I did write for you.
Please let me in your heart
So I can do the things I do.

 
I will slay your dreaded dragon
Then you can ride upon my dream.
I promise to take you places
That few have ever seen.

 
So let me come inside you,
In your body and your soul.
Let me slay that dragon
That has such an evil hold.

Copyright © Donald Eissler | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Like to Walk Alone

I like to walk alone

I like to walk alone
In the desert...
By the light of
The stars....
And the moon......
A man.......being a man...
Alone...and comfortable
In his own skin....

I dig a hip hole....
Yes, the sand is cold....it doesn't remember me...
And that's as it should be....
Laying down and looking up
At all the gems and jewels
God has given us.....
 
To dream that dream again
Of you.....
And the day you wore that
Empire dress...
When we were just kids...
Funny what a man
Thinks about as
He closes his eye's
To sleep.

Copyright © Randall Smith | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

REFLECTIONS ON A VIRGINIA SUMMER NIGHT








   REFLECTIONS ON A VIRGINIA SUMMER NIGHT

At the entrance of evening, the melting sun slowly drips
     over the tree top horizon;
Beckoning the moon to peak through the opaque shades
     As lazy winds play tag with the heated night.

The staccato symphony of horny crickets pervade the scene
     Piercing the stoical still silence with melodic sounds.
Weighed eyes and muffled ears grow weary…
     Retreating the scene and its sounds.

Sleep, the stranger of the day, threatens familiarity:
     None can avoid her acquaintance.
Unable to complete, I slip into the twilight of dreams
     Knowing not if I shall greet tomorrow here.

God willing and Earth’s water baptize my eyes, maybe,
     Just maybe, I will rise to fight another day.

So in this twilight dim, I pray my childhood
     Prayer to Him:

   " Now I lay me down to sleep.
    I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
    If I should die before I wake;
   I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Ode To Olaf Olafson - For Anne-Lise

“The Ode To Olaf Olafson.”
By,
Michael P Clarke.

(Story Poem.)

The night is cold in the North tonight
By the jetty a mighty long ship moored
The Fjord in darkness awaits ceremony
From the Lord’s hall on the hill a woman wails
Sorrow does seem to be in the air
On the sigh of the wind a hero is called
Ceremony of death shall soon begin
A Viking Lord shall sail to Valhalla

The hall door opens and light floods without
Men with torches walk down a pathway
Sure of foot these men of the North walk proud
Bjorn the bear he leads the procession torch in hand
His steely blue eyes looking straight before him
At the foot of the hill by the jetty  people gather
They look upon the line of torches approaches
Once more the wail from the hall

Bjorn drops his eyes knowing the pain
His grief he must lock deep within himself
He must be as strong as his Lord’s Lady
She must be strong for her children and the people
She wails not for her Lord this night
A sister of the Lord shall do the mourning for all
Bjorn raises his eyes once more keeping them on the dragon
The long ship that shall carry his Lord to Valhallah

Now the body of the the Lord Olaf is carried from the hall
There is silence everywhere as the body comes down the hill
Eight mighty warriors carry their Lord on a large wooden litter
Indeed it is strewn with flowers what a wonderful scent
Behind the body came the Lady Marga and the three children
Then came the four sisters of Olaf
They were followed by more warriors holding torches
The procession walked silently down the hill.....

(Fjords Dreams Series.)


To be continued.........

Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hunting for Spring

We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!

We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!

We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!

The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!

What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mocking The Raven

When I was young, I would mock the raven,
Never dreaming her harsh call was a cry
Across the water to the castle of her brother
King Bram, the Raven, ruler of the British Isles.
Never did I dream of the destruction 
That would follow this desperate plea
Sent upon the wings of a blackened crow.

When I was young, I thought childhood
Would last forever; secure in my father's care,
Content in the loving arms of my mother,
Never did I dream of the devastating war
That would follow this messenger of our doom
Carried across the seas to inflict upon our land
A war of vengeful purpose and contempt.

When I was young, peace prevailed in our land;
Our King was just and beloved by his people.
Then came a marriage, an alliance between
Ireland and England.  Queen Branwen;
Discontent, lonely, hungry for power,
Hated by her court for the intrigue
And bloody sanctions imposed upon all
Who did not obey her sanctimonious whim;
Queen Branwen, beautiful daughter of England.

When I was young, I stood beneath
The blasted pine, looking up at the black bird
As she screamed out her litany of wrongs,
Watching as she lifted her wings to soar across the water.
My father, general of Ireland, fell upon the shores
Fighting to repel Bran's vengeful warriors;
My mother, condemned by her beauty
Fell among the vanquished women.

When I was young, I did not fear the raven;
Now I live in the court of the Raven King,
He, who conquered my people for naught as his sister
Queen Branwen, the White Raven, took her life
And walks now, shriven and pale, among the graves
Of the fallen warriors; forever singing her lament
Of sorrow and regret; far too late, far too late.

When I was young, I believed in the goodness of men.
Now I am old; my raven hair is streaked with silver.
The voice of Bran echoes through this palace
As he cries out exhortations to his conquering soldiers;
As he cries for peace and fellowship in his land.
When I was young, I would mock the raven;
Now I am old and have harnessed the power
Of the raven's call.  I cry to my people for vengeance;
I wait for their rescue, as I haunt the halls of the Raven King.



[Loosely based on the legend of Bran, the Raven King of England 
and Branwen, his sister, who was married to the king of Ireland.  
It is said that King Bran speaks still in England through the cries of the raven.]


{by Deb Radke -- written for the contest 'Among the Dead'}



Copyright © deb radke | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Madre part two

 Don Coto's..

 face smiles no more
 Only in memory
 Paving the way for others
 with dreams and aspirations
 Arriving at these shores 
 To prosper achieving those dreams
 And hopes that our forefather set
 So many years ago while the moon
 Looked on :-)  tides rolling in and out
 like clock work fish dancing to the 
 Florescent harmony of the stillness
 The trip took many months
 With many risks,so coming to this point 
 This time this place..I think about  
 Don Coto's flag ship la 'Cocora' 
 Now a memory lingering on and on
 She was sold for scrap years before
 We now go sailing on planes with wings
 Like the beautiful birds seen flying high
 Driving Upwards by the warm thermals 
 Sailing past Ponce Deleon and old San Juan
 Reminiscing through my past,leaving behind
 Our companions never to be seen again
 The fisherman of el Farro and Playa Santa
 Putting our noses against the window
 Of This flying machine
 To see this brand-new world in its grandeur
  I Dios mio,oh my god
  a Cold blustery morning it was 
  We left the balmy Tradewinds in morning 
  As we exit the this flying Machine
  And enter a new world
  White flakes racing from out of nowhere
  Hearing my uncle Pedro ,watch your step 
  Watch your step stopping every every few feet
  Allowing the fluffs of white to enter my mouth
  Flicking my tongue like el Coqui 
  In between chattering teeth
  but a thought comes to mind 
  A sadness,accentuated by a harsh reality
  A new way of life A new language
  A brand new shiny culture
  Our old home left behind and now a new land 
  Called Los Estados Unidos
  The United States
   mi Nuevo Mundo 
   Our new world 

     bless us all...


 

   
    


Copyright © Tonytocaa Camacho | Year Posted 2015

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Yesterday

                                                ~Yesterday~ 

                             Yesterday`s dream his thoughts were here
                                       Today his thoughts are there.
                               Yesterday`s dream my legs could hold me
                                         Today my legs sold me.
                                    Yesterday`s dream I was in pain
                                           Today I`m living again. 
                                   Yesterday`s dream I thought I knew
                                           Today my thoughts flew.
                                  Yesterday`s dream his love was about me
                                          Today his love is about them.
                                       Yesterday`s dream I had hope
                                          Today was what I thought.
                                     Yesterday`s dream I was wrong
                                              Today I am strong.
                                     Yesterday`s dream I opened the door
                                             Today I closed that door.
                                     Yesterday I did not dream I was tired
                                               Today I am very tired.
                                   Yesterday I did not dream I did not dare 
                                               Today I don't care.

                                                        Therese Bacha
                                                            2/5/2013
                                        

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

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My Fantasy Dream

                                   
                                 A Dream From My Past 
                                     Was A FANTASY.
                           Be patient I will take you where I 
                              have been from the beginning.
                           One of those days was a lucky day 
                         When I heard a light tap on my Door
                                 Who is it I asked? 
                                 Its me the post man. 
                          Oh dear I was murmuring what could it be? 
             Step by step with my cane I arrived to open with shaky hands 
             a young man with a smiling face was standing with an envelope 
                 in his hand ready to give it to me but I had to sign it first 
         staring at him crying for help to stay as maybe it could be 
                                       bad news or good news.
              I opened it and In there was a cheque of one million dollars
                                I screamed young man I won 
                                 the lottery I am a winner 
             yesterday I bought a ticket with my last 2 dollars thank you 
              please come back tomorrow I have a small surprise for you.
 My cry of happiness was heard by the drops of rain knocking on my window                                                                                              calling to ask when I am due to cache the money as they also were my friends     awaiting for the happy event to the never ending journey of giving.
                                My fantasy dream was fulfilled 
                               Oh! how good is The Lord to me.
 Now that I won I ran sat down got out my pen and paper and here I am 
writing today I am rich but tomorrow I will become poor as I will give away 
all the millions to the needy my family my friends everybody will share 
                                        my richness. 
      Good night my friends until tomorrow another day another dream.  

                                        Therese Bacha 
                                          10/5/2013

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

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Here is a story about myself

My mind went on a trip one sunny day
In that trance I was president
Papa was proud of me
Mama felt pleased too
“You are a natural leader” said my neighbor
“I knew you would make it, it’s not a fluke” commented another
Frenemies surfaced in haste


My face was on TV
I was a president on the move 
Ain’t nobody stood in my way
I travelled far and wide
My term was short
I had to make an impact
Etch my name in the hall of fame
History had to have my name

Time is a march and the powerful are drummers
He who drums loudest leads the song
His life is lavish and his abode magnificent
Look who is drumming
Would they be drumming if I weren’t president?
Are they friends or foes?
Only time will tell
Then there was a reality check.
The chimera was over

I am just who I am
The same old nobody

Copyright © John Pen | Year Posted 2014

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Murphys' Law

               Murphy wished for a Prince who rode a White horse...
               So she went back to college and took a new course...
               She met a man who drove a green pinto...
               Although he had no idea where his life would go...
               His wants and needs he wanted for free...           
               As he had no intentions of working you see...
               So they moved in together...and she paid the bills...
               He played online games and took many pills...
               While she worked two jobs, and going to school...
               Her friends told her often she was a fool...
               This wasn’t a relationship...this was just bizarre...
               And to make matters worse, he drove her sports car...
               But she explained, he needs me and I don’t want to be alone...
               Besides I have created a most beautiful home...
               The years flew by and no changes were made..
               She graduated with honors, and now had a trade..
               At the firm of Morgan White Esquire at Law...
               This was just the beginning and the last straw...
               She finally came to her senses you see...
               Of her dreams and wishes that were meant to be...
               She now had her “ Morgan “ and her “Prince” you see... 
              A Morgan is a breed of horse...and the rest is history
                 
                

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ONLY THE DREAMER DIES

   ONLY THE DREAMER DIES…

The arid winds steal
     Our tears.
The sterile dust tease
     Cystic hopes
Of dreams deferred.

At shrines of Lazarus
     Visions
Beckon the faithful
     Silencing
 The wailing discontent:

Only the dreamer dies; the dream
     Lives on.
Only the dreamer dies; the dream 
     Lives on.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

IN THE TANGLED WEB OF TIME

     IN THE TANGLED WEB OF TIME…

How long 
must we still march
and sing---
our feet grown weary
and facades of justice
quietly silencing our voices?

Today 
we remain footnotes
to his story---
our story 
a cocooned legacy
of a pregnant dream
hanging 
in the tangled web of time.

Matrices
of pseudo gains
continue
to tease un-ripened minds
with scams of liberty.

Today
in due time
in due season
we will rise up
from the pit we’re in---
rise up 
and catch the fallen dream
laying it in the warm nest
of the bosom of liberation---
and incubate the waiting vision
of our destined realities
singing songs of redemption---
ringing bells of freedom
dancing to the beat of liberty:

Indeed
the flame of determination
burns eternally
and the love-journey
of the unshackled 
continues toward the trysting place.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Only For You

Only For You

Known, nothing will be written about me
In any poem, story or essay

Known, will not receive any co-operation from Governments
Any honest or dishonest award...

Nobody will burn incense on the day of my death
Except my wife!

Nobody will celebrate my birthday
My birthday celebration will not happen...

Although I am walking...thinking...creating...

Only for You....Only for You...
Only for You...My dream future...

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA

Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An Endless Time

Wish upon a falling star
And pray within a dream
For what your heart desires
To become the truest reality

Touch the clouds embracing heaven
Flying like a bird high in the sky
Cast a coin into a wishing well
Praying a loyal love you will find

Search the farthest horizons
Go to the most distant shores
Pray that you will find the one
Whose amazing love will endure

Be very patient in your Odyssey
And one day you will surely find
That love which was once elusive
Will be yours for an endless time.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreamer

Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!

“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!


* If you enjoyed this piece, follow the link and share your thoughts
http://echoes19.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/dreamer-2/

Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Realization Of A Dream

Whom shall I love
when all my dreams,
and all of my thoughts,
are so alive...

Dancing with each image
of bliss, dressed in a
vision of your likeness

While my heart yearns
for endless moments
hoping you will soon
come near...I faint
from mental exhaustion

My educated mind suddenly
becomes uneducated and
hopelessly falls into a
hypnotic state...flavored
with a sweet natural high

I realize I will never know
what to do anymore, if the
vision within my mind of
loving you will not soon
come true..

So I am left praying that
the dreams which embrace
my world endless nights
will birth a realization
of a genuine blending of
our hearts love.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ESCAPING INTO NIGHT

ESCAPING INTO THE NIGHT...

If only the sun could warm my aching soul
shivering within my inner being---immovable---
anchored stilled like frozen stones in the winter's cold.

Strange---the weather of human life
has no predictions to forecast coming tragedies
nor the coming of calming times---
separating reality from orchestrated fiction.

Ah, sundown will come and the moon will rise;
the sandman will go about his chores;
and I shall sink into comforting dreams;
where the wandering soul of sorrow is swallowed up
and fantasy and reality play joyfully together.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

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 | |

Smile

Kill a smile with a kiss
The demise of it will visit you in your dreams
Never will I let you
Drown in a pool of angry thoughts
I will be your unexpected smile
Every time I bring u roses b4 valentine
A wet poem I would recite for you

I would make you my 1st rhyme
your heart-beat will rhyme
Twist my beat box
Into a love song
A cartoon I would paint in your heart to keep you smiling
Your twin smiles I would define in vernacular
Though I speak no language from Peninsula
My parents will define your beauty as African splendor
Black mother nation
Smile please smile

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

DREAMING HOME

      DREAMING HOME…

In cosmic dreams,
I’ve waded the Nile
In golden Nubian sunsets;

Felt the warm breath
Of Sahara breeze
Kiss my cheeks;

Made my bed in tall savanna grass
And cooled my soul
In rain forest dew;

I’ve crouched beneath Gold Coast palms:
A palm wine drunkard…
Arms flung wide;

My soul
Has soared 
Atop Uhuru Peak:

Yes, 
I too,
Dream of Africa.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Is it a dream

A dream is never just a dream        Fractured lies and untold truths         Fear of 
the unknown        Infantile thoughts         Progressing through hostile 
youths        A clouded vision of many       Every night to be seen       This 
nightmare that we all call a dream       Before we know it        In the blink of an 
eye         Father time is upon us       Hearing our pleas of one more        One 
more        Before we ..............

Copyright © richard ferry | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

You Make Me Smile

 I just wanted you to know....
 I will always stand by your side
 I will give back and be your guide
 I will fight for you in the hard times
 even if all I have are a few dimes
 I will never lose my faith in you
 my love for you is always true 
 all I have its you....

 I’m proud of you....
 you never gave up hope when the times were hard
 you kept going forward through it all, yard by yard
 you have never let others change who you are
 you have always shown me the way of love
 you move through the unknown with strength
 no matter how far the length

 I would have never been here today....
 without your love
 without your ultimate sacrifice
 without the support I needed
 I never would have succeeded
 without your unbounded love
 I could never stay above


 I will always be there
 on those days you are hurt and sad
 and you feel everything is going bad
 I will hold you in my arms and say
 I’m glad to be with you here today
 when you feel you are alone
 I will be your chaperone

 I love you so much!
 I love your smile and the way you make me smile my love
 never forget, the support and love I have for you,
 so don’t let anyone else’s evil decisions or careless actions
 change who you are today.
 you are better than all of them and stronger in every way.

 all I have its you my Love…


Copyright © Debasis Karmakar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Dream Leaving

This is the last call for the
dream which is about to
leave from cloud number
nine. Calling at freedom,
peace, tranquillity, hope
and love for all.
Your ticket shall be faith,
humility and respect for 
all, your passport the
ability to care and share
for one another, to give,
to teach, to learn.
The price of the ticket,
your heart, your soul,
the willingness to bind
and blend, to join hands
on a journey beyond the
boundaries of reality.
Don't miss this dream,
there is room for all, 
there is no first or second
class, no colour or religious
divide, only carriages full
of futures desires.
Don't miss this dream
leaving from cloud nine,
on it the future depends,
both yours and mine.

Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Climatic Dream Therapy

I had a historic dream
that Einstein led polypathic Elders
pursuing roots of time
as emergence of light's speeding race
through regenerative histories,
thought experiments revolving resolving enculturation.

I dreamed energy conjoined space
as rhythm reiterates pattern,
as time incarnates changing place
as space bifurcates time's revolving light and dark
mutual recessivity,
ecological balance of Earth's cycling revolutions,
cooperative norms within interdependent symbiosis,
multisystemic revolutions of evolutionary paradigms,
poetry as language both light and dualdark heart-soul investment.

I dreamed terror reacting to ballistic weapons
revolted into wonder responding to synergetic cultural ballast,
dense nutritional balance of political relationships
with economic transactional harmony,
that spirituality rejoined naturality,
as nurture reflects nature,
that wealth rejoined health,
that degenerative histories conjoined regenerative futures,
that deductive logos refueled inductive mythos,
that economic intention continues incubating ecological forms
and recycling symbiotic frequencies of emergent evolution,
that living nondually co-arises loving
as struggling to harmonize with others
rather than struggling against AnthroDominant decomposing outcomes.

I dreamed religion regenerates polycultural fusion and passion and creativity
rather than competes good spirits against evil natures,
that competing spiritual economies merge into cooperative ecology.

I dreamed of regenerating religions
co-arising from degenerative divisions
to presume solidarity of rightful love multiplication
as polycultural cooperation,
co-arising human nature's political economy
encompassing all Earth's co-evolving species.

I had a fertile Earth Day dream
that elation and fusion
absorb competition and fission,
that integrity overcomes suboptimizing mendacity,
that polycultural life management skills
reverse anthrocentric monocultural elitist aggression,
power overing
when love optimization waits in cultural wings
to overwhelm threadbare anger and fear management
in a revolution of timeless cooperative intention toward mutual love
as mutual assumption of integrity.

I dreamed
we share a self-as-other integrity dream
regenerating time's emergently cooperative Earth Tribes
golden-ruling together
producing and consuming harmonic global poli-economic outcomes,
a self-regenerating WinWin network
where all needs are opportunities
without risk of health-loss to others,
without compromising future generations
of beloved climax gardens,
farms,
communities,
guilds,
vocations,
habitats,
robust interior/exterior landscapes
resiliently enculturating life
as EarthTribal love,
political solidarity,
economic cooperativity,
ecosystemic integrity,
mindbody wu wei vitality
of dipolar nondual interior-as-exterior balancing dreams;
fewer climatic nightmares of monoculturally elitist AnthroHubris.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016