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Prose Poetry Education Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Education

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Words Of Wisdom To My Child

You grow so fast, already showing glimpse of awesome creativity and transform discoveries from the industrious nature of your observations so squat at my feet and raise your attentive head up high to be equipped for this compulsory journey oh sweet creature of my seed. My hands of your molding and chastisement are already the processing engine of your refinement my strong willed mind and love soaked heart complete the stages as you hold steadfast to the train I’ve prepared for you Listen attentively as I perform this segment of my duties and lets take a tour round the routes of wisdom and gallivant the landscape of experience while I pedal your feet and smoothen your soles Seasoned flavored virtues are an armour through which life’s shots are overcomed and a colourful behaviour becomes a saviour in times of need Labor not your whole life in chasing vapour for out of vigour, flour is made from wheat, Bread from flour, but all for a time of enjoyment and satisfaction Guilty syndrome is exhibited when a person answers unasked questions and don’t force out jokes from your head or else people will think your sense of humor is on a life support Sunset is no accuse for the clock to stop running ad infinitum thus, an excuse is like a punctured umbrella it’ll still not stop the invasion of raindrops Your natural desires are borderless, but your ability to strongly control them is what makes you distinct from other species in the animal kingdom Love has no prefix, suffix or adjective it is what it is and as powerful as causing natural instincts to be abdicated in favour of kindness just for the carnivore to embrace abstinence. He who begins a tale becomes its reference don’t say what you cannot defend in court rumour is a bad odour which spreads beyond the neighbourhood and puts a noisy siren on your personality Bad companionship will lead you to the garbage and corrupt friends will join others to marvel at the immortality of your adopted stupidity Wash your face every morning with these words and take your every meal with these lines then would they be spices to which your life is preserved.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |



Always have a book at hand,
In the parlor, bedroom and loo.
Condensed thought on paper,
This is the world for you.

My daughter loves to read,
Must have something to hold.
No cover or pages,
Not even a center fold.

Electronic books these days,
For the person on the go.
Flip it on for convenience,
Living color, like a show.

Reading can entertain,
Delight the lonely heart.
Those without education condemn it,
The learned ones tear it apart.

The many pieces of the written word,
Bring light to those in the dark.
Challenge the mind of the curious,
Give your life a spark.

No entertainment is so cheap,
No pleasure lasts as long.
Your mind flies o'er the pages,
The words are like a song.

The love of reading,
Challenges the soul.
Nothing else given to man,
Can make one whole.

There are those who read,
To know what the world has done.
Others to enhance their personal life,
To be the brightest one.

Master Sergeant, USAF - Retired

Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit Prayer

Lord God,
Stretch our mind/s with deep understanding of Wisdom
To obtain positive understanding with every complications
Counsel us with guidelines in our work

Give us Fortitude, strength, Patience and Tolerance to finish in peace successfully
Deliver knowledge in our mind/s
For us to receive Piety, goodness and devoutness to get satisfaction
With Holy Fear of the Lord-God, I/we ask in the name of Father Christ Jesus to be with us now and forever.


People can change the “our” to “their”, “him” or “his” when praying for others.

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your My Dear Friend

We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Poiesis on poetry

Inception of poise anon-times.) And burgeoning..! 

"Plays" of & to; each entered instance...

To posterity through eternal inference..!

Copyright 20 12 2011 Joe Maverick..

Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2011

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.


Is It Poetry 

Copyright © Poetry Is It | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mellors math teacher

this poem is dedicated to my Mr mellors i hope he reads this

The Cop, The Math Teacher, The Guide you've been there for me when i was confused and could not see the forest or the path you were there when school was hell and life was black as midnight you were there when i screwed up and found myself trapped by my own mistakes even though i disappointed you at times and made you want to tear your hair out you were there you've always been there and cannot thank you enough Thank You Mr. Mellors

Copyright © Wolf Lief | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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

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

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

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

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

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


Copyright © Hannibal Lecter | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Bitter Truths

                                  Bitter Truths

How much of bitterness is truth we cannot swallow.
The acridity of words held idle for too long, fermenting
in the cauldron of conceit, the spoils of victory flaunted
in feigned servility.  What scales measure life against
life, gain against greater gain, success against success?
Can we not savor the sweetness of another’s gifts
without coveting them, bathing them in our envy,
sullying them with our rancor?  Could we not applaud
the valor and perseverance of the triumphant, revel
in a rivalry well played, tip our equally soiled cap,
nod in an appreciation of a job well done?
Must the fist of failure pummel all who do not win,
remove the joy of competition’s camaraderie,
negate the lessons learned, the hours shared,
diminish the successes in setting and
eclipsing goals and gains.  Does not the acrid stench
of final gun fade, slowly drifting on a passing breeze?
Why must the truth hold bitter still, unable to accept
the success in every failure and the failure in
disparaging success.

John G. Lawless

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

myanmar poem, poetry, poet from myanmar

For many people outside the Myanmar poetry, it may come as a surprise that there is such a thing as language-oriented poetry contemporary poetry scene in Myanmar. The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry.
I feel like I have to say to me about how this had happened in Myanmar, the country was under military rule over the past 60 years their poetry broke away from the traditional style classic writing about the monarchy the old and the Burmese Old Burmese way of life before the annexation of British Burma in 1886. The hair experimental poetry movement 1 of the 20th century, was 2 in the movement of new writing, which led pilot Dag on (which is now in his 90s and blind), after the end of World War 2. Influenced by left-wing ideology known of the historical period popular poetry, realism and the Marxist-oriented, through the 40S late. There was at that time, an ideological struggle between the so-called "art for art's sake" The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry. Has described those who did not support writing the new "bourgeois" and blasted the "progressives." Although the new writing system that is based on experimental poetry rhyme 4.3.2 with some changes in the number of syllables in each line rhyme scheme, which makes it more flexible, and was aimed at, faith, and the content of a revolutionary. The art for the masses, and poetry is the weapon of the masses against the landowners and capitalists and national. It is unfortunate that the writing of new, while winning the hearts and minds of an entire generation of young poets, and in some cases made just propaganda, and the adage is that the hair must be less aesthetic and utilitarian more so that even the common person would low education "appreciate" poem with ease. UNSUPPORTED CODE myanmar poem UNSUPPORTED CODE 

Copyright © sanjit saha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The failing education system

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

Copyright © yashika ramesh | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Diction ENglish grammer proper nouns predicates verbs learn the way the language 
works then grow up to be a poet and throw it all away today to make new words to 
make poems bleed to make the rhymes the prose doth need. Shakespeare is an 
affluance. He rubbed off some on my purple prose. O God! how wonderful are Thy 
works! Thou makest the rotting log to nourish banks of violets, and from the 
stagnant pool at Thy word springs forth the lotus that covers all with fragrance and 
beauty! Sonnet #3,000,745,001 OH LORDy 
OH LORDy, howe wondrous is thy working beauty. Thou doth makest the rott sprout 
violets from olden logg on water bank nearest stagnant pool whilst at Thy WORD the 
lotus springeth forthwith to cover over all the smelling salts nearest hand to hold in 
cuppboard bare the bone for elbert Hubbard gone. Hark the light from yonder glaring 
glen forsook the frames the lenses now opaqued. Blind to world of beauty winter 
paints a white mistaken ache in me. Amid the bones of whited elephaunt skunks 
rome near me to harken when the crow calls daybeak come. Caw the raven quoth. 
God forbode a man, that an Englaisman should tell or act a lie, neithor the Son of 
GOD my Jesus, that He should feel repentance or compunction [for what his Father 
has promised].  Has He sayeth, and shall He not say on?  Or has He spoken and shall 
He not make it gooder. Oh LORDy. For the reasoneth He stays upon His bethroned 
placement is quite evident for iff GOD were to walk the Earth as a mere man in sight 
of all this assembled Heathorns even for just one day twold make us all so jealous of 
the miricles in the clay. For Jesus could open up his hand wiht a plott of dirty clay 
and make a violet blooming say. Oh Lordy. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The College Caravan

The College Caravan

Last night we loaded the minivan with her
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chest of plastic drawers
stuffed with clothing, toiletries, school supplies, and posters.
While our vehicle is tightly packed, her room stands hollow;
drained of stuff and spirit, except for the furniture she left behind
like the last icicle melting unnoticed in the spring thaw. 
Morning’s excitement, today’s foreseen guest, found her passkey
so early, she displaced the alarm clock, announcing her presence.  
On the verge of adventure, our cramped van vacates the driveway, 	
eager to meet the other jammed vehicles joining our journey. 
Sporadic chatter splinters moments of spurned monotony,
spanning the miles amassing in our rearview mirror until …
A hatchback hauling a heavy load leads our line exiting for the rest
stop, where the parking lot hosts vehicle after vehicle stuffed with
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chests of plastic drawers …
Our re-entry acceleration runs smoothly, courtesy of a 
clamshell-covered car graciously slowing to permit our advance.
From sedans to SUV’s, the right lane is flush with fenders and 
families, forming a cohesive chain whose links approach “The Exit”
signaling for the deceleration lane.  The college caravan, flowing 
onto the exit ramp and through the green light, turns and winds 
along Main Street.  As the minivans, hatchbacks, clamshell-covered 
cars, and SUV’s pour onto college campus USA, they’re carrying
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, chests of plastic drawers,
and, of course, the proud, nervous parents …
escorting the Freshman Class of 2015! 

Copyright © Elizabeth Wyler | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stupid Question

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

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Education as if All Deaths Matter

Political Science of Eco-Educational Vocations

Really? That’s my topic?
Didn’t Paulo Freire already do this one?

Oh, I see..ecosystemic learning and mentoring,
including pedagogical development systems
doing the best we can,
bless our matriotically nurturing hearts,
to figure out our own deep ecosystemic
co-empathic consciousness
of regenerative ego-health
as eco-truth
as bilaterally balancing bouncing beauty.

We could suggest educational self-learning systems 
begin with bicameral balloon listening skills,
balancing our internal fusing networks
with our octave sounds of light’s and dark's mysterious rhythmic patterns,
surfing radiant Sun sweeping Earth’s pregnant wet skin.

From surf in and out listening
to noticing in-between spaces,
both 1+1 dipolar appositional,
but also 1x1 nondual co-arising spaces between enthymematic places,
some with bicameral communication faces
and bodies responding to cooperative
and competing learning-listening Others.

Pedagogical EcoSystems
synergetic listening communication networks,
deep learning political science
of noticing both cooperative multicultural/polycultural health
and competitive monopolistic/monocultural pathological trends
with runaway climate cultures
of negative-dissonantly-hyperactive feedback,
exercising restraint through Anger Management,
sustained occupiers of Yang dominance
longing to reweave unraveling of belonging within both
science and religion of living v dieing 
as natural-spiritual ecosystemic function
PrimeYang PolyNomial Plus
cooperatively co-arising
YinYin notnot 
double-bind temporal reverse LoseLose egoconsciousness
of mutual spinning our wheels,
twiddling our thumbs
InBetween empathic trusted
exegetically harmonic healthy learning to learn
ecologic’s internally confirmed  
eisegetically heuristic polypathy,
regenerative evidence of cooperative political-empathic sciences.

We benefit from anciently permacultural contracts
with Earth’s Nurturing Educational Trees and Plants,
creating a breathable atmosphere
into perpetuity,

Primal Educational Contracts with Earth’s SoilRights of Sacred Skin
breathing in rich nutrients of light’s composting fuels
and forms
and heroic functions,
breathing out frequencies of revolving
healthy ecosystemic biologic embryonic music,
resoundingly harmonic CQI ReGenerative ReCycling ReVolution Standards
of global health and safety,
political truth as economic beauty,
education and defense from undue monochromatic deadly dissonance.

Prime Pedagogical Listening Contracts with Earth’s Waters,
to hear them,
thirsty beauty as truth flowers,
confining weeds to healthy encultural BusinessAsUsual shares,
trading shade for regenerative worms and strings of roots,
ecosystemic Time's matriarchal twining
bilateral selves,
regenerating cells
of paradigmatic multicultural political eco-evolutioning research scientists
deep-learning/earning enculturing rich systems.
wu wei Golden Ruling kule,
if it means not-this not-that
then adding betweens also means
at least some
of both this way
AND that way,
make each more better, OK.

like terrorism,
is antithetical to both politically wise and profound science
and religious-ecosystemic development stories
of sacred listening
and noticing rebirths of Messianic Suns articulating EarthMothers 
nurture-loving fertile values,
deep learning enculturation’s biologically embryonic history
of nonverbal 
nonviolent (normative as BusinessAsUsual as CoOperative Evolution),
natural sciences, not unnatural devolutional dissonance
as told and foretold by Mother Nature's EarthTribal EgoSelves 
deep learning health-culture listening systems,
listening to life as love, fundamentalist distrust as hate,
to death as absence of active multiculturing synergy,
opposite of deep enculturing rich dense cooperative integrity-life;
the contrasting spectral tipping point
from monocultural, monopolistic,
terrors of deadly killing supremacist fundamentalism,
following sacred idols with no nutritional clothes,
no fuelling powers,
no reality other than continuously vacuuming absence of co-empathic trust.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Elimination of Stress and Strife in My Life

Broke the Rules...
Left some clues...
I'm a fool...
Living in a cesspool...

I hear the economy is bad...
And getting worse each day...
Although it hasn't affected me in any way..
I can even keep kosher if I choose.
So what do I have to lose ?...
I get three meals a day..
And sometimes a snack...
Clean clothes everyday I put on my back..
Exercise is a daily routine..
that I choose to do ..and it keeps me lean..
My quarters are small..but after all..
We have a room with a big color TV...
And a place for family and friends who visit me...
Healthcare ? not a problem you see..
As I don't pay for insurance like thee...
Problem with teeth...rectified
Education, Degree, I can even be Certified..
Because unlike you, who lives outside..
You need to work to survive...
Now I'm a part of the system you see..
And have it much easier than any of thee..
I broke the law and now pay the price...
But I'm still better off than your lousy life...
And when I'm released, I will qualify for...
Medicaid, Medicare and even more...
So you may have done it different than me...
But in "old age ", we're equal you see...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |



It was the dawn of a new day;
knowledge and truth sought and given.
As I gave, so was I again taught.

(Ask, and it shall be given)

“Teacher, same said Egypt ina Africa
lak ina de Bible?”

“Same said Egypt, son;
same said Africa.”

(Seek, and you shall find)
“But Teacher,
dem neva tell we 
dat, Sah.”

(By night they stole us; by day they maimed our minds)

“I know son;
But we now teach ourselves”
our story.”

“Ah true, Teacher; ah true.
Dis day be a new day dat’a com.”

(Truth, trampled to the ground, always rises)

Free your mind and you are;
but like butterflies, be aware
of the rain.

(The truth shall set you free)

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |


                     Be the best you ,you can be...even if you have stereotypical strikes against you. Use the back door, dressed in khaki not Gucci, armed with knowledge and the courage to know that you be the best ,at whatever you do. And let it be proved, no one can perfect on being you. Make sure what ever you do ,you do so well that once you are gone. you'll still be remembered;   Remembered for the improvements,and not destruction. King wanted not to be martyred, as he wanted to prove:  As I have done you can also do:There's no difference between you and I; So do as I have done and even more he would say, prepare your self with education and the knowledge thereof.

. Stand on passion and be guided by LOVE. Passion and self determination is the lamp at our feet. Even if you cannot afford a college degree, Grab a book from the library and read, be you self taught or guided by ancestors voices. Its all in a book, the ancestors still care.  The way has been paved and the motivation is there. Some made it through on wisdom and prayer. He did not die for us to praise him, he wanted to be an example and his example was ample; To show that just an ordinary man...could leave a legacy and a dream. That all men are created equal ..SO do even more than I have done he would say Because he has already opened up doors and paved the way..  Let us not run backwards ,forward we tread. His dream is alive and his memory not dead. Stop looking for A leader and become one instead,by his courageous spirit, let us each be led...Billions are looking around for a King, put on your gloves and get in the ring.You are chosen by the mighty....Yes you are the one...each of you have a Job to do. Be the best you,you can be. And lets get this done.!                         YOU ARE THE ONE!

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Twelve Steps

Twelve step therapeutic environments
are probably as old as therapeutic light and color,
measured in octaves,
and double-bound fractal half-octaves,
learning to listen deeply and resonantly well,
speaking after listening with integrating honesty,
compelling transparency, vulnerability,
open trust attendance.

Integrity includes accuracy and responsive gratefulness.
Because these are all optimal communication values,
PowerOver distancing strategies during gatherings
become diffuse
as this is a culture discovering shared success
through not trying to persuade others to do anything
they would not love to do with them.

This is a therapeutic discernment program
to mutually support each other
in not behaving addictively, hypnotically, 
out of anger and fear attractions and aversions.

Mutual noticing,
understanding empathic trust
celebrates this mutual right-now well-being,
the only goal of each therapeutic environment,
each meeting,
each morning,
each day, 
each life and death together;
which is why 12-steps are often experienced as therapeutic,
for those who are vulnerable and wise enough
to embrace this simplicity of being-becoming.

Becoming accepted and accepting as who we are right now,
with all our scabs showing,
is therapeutic.
Wise evangelists,
therapists of both egos and ecosystemic environments,
used car salesmen,
used lives relationship marketers,
we all know this from some experience,
I hope,
as intrinsic to building a path from becoming known
to becoming intimately loved.

Our larger political and economic climatic challenges,
environmental threats,
highlight therapeutic urgency of building on this 12-step base
by learning how and why each of us is part of this family,
this vocational team,
this meeting,
this community
this moment,
this day,
this ecopolitical transaction,
within this global socioeconomic network.

What is our optimally shared and inclusively valued vocation?
to fulfill who we truly are becoming,
with our scars
acknowledging our shared hypnotic addictions 
to anthrocentrically dominant enculturation.

My 12-step daily moment-by-moment active hope
is for a family and community
where we are mutually invested in loving each other
for who and what we are already,
doing the best we can,
and for whom we are becoming together,
and loving how we are already evolving
politically and economically healthy ecosystemic networks
of cooperatively nested information,
invested in meeting memories of time.

co-mentored trusting love
is our prime sustained confluent sweet spot
for sustaining cooperative relationships
of mutual self-definition,
interpersonal refinement of wisdom,
but also transpecies evolutionary definition and refinement of balance,
and transgenerational co-presence, DNA/RNA past informing
present incarnations, already carrying seeds of future regenerators,
reweaving and/or unraveling
our mutual poli-economic 12-step lives.

We are a 12-step Tribe of EgoCentric EcoTherapists,
cooperatively researching,
and developing 
our Public Cooperative,
a WinWin ReGenerating System
toward our mutually defined,
much beloved,
Lake Woes-Be-Gone.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Soltive pre ordained priest warlike additives initially a Jesus Freak becoming cold 
hearted in the winter. Bane has come with hatred of simple minded people. Sexual 
orientation is nill. Macabration indentation on the quilt. A welcome matt with a towel 
for spills. I have a small fortune tied. Up is not an option now. There is only snow up 
there eventually. The water line is nearer the river then the streaming stream of 
water near me on the highway catching all the melting riverlets as they run away 
from home in WinterBane. Some men still have strength but they abuse it think to 
break down boarded ruins tearing down old barns and cornors of old abandoned 
houses where homeless and poor people might find shelter from the rain. Where will 
they find to dwell. Because of wealth they have a large area to heat in WinterBane 
they have a larger of a structure the more expensive in the WinterBane with sleet 
coming down in Sheets of Ice looked like a solid wall of water hitting me Frost icing 
clothing no thing was DRY ice all over me a few moments after I stepped toe out of 
sheltor walking on the SIDE of the road cant walk on the roadway slipping on the ICE 
stepped offroad walking in the treelined. I found what looked like a Najavo Hogan 
brogaded outside there was clothes hannging on branches a Babylon Garden in the 
snow. While the whole city was whited out at degrees zero. The goose has a liver. 
Oh Pâté the liver rules the Goose is cooked with too many alcholic incumbents while 
the minutes of the meeting Read all old activity reported long ago nothing is new 
under the sun. Nothing there is nothing is there nothing in my past has preparred me 
for my future education has failed me for the alcholic eye was ruined for functioning 
in SOciety degenerate reborne. Nothing smelles worse to a man then sex mixed up 
with tobacco and alchohol how can anyone live as porn objects and still survive the 
toll booth smells like whiskey before three pee em it takes the heart to control it 
takes the lust to want. I feared to die for I was sinnor I feared one day to lay 
underneathe the snow ensheathed but then one day has come to eye EYE Fear No 
Snow EYE Fear No Snow I am a man. The snow no longer bothers me. I am beneath 
it all, My soul is not inside of me. It leaves me when I fall. As I lay here 
silently,wating for the trumpet, It will blow! 
I do not any longer fear the snow. 
Copyright © 2006 charles hice

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |


 (Dedicated to Dana Rugina)

On that very cool and refulgent evening
Flying from Europe to Africa
Luck placed me beside you
How beautiful it was to look at your pretty face
How wonderful to know you are from Romania
How pleasant it was to have a seat beside you
How glad I was to know you are a mathematician
Though accented, paid kin attention to listen to me
I had a smooth and sweet flight
Not because it was an Egypt Airline nor that I sat in business class
But because you keep my company
“Is your final destination Egypt?” ignited our conversation
“A man that keeps quite will die” will I always remember
Because they are words of wisdom
I believe I’ll see you again
Friend on the flight
Where and when, that I cannot say. 

(c) 2011

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

What is Being Ahead in Life

What is Being Ahead in Life?
Being ahead in life is a lot of people’s goal
A path that is easy for some and hard for others
Others are born to it, and does well
Some does not and they all have drama
These are people who struggle in Life
But drama I speak of is not just drama
This Aspect that carries your will without will
What is being ahead in life?
The question is so unrevealing it can go on
But this is what life is all about going on
Without fake feelings or bad negotiation
The value exists not of value it is all not objects
It is a story within a story, Life is all about stories
What to not read and what to read
When you can read and when you can accept
The belief of virtue with others would be 
What is being ahead in life?
Being notice that you exist is what I rather have
Not money nor fame, I am what I am 
Life goes on and values change but do you
To be in such hurry to gain the respect of others
Is so flaw in so many ways, those feelings you accept
Is tarnish and fake, what life do you think you lead
Never been reached, because you cannot reach it by objects
The question again is this
What is being ahead in life?
If you can answer this true, with no stutter, lies, or fake stories
Then you are ahead in life, because you do not fear it
The journey to believe in you and choices
The journey that belongs to you with out walking away from it
The journey becomes your destiny
The journey you meet people who has the same goal
The journey to get in life is a question that you do not want to answer
This is why this question is the way it is
What is being ahead of life?
Being is you 
Ahead is what you see
Life is the spirit that you are
What? Is the question
Of is what are we made of
Is the present
Any of these tell you that you need something to take to your after life?

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Earth's Teachable Moments

When Earth’s self-educational story did not yet include the self-awareness resources of DNA,
when all Earth’s Tribes were RNA rooted in composting soil,
what did we learn 
to personally,
and more politically and economically,
more public sectorally,
regenerate self-governance of life
through safe and healthy principles of development?

In this, our PostMillennial Era,
we discover a profoundly historical-evolutionary question,
with implications for educational priorities,
yet also for biosystemic and ecosystemic self-governance,
thinking more inclusively,
as a forest of networking root systems might co-arise
Trees of LeftBrain Political Truth as RightBrain EcoNomial Beauty.

The PreMillennial distinction 
between Moose “power”
and Owl “medicine”
goes on back toward the origins of the PermaCultural Agrarian Era.
In this time,
“power” more or less translated into what we might call therapeutic-
or health-power.

Power could not yet be a tool distinguishable from self-identity.
Rather power was most widely experienced in the context of “power with Other,”
regardless of who or how “Other” was perceived.
Power with Other to procreate,
to hunt together,
to demonstrate building of fires and planting of seeds,
co-mentoring communications,
all cooperatively functional,
competitively dissonant and dysfunctional, distrusting.

This blend of therapy and power,
according to Julian Jaynes’ evolutionary theory,
emerges from Elder Right hemispheric roots
to dominate language cultures
as the correlational ability to perceive “not me”
as core identity of what later became encapsulated in “therapy-positive” 
and “pathology-negative”
and both relational,
indistinguishable from “sole-identity power.”

The first cultural experience of power
becomes the ability of “self” referencing as “not-Other;”
a “self” that evolves dipolar co-arisingly identifiable from “not-self”
because of perceived,
then learned, further reinforced, spatial-temporal distinctions
deriving from Prime DiPolar CoIdentity Relationship,
distinction between what “self” could unilaterally control,
and what self could not autonomously control.

Prior to LeftBrain dominance over RightBrain aptic confluence,
our RNA-Elders, grass and trees and coral reefs,
had no possibility of confused awareness
between internal-univocal yin-power
and bilaterally interdependent, mutually symbiotic,
co-mentoring Yang/Yin CoArising Power.

The original “self” awareness embryonically emerges,
continues to emerge,
from time as light’s primal Eulerian infrastructure of “We-ness,”
an ionic,
then ergodic,
then bilateral co-gravitating ProteanYang with DiPolar Elating YinYin elective function,
confluent, mutually-held, synergy between emergent YangEgo 
and composting Elder YinEmbryonicSelf/Other,
love as LaoTse’s contentment, 
as Basic Attendance among our Bodhisattva Occupiers of DeepLoveLearning,
(0)Riginal temporal experience of undifferentiated integrity, 
which becomes iconically languaged as Original Intent
of MedicineEarthOther,
a cooperative dipolar co-arising ReGenerative Network,
time as both Yang light c-squared,
and yinyin e-squared fractal-function
of ecosystemic EarthBound RNA/DNA thermodynamic balance.

As we compare notes across our public sector governing desks,
each with co-arising responsibility and economically culpable authority,
it seems to me that overall regenerative health evidence of history
suggests deep political learning evolves highest and best-outcome projections
with rich cooperative ecological polypathic co-investments in co-mentoring trust-nutrients,
rather than suboptimizing remedial toxins of anger and fear management
without pro-active love and peace development.

To believe otherwise,
to act as if learning is nurtured best through competitive words and numbers,
used as tools to outshine the sun itself,
seems to follow the path of  Anger/Fear control fantasies,
rather than actually arriving in the Truth as Beauty co-educational paradise we actually want
with each Other.

Healthy Truth is no more a singularity
than is Beauty
or Wisdom
and HealthyEarth herself.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Plaids.docx Plaids Satan and Daniel one last word “Checked or checkered worsted or suited to be nude under your clothing is transparent apparently non existent to my naked eye think this will be easily my last try Daniel answer me what is the last word” ? “Remember it means your soul against your long and sinful life”. Daniel shuffled his feet there was only a long silent night. “Away over there in the manger”, the Devil began to sing. “Stop that” was from Daniel, “How do you expect me now to think” ? “eye need a drink a stiff one or both, ? eye need to THINK!!! The merciless Devil began to sing louder “Baby Jesus in the Carriage rhymes with perfect Marriage” yes you never married Daniel Webster but you played the bombast lots of times. Tell me now this one last test of time repeat after me “the last word is now just fill in the blank for your life ; at this the Devil Satan rocked back and forth in a Mimicry of him and then HE smiled. You always defeat me so quickly so smug in your Lawyers britches. While Christians die naked and stoned in the bull rushes of “GOD”. Daniel was smiling now. The Devil slapped his hand up over his mouth TOO LATE he realized just what he had done. Daniel seized the day. “GOD” is the last word howsoever you say it Jesus or Our Father the last word is “GOD”. Then the Devil rode a giant lightening rod back up to the Heavens and Daniel did his little Webster definition of a dance shuffle full of saving Grace. He shot his cuff out and buffed his sleeve and looked down at his Plaids.

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Education is Power

Who is in charge of our children's education?
What happens when parents don't do their job?
When children have no sense of reading, writing,
till they hit that school room head on?

Who is responsible to initiate, ingratiate, the word,
so language is understood from infancy and
not suddenly at five years old when
communication receives the attention it deserves?

Parents stand up and take notice
schools do not provide the only source
You are your child's first teacher
You are the one who gives him voice.

From you he will learn expression
From you he will learn who he is
From you he will learn his roots
Give him your love and attention.

Provide an environment filled with books
A place where reading takes precedence
Instill in him a joy for learning
With gentle hand and loving looks.

Model the love of learning
read on your own or with
till without even knowing
he'll develop a yearning
to know, to explore, to evaluate
all there is and more.

Copyright © Natala Orobello | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |


OK  Let’s get started, huh?
Well, ladies and gentlemen, on this sad occasion, it is my painful duty to welcome 
You all to the farewell meeting convened in honour of our beloved Uncle Hector. 
We gather together on this heap of cat-crap behind the restaurant for two reasons.  
First,  it is  a familiar place full of pleasant memories for all of us, but second, 
And more important, it is Uncle Hector’s own favourite place for passing away 
A pleasant hour two, buzzing excitedly on a hot summer’s afternoon.
You all know, I think, that Hector was born into  a family of 115 flies 
From  his mother’s bluebottle fecundity. Raised in poverty, no education to speak of, 
The young Hector managed to learn the lessons of life the hard way, 
Narrowly missing fly-swatters in kitchens, sprays in toilets,  sticky-paper in bedrooms, 
And many other potentially fatal ends. When he was seven months old, he married  
The beautiful   Mary-Belle,  and they had  a lovely family of 8,236  children, 
Many of whom are the spitting image of Hector himself.  Uncle Hector is survived 
By Mary-Belle and   5,019 of their children. We are all heartbroken as we realize 
That the poor kids are still asking their mum, 
“Why is daddy so late coming home?  When will he be back?”
You don’t need me to remind you of the sudden and untimely end of this fine fly,  
And yet there are youngsters among us today who would do well to be reminded 
Of the pitfalls awaiting the careless adolescent fly.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen,  
Uncle Hector, despite months of expert practice at avoidance techniques,  
Allowed his attention to wander too casually and he accidentally stepped onto flypaper.
What a demeaning end for a leader of such stature.  
Hector blazed a trail  a mile wide 
Through the old-fashioned traditions of bluebottles. 
No mere dog-crap afternoons for him….no ! 
Hector didn’t hesitate to go for the unusual.  The half-rotten  kiwi  fruit. 
The over-cooked  -  nay, burnt  -  shashlik  at the beach or barbecue site.  
His favourites were the day-old vomit from  dogs with food-poisoning,  
And the two-week-old decayed carcass of a mouse or rabbit. 
Youngsters listening to me now would do well to attempt    even half of the stuff 
Practised by our beloved uncle. Indeed we would all do well to try 
And emulate the deeds of such a fly – a shining example to us all.

(continued in  PART   TWO )

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sliced Her Like A Knife Slice

The Story: 

ragged faded 
lady hoarder, 
diva boarder, 
dancin' to the tune 
of her Dandelion Wine. 

milky-eyed maiden, 
peddles paper posies, 
masticating carnivore, 
toothless, useless whore. 
not on her best night! 
not anymore! 

acclimated alleyways, 
rodents without fear, 
muddle-minded Faustian , 
soul redeeming martyr - 
thirty-seventh year. 

The Memories: 

broken boned beauty 
forged in her mind, 
conscientious duty 
lost to time. 

could have been 
a skater, 
rockefeller rink, 
sooner came later, 
locked and loaded link. 

pride of Arizona, 
class of sixty-one, 
a devotee of luna, 
loves her remy rum. 

many bitter winters, 
bitter winter winds, 
sliced her like a knife slice, 
bled her bone thin. 

The Story: 

gave away her gravity, 
east L.A. 
weighted down reality 
roles she plays. 

saddle-strapped sad hag 
gone insane, 
never gonna' lose 
'cause she's never in the game. 

always aware where the 
light lays low to the ground 
livin' in a clap-trap 
jingle-jangle town. 
runs for the shade 
when the sun goes down; 
safety in crazy, 
crazy shades and shadow 
hides her braided hair 
and her Royal golden crown. 

salts of lithium 
took away her name; 
doesn't even know 
who the hell to blame. 

wants to be codified, 
once and for all, 
as prophets once prophesied - 
another Jackie O. 
with her hag-bag shop rags 
ready to go. 

time is always lazy for a lady goin' crazy!! 
midnight, brain-drain, middle of the boulevard, 
ragged lady bag-hag screamin' out her rage. 

The Lady Speaks: 

up there with your pixilated palindromes, 
sippin' fresh-dipped sewer juice 
and french champagne - you blue-blooded, high-borns, 
listen to the tale that I wail at you. 

i'm a sack-cloth, busted, shackled crusted scab, 
gonococcal wet-brain - slippin' on the ledge 
of pain on pain, while livin' on the edge 
in the whorin' pourin' rain. God died, I cried, 
now i'm lookin' for some gain. 

leave your flush plush penthouse high-flying life; 
see your bleeding sister, see your bleeding wife. 
that's right, once a wife, mother to your kids. 
your kids are gettin' shifty, siftin' on the street; 
private school, brittle-veined, maggot-tagged gods, 
waitin' for the reaper with the universal odds. 

i'm brain-drained, insane, dissipated plain, 
a bucket full of truth even Jesus wouldn't claim! 
so crucify your comfort, your gentrified name, 
then bring it to the street, bitch, let me see your shame. 

Copyright © tom mcmurray | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Great Transitional Liturgy of Breathing and Beating

Creativity opens doors to learning
to read our own, and others’, compelling literacy,
beautiful truths.

We are not an isolated supreme species creating nihilism,
self-serving egoists;
or, rather, we are,
but within an open sesame systemic potential
for also becoming more grace-filled cooperative,
endo with ecto symbiotic evolutionaries,
learning to read nature’s enspirited dynamic scriptures,
color-chemistry dialectals,
to hear Earth’s celebratory and climatic voices,
warning and blessings,
economic transactions as politically synergetic v. oppressive relationships,
healthy thru anemic thru enslavement-pathological,
inviting our globally beloved future together,
creative ecological development
within our interior learning ecopolitical landscapes,
celebrating harmonic alliterative balance and proportions
of rhyming reasons
seasons of external landscape’s exquisitely regenerative literature
hearing ringing truth of Western grace
synonymously resonate with Eastern karma.

Internally inbred nihilists
apparently fill in for ElderJealous God of totalitarian terrorism,
while externally listening evolutionists
discover Great Transitional literature
in Earth’s dialects of both praise and Gaia's Climatic Vengeance
is our own subsidiary domesticated nest of issues to deal with,
operatic fear and wonder,
musical comedies of dancing birdsong
flying whistling waves of oxygen,
silent streams of grace overhead,
memories of synchronic deep learning wavelinear schools,
swimming mindleap strings of form and bodythrust function
flowing thru wet historic hydraulics,
racing thru bilateral Time’s sacred copresent rhythms
of sounding echo-bounding light without,
absorbing nondual dark learning creative compost
within each of EarthTribe’s deep learning bicameral-ribonucleic systems.

Love, like Allah,
emerges a co-creative regenerate YHWH (0)-souled verb
fertilizing beautiful re-nouned enculturation.
Literature, scripture, life’s recreation stories
evolve emergent between embryonic Elder ecopolitical nutrition-sacraments
of feeding and breeding,
invested faith in further diastatic life
and final decomposing bows
of densely resonant Namaste,
sun rising to bow
to sun rise our Other notnot Polynomial Hemisphere,
co-arising as co-gravitating
ecopolitical enculturation rituals of fertility
as revolutioning light empathic trust
the sun rises and sets on all equally,
more or less,
or so might become our Original OrthoPraxis,
of Truth dipolar co-arising Beauty,
Yang with Yin,
nature as spirit,
EcoPolitical Plan B-Left balancing EcoLogical Plan A-Right.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Leader among leaders
Beaten, never die
Stressed, not strained a bit
Pulled apart, never deformed
But better than former
Been through fire,
never burned
Walked through storms,
last man standing
Super eagle among the eagles
Catering for the falcons
Having a heart of unconditional love
King of one queen
Great example to his offspring
True friend to his friends
Man of his words
Always walk the talk
A true ambassador in a foreign land
True champion of our time

(c) 2011

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |


                          In my  life , i find pressure to be different and extra ordinary.
it is a struggle;
a battle;
a discomfort, 
and above all a 'challenge' on how to get to the top.
In a super and extra ordinary life , I see myself as a best friend to the Eagle because it settles for nothing less,
A cousin to the Elephant because its strength and courage are unbeatable,
Having a chance to be spoken to by a Beaver because its words are more less like its personality, i.e a hard worker.
Having a chance to hear and know how an ocean really is and what makes it outstanding despite having the same 'waters' as the lakes and rivers.
Being given a chance to run with TIME in the race called ''BIT IT and ATTAIN'' a reward called SUCCESS.
Indeed it is a quest within,
A quest for extra ordinary...

Copyright © chimwemwe chiluba | Year Posted 2011