Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Prose Poetry Fear Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Fear

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

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

Details | Prose Poetry | |

"Fearing The End With Broken Trusts"

I have died to see my life grow from this dark holes of endless torture, nothing is here to 
stay, I do not want the nights to fall upon dead eyes, sober the ecstasy the devil put on your lips, behold the end with embraced cold, this night will kill us all, fear the dead for been the ones to judge tonight, the clouds walk straight to grave, the moon shines bright in red, the sun dances under endless fire, we the child's have failed to acknowledge wrong, we have fought the war by ourselves, we don't feel the sun warm our face at morning shine by our behaviors, we don’t die for free, either vane, fear this hell to rise upon your shoulders, I fear the end with shattered dreams of desperation, cant scream either punch, walls are too strong, sweat blinds my eyes, sweat cleans my filthy soul, take down the moon tonight dear, I shall pay you with my blood, devils stealing souls, we cant sleep to lose it all, loosing my eyes to see beyond the horizon burning, the smoke makes the day die fast, I don’t want to live if all I feel is pain, either do many, my name is not of importance, but the feeling is the one to make the night, dancing upon the chest of the earth, tonight we shine with the moon dressed in red, tomorrow we rule the sky, for yesterday we ruled the grounds, underworlds are dying to see me arrive, I am welcome to this dinner, deals are broken tonight, we have sold what we don’t have to give the better plan, oh green threes, they still live inside a cruel dead state end, bring me the horizon, bring me the hells, that I know this will decay, that I know this will perish, oh my heart will stop the night of the red dance... Prayers are heard yester night, the song is loud, making the clouds tremble and dance, darken eyes, you see the sky full of darken eyes, you lay at night to line the clouds and you make pitiful devils out of the big galaxy above you, this is not the end, I am the man who writes down your prayers, who writes down each tear numbered by deceitful plague, bring my eyes to see the skies, please break me free from this night, from this cell, cold and chained, far away, we keep on trying, breaking the trust of our friends, no one will save us now, is not now, I don't need the time, I am dead to you and I refuse to be your slave, engrave my eyes in this decayed kingdom of fallen messiah’s, please give me time to fear your wrath, please give me the signs of victory, I want and need to know how much you feel for me, I feed you with my blood, now repay


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Wolf Within Me

As I look up at the sky I see the moon is high

I feel the wolf deep inside he is trying to come alive

As the pain begins to start It feels as through I am being ripped apart

My joints start to bend and break 

Soon the wolf will be fully awake.....



Details | Prose Poetry | |

What lurks within

What lurks outside the window?
What lurks on the other side the door
What lurks inside this stone cold room?
What lurks in this silence?
Some beast cage
With the window
To see the happiness the world brings
To watch the sun set
Unleash its havoc
Under the moons watch
To return by day break
Back to this cold room
Back to the window to watch
Scared of what lurks just the other side


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Aging Got Worse


                 ~ Doctor Save Me ~

              Help me aging got worse they say
                           sources of problems are solutions find one 
                                            my beauty is wrinkled
                                                         my heart stopped blinking
                                                                   don't shrink my hopes
                                                                              I`ll sink hurry think
                                                                                        & Save Me.
                                                                                   
                                                                                      Therese Bacha
                                                                                                24/4/2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fooling us All

Dumbing us down
no wonder we don't know
unaware for so long
feeding 
on what's been eating us

"but the bait tastes so good!"
we say
drooling diabetes down lazy lips
entranced
by high definition devices
all the world's shiny entices

and then there's addictions
the medications 
vibrations
frequencies 
they're fingering Mother Earth's atmosphere to
seducing mankind 
with the silence of her screams
raping our nurturer
as we remain oblivious

these elite thugs
conducting violence above the law
fooling us all


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A running chestnut or no - on essay,idiocracy

Altogether unprofitable sentimental but no fool they call him an old sap 		        The taste of knowledge to him is sweet to get more valuable than sap to a tree	   even more valuable than the gold that runs from seven hills					 prolongs the days: but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.				  The Lord does hate pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth         the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom with an expected end pure love                  as God gives the increase I have tasted the Lord is gracious				           A strong warning from the savior Jesus He is Lord						   whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire                                      some may say the old sage is just saber rattling 					             Essayage the shoe on the other foot walking a mile				                   in someone else shoes who has two left feet and one leg longer				          truly your feet are bound to get sore circling around the mountain 	 			    just assaying the metal who is your maker I know mine 					         For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, 						        works for us a far more exceeding eternal weight of glory						 I am not straining gnats just spitting out the the filthy camel 				      Love the Lord God Jesus and every man your neighbor                             all the glory of man as the flower of grass like sagebrush					     God made foolish the wisdom of this world                				put your faith and hope in God and not in men 								 though man's urban inflections change the Word of the Lord stands sure                       Everlasting superior are God's ways than man's momentary dullness


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Suicidal Voodoo

Chase the voodoo to sleep. sleepless freaks i see in the silver screens blocking the vision of me. there's no choice but to eliminate hate inundating the mind. please mute the voices haunting the airwaves making me blind. the big bad budding burden flashing red lights at every intersection. stealing away the insight i try to gain by using time for reflection.

It's a mess the way i test myself with deranged prophecies and bleak scenarios. replaying horror flicks in my head. blasting screams in stereo. all too often the worm hole shoots me to a mid evil castle of torturous devices. impaled in dreams that seem to be broadcasting punishment for succumbing to the world's entice and vices. but other times i fall victim to a good old fashioned "day-mare". people notice the self conversations and can't help but laugh and stare. I must say it's becoming difficult to blame them. if i can't learn to shake this voodoo, it's true my future's looking grim.

What do I do? they're gonna end up arresting me! Toss my ass in a padded room and throw away the key! and get this...as i worry about getting sent away, the paranoia increases inside my head. i reach for medication increasing odds of ending up prematurely dead. I may be crazy, but don't take me for an idiot fool. and don't haze me about where my faith is, cus' this could just as soon be you. and i've learned enough to know that each and every one of us will die. and you may take me as insane, but me not taking my own life's got nothing to do with having a fear to fry. 

This is exactly why i choose to write as my mind fills up with crazy thoughts and throws fits. it's a therapy for me to try and work out all the kinks that make me sink, instead of cowardly throwin' in the towel n' calling it quits.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

sober

                                            s o b e r...
The fuse burns the skin; 'till years disappear in the sear. Those scars allow us to be who we are - - - urging us to bleed truth- - -  so we can speed through the blues----- fueling us with the go, the giddy up to show, with each blow we grow,---and we Leggo our Ego -------just so the doubters we encounter shout louder and louder--- tho' they ain't got a clue as to who... or what we're about, or the journey of pain ballooning our veins with insane clout-------- and we wish upon a trouble free time to be near, yet it's far...- - - like the stars in the sky----...---sobering the view...while we drink the abuse------Still, the lit fuse burns the years till our fears cry.-____so hopefully, we learn from the scars when our tears dry.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

HIM of Praise

 HIM of Praise 
HIM of Praise 
 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
1one70four4 
 life; broken 
used unwashed homeless tired sad hurt questing for an answer, yes it is HIM 
who loves me JESUS. The answer to every question. ABOVE every other namme 
the HIM who seems so far away and yet eye find the love is still in evidence the 
richness in the finding.  Love is given never taken the takers and the shakers 
come to HIM and get dumbfounded, the poor questors will still receive 
communion.  Live is a mobius stripped not the start of the cradle to the grave 
sinfilled natural disaster somewhere in my timeline lies uninterrupted salvation. 
HIM who loved me also called me to tell his people of HIS namme. HIM who 
loves ewe also needs ewe to call on HIM in fear and trembling YES and then to 
drop the fear of days gone bye and love HIM for YES HE loves. HIM who writes the 
names in BOOK of LIFE loves all of us the namme of JESUS the namme the 
namme is JESUS. HE who brings us life also brings us days then HE adds them 
to our lives. JESUS. HIM of Praise. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sorry I Was Thinking About Something

A man sitting across  from a woman; while in conversation gets close and closer to her face. the closer he gets the more his skins just melts upon and morphs onto her; becoming a human blob of sorts while consuming her. people walking down the street start grabbing their chest as if were obtaining the results of a heart attack; start having upright siezures and transforming into monsters. some elderly fellow answering his doorbell to a man in sunglasses that smiles, just smiles at him. his grin becomes wider and larger, just becoming a face of teeth. golden retriever puppies playing on a grassy field, bouncing around over white small moths and butterflies. two viking brothers sitting at a wooden table talking about their battles of old. a young boy standing across from a microphone on a dark lit stage, with empty chairs infront of him; wondering why he never spoke. A teenage girl whispering to a teenage boy about how fun last night was and she pulls away and laughs for the memory made. a boy dying in his hopital bed playing with his superman action figure, the life supports machines echoing through the halls. a giant hole appearing in the sky, slowly sucking away the color of the earth...
want to play a game?
1 2 3 4 5 6 9
eve ry one is fee ling fine.
stars are bright.
for they burn.
touch them. and see. what. you. learn.
1 2 3 4 8 9 10
chil dren should go.
straight. to. bed.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

WinterBane

WinterBane 
WinterBane 
 
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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sandy Winds Roar

Sandy ‘winds roars, deadly Sandy roar ashore
As the night darken, the people screams no more! No more!
You Ocean whore!
Along the broad walks Hurricane Sandy barreled towards land. ...
Ripping two beautiful little angels from their mother’s hand

 Cockamamie dwellers, fled from their homes 
The high winds were no match for fowl, beast or man

Sandy winds roars, Sandy roar ashore
 Leaving tons of sand;
 On the main land
 Roof tops, the barbed wire, with sharped edges were defeated
 Mortal men lost again to winds of fate.
Sandy winds’ roars, she whistles; she roars ashore.

The long summer of 2012 became a dream
While our footprints fade in the sand 
 
  Our hearts ripped apart
  We prayed in the dark. : For calm and peace
Everywhere she went it was darkness
  Our hearts ripped apart
  We prayed in the dark. : For calm and peace
Please, please! Sandy spared us please.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Demon Inside Me

I feel it stirring deep inside

Ready for it's chance to come alive

I try and try to get away

But it's hold on me I can not sway

I try to hold the demon deep inside

But it's ugly head I can not hide

I hope for some peace when I sleep 

But even there it haunts me

It's ripping and tearing my soul apart

I know one day it will stop my heart

It whispers in my ear

It tells me things that I fear

It's eating me slowly from inside

Just to laugh when I cry 

I can't chase the demon away

So I just sit and wait until the day I fade away......


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Darkness

This is not the words of anesh, these are the words of her 10 year old daughter.

Surrounded by darkness and by the fear,
siting and siting in the room scared to death
as the lighting and rain storms me with fear.
Trying and trying to cry but no water is coming
down my face from my eyes.No summer no spring
no fall not even may,only dark and snow that shows
the darkness in you and me.Nothing to hate but still hating
on,no words will come out my mouth,with nothing to talk
or to talk about.Darkness still haunts me with fear and contiues to,
will it ever wear off,what should i do or say to make this fear stay
 away.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

jane doe ll

she  beckoned my soul i sat in fear 
nothing to focus on except writing a tear 
she busted through the window to her surprise
sitting with me was  st john paull 11

suddenly this opened her eyes
it was my identity she was after 
her name was jane i was yolanda
but very plain not vain 

this thief was after my thoughts 
plagerist jane whispered threats 
she wanted my song
i expressed to her 
id been writing too long

she was from tampa and i chicago 
living in tampa and fort myers
 jane was vile climbing through 
my townhome window ripping pages 

from my night stand exposing herself 
to my diary quickly she grew obssessed 
with  my culture in chicago my heritage
 with mayor daley cicely tyson 1971

joseph medill school finally lincolns tomb
i studied in springfield illinois 1969
jane was enraged with my identity
for every page i wrote classified who i was
8000 munchen 90 touring of germany 

she threatened my life
from guns to poison i sat with my pope
a feeling of purity a since of hope 
she would join corruption 

fraudulently  using my name 
threatening me daily
all the same i continued 
to write pant and cry
i gather i shall till the day i die


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Woke up from the nightmare

I woke up from the curiosity
And slipped down from my bed
I crashed down my left leg
and too injured my head

It needed so much aid
So I decided to 
get it fast
And I ran to the door
Got out from the 
room as vast

It surely was so serious
It made great a pain
Made me bleed when I 
Stepped out in the rain

I was going to shout
when it came in front
It was the blackest night
and there came a grunt

And I was stunned to
Hear that type of sound
And I ran violently
From the night made me bound

And slipped down from my bed
I realized it was a dream
And again crashed my head
And saw another dream

(Jamshaid Ghani)
25-11-2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fear Please be Gone

To the death I fear
To the lost I sealed
Though sorrow be it gone
Your loves God was never be wrong

Poor love of family tree
Lack care of happiness unseen
One live coming through
One soul passes too

I live like a ghost
A soul without host
Through the night i sing
In this part I'm rumbling

Fear, please be gone
Fear, mend this wrong


Details | Prose Poetry | |

HORROR OF MAN

 
A KID IS NEVER A CHILD ANY MORE
HE HAS TO FACE HIS PARENTS DEMONS
THE FATHER THINKS HE CAN BE SAVED BY HIS SEAMEN AS THE POPULATION RATE INCREASES
SO DO THE ORPHANS OF WHOSE PARENTS ARE KILLED BY DISEASES 
THESE ARE THE REASONS 
OF DEATH'S KILLING SEASONS 
NOW I'M BLEEDING FROM WITHIN
CAUSE LIFE IS KILLIN
THE MEANING OF BELIEVING 
AND SUFFOCATING ME FROM BREATHING
THIS PURE POLLUTED AIR
THEY SAY WE ARE THE FUTURE
BUT DOES FUTURE REALLY CARE?
THEY ONLY SEE THEIR OWN WELFARE
AND I DARE TO ASK
IS THIS THE HORROR OF MAN'S OWN DOING
OR IS THIS TORTURE PROPHESIED BY THE SCRIPTURES 
BEING THE BEGINNING OF THE END
OR THE END OF THE BEGINNING. 
MY HEAD IS SPINNING
IN QUESTIONS AND DOUBTS THAT IS DEATH REALLY WINNING?
THEN FOR GOD SAKES WHY ARE WE LIVING?
OR ARE WE LIVING TO DIE FOR OUR ANCESTORS FORTUNES 
OR MISS-FORTUNE PLAYING THE TUNES THAT WE HAVE TO DANCE TO
IF ALL THESE WERE TRUE
I HOPE THIS BE SEEN BY THE FEW...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

rage

it dosen't come with age,its in a cage trapped inside dont let it out your mouth without a doubt 
it will destroy us all,if we fall for rages tricks, envy, jealousy,anger love is the answer to keeping 
rage locked up , i know i let it out it tried to destroy me, but ive been set free love saved me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Crossing Through The Red Sea Undivided

The calm and quiet serenity embracing a string of fine buildings and a hypocritical weather which seems as if a quarrel manifested between the day and the night say it all as we enjoy the romantic stroll. Our aim is highly achieved if this was official, we would demand a certificate but the environment, our smiles, our love and our world are more than enough reward as we warm our souls and take the slow, gentle pace. the red flag was totally absent as we noticed many of them with tails unwag by-passing one, not knowing it is the scumbag began its vile its voice and energy much more than three angry wives on top of their nag. A drastic lag in our steps of royalty as my darling was taken over with gags. Then comes the full rage, attacks and great disdain to us. They were initially five; but now twelve. Creating a strategy by walking zigzag served fruitless and more like a drag as the voices of hell get even closer. making my wife scared as never before. Just one attack , can attract a deadly feast. Turning us into rags tearing us snag after snag and separating our flesh from body like a slag. That one bite, is now seconds closer with the lead intimidator showing its brag but 'the protector' being my tag; I turned swiftly and immediately going downwards and acting to take a weapon. Then the dozen of cowards impersonated Usain Bolt. 'That's my swag!" was the showing but in reality, I embraced my love passionately, thanking God for such a miracle with a skipping heart and a trembling body.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Flowers of the Forest

A howling gale blows along frost bitten trenches and men curl up damp and freezing,
No such thing as a real sleep, if it wasn't the cold or the noise, it would be fear,
Each man lays where he can away from the stench of death, alone with his own stench,
Gales sing through the barbed wires, we lay shivering, dreading departing darkness.

In a night daze I am home, my mother puts logs on a blazing fire it spits and cracks,
The sharp knives of the east east wind are buried in my head it aches and it itches,
My mums voice plays over that I must be careful, I laughed as we marched away hero's,
Laying deep in ditches, knowing fear deeper than man has ever known, where is my God.

Ashen faces, haunted eyes, trying hard to think of anything to stop thinking of here,
Previous bad times are now my goods times, if I ever go home I will never moan again,
As I say my prayers again on this cold bitter night, each holy word is a rasping sob,
My lips quiver as I mouth words to my Lord, my saliva falls onto frost frozen ground.

Soon bugles will blow, fewer men will stand than they did yesterday or the day before,
Each cling to life, gnarled hands frozen into bloody fists, fear and hate the new day,
My muddy brown brothers sip steaming tea, soon shells will be fired towards the steam,
Maybe one day I leave here but never forget, this I swear by the flowers of the forest.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beast

Rage is in me it's alive
It's like a beast tearing from inside
The beast is me it's time to die
I am fighting to survive
The beast haunts me in my dreams it's in the shadows taunting me
He is tearing me apart it has hollowed out my heart
My voice is screaming in my head it does no good for I soon will be dead
Vengeance is tasteful it raises it's head
It's eyes are yellow and full of the dead
I am falling and there is no end
The time now has come for me to part
It has ripped out my lonely heart
Down and down and down I go at least i got to keep my soul....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fred the Legend been sighted part 3

It all started one Halloween..no one knew what it would mean...could it ? was it? just a 
dream ? Follow the " Legend of Fred " series and you'll see what I mean...



Everyone’s asking where is Fred..?

Has anyone looked under their bed ?

I’ve heard tell he disappeared on this night filled with fright..

Many said he was taken by the things that go bump in the night…

But things of this nature don’t happen around here that much….

Has anyone out there seen a little red headed clown ?

He has a red nose and a smile turned upside down…

The chocolate and sweets from his trick or treat…

Still lays scattered all over the street…

I know he wouldn’t have gone on his own..

Cause he came from a very happy home…

Some say they’ve seen him, running down the street..

Yelling at the top of his lungs….

Hey everybody it’s time for “ trick or treat “…

So on that night when you go out...looking for some fun..

Remember the little red clown named Fred..

And all the things this poem has said…..












Details | Prose Poetry | |

What If

What if 
I vanish, 
I vanish from the face
Of the world,
Into an oblivion,
Into the void
Of pitch-darkness
Of nothing beyond.
What if I don't
leave a word
or two, behind for you.
What if I go,
Soundless, 
Cold and slow.
What if I draw
grey-black strokes
Before I know
That I'd immerse
lower than low.
What if the day
comes, cheerless
and dull,
Songs of skies
allay and lull
me to sleep.
For eternity.
What if I cease to know
How the emerald
on that grass will glow,
How it feels to wake up
tomorrow.
The leaf will stir.
The wind will take you far.
Joys of breathless delight
Would still rupture. 
Countless days will pass.
That my toes do not
touch the grass.
Until a lonely star
On a dust-less night
Will murmur
my name, in your ear.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Immortal Snare

The clock stopped ticking,
my ears are ringing 
Tale, tale signs that something is wrong here 
Everything looks normal,  
nothing out of place 
Then I looked in the mantel mirror 
And seen that horrid face. 
Not the reflection of a man, 
or anything I've ever seen 
His eyes were so hypnotic 
They seemed to lock onto me. 
He only spoke two words 
but they were loud and clear 
They will haunt my soul all my days 
He looked at me and said “Just You”
with a blackened tooth grin               
He wants me as his princes 
His spoils of war so to speak 
To make me his blushing human bride 
And the queen of all lost souls 
This was way more than I could bear 
I tried to say no 
Each one bringing a crushing blow 
Rebuffing his every attempt 
each time his anger grew 
And my will was becoming spent. 
With my final exhausted breaths 
I begged NO let me go 
And he laughs and swore to kill all I love unless I stayed 
I gave myself over 
so that no one feels the pain of this immortal snare 
So to save all else I gave in 
I miss who I use to be 
once so happy and care free 
Now on fear and hatred is how I feed 
  
I gave myself over so that no one feels the pain of this immortal snare


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Strange philosophy

i've always been so afraid of flying,
is it my fear of heights,is it my fear of falling?
it's a strange philosophy,
a troubled heart,a shooting star,life's a remedy
for who we are.
oftentimes my hope is fleeting,
so engrossed in so believing,
in who i am ,the calling,
it's a strange philosophy,
that up is down and down is up,
no doubt my truth is your lie,
but this is music,hear the heart.
it's a strange philosophy,
i live in you,you live in me,
you're trying hard to make it,
work it!
you lose your soul and hope it's worth it?
we trusted in whoever we believed,
Jesus died for my own fault,
i heard that all things pass away,
but love like this never fades away.
one last thing,
it is what it is,
a seriously strange philosophy,
all that and so much more.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ferguson

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem:  Ferguson 
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014


America,

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

Young
 black males
are dying,

faster than
seconds
on a
clock,

and
nothing is done

Just
another
young brother
GONE -

They killed Pac, 
In Vegas
nothing was done

They killed Biggie
In LA
nothing was done

They killed Oscar Grant,
In Oakland,
(at Fruitvale station)
nothing was done

They killed, Trayvon 
In Sanford, Florida
nothing was done

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

Wake up
America!

Open 
your eyes,

see the
pattern 
here?

Hands Up 
Don't Shoot!

Young  black males
are 
being murdered
and 
their cases run  cold -

While
the  killer lives another
day,

to murder another
young
black male -

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

They killed Michael Brown,
In Ferguson
Will something be done?

They killed Kajieme Powell,
In St. Louis 
Will something be done?

Their
is a 
pattern here -

and
it's Vile
as 
Vomit,

across 
the Red, 
White, and Blue -

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

They killed Sean Bell
In Queens
nothing was done

They killed Mac Dre
In Kansas City
nothing was done

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

America,

We Want Justice -



Details | Prose Poetry | |

TEARS OF FEARS

he more i thought 
how you were bought
our love was real
it was the ture deal
tho of losing you
too made my eyes rumber
they were and these years
TEARS OF FEARS


Details | Prose Poetry | |

SO LOW

Falling away,
Fading fast,
My heartbeat fainter and fainter,
My confidence lesser and lesser,
I’m now even afraid,
To do the things that I could do,
To live the life that I’m supposed to,
I just can’t understand,
Why I’m so low,
Feeling so alone,
Like I don’t belong anywhere,
Feeling Like I should not exist at all.

Falling fast,
Fading away,
My heartbeat lesser and lesser,
My confidence fainter and fainter,
I’m now even afraid,
To do the things I’m supposed to,
To live the life that I could,
I just can’t understand,
Why I’m alone,
Feeling so low,
Like I don’t exist,
Feeling Like I should not belong anywhere.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fire Dissolves Ice Yet You Can Make Fire With Ice

There comes a bloodless slaughter
There comes a day turned into night
As they toil with their dreams, their fodder
As they face an immortal might

Watercolors awash with orange, yellow and red bleeding
Seeping and dropping little rainbow jewels
On dewey fields coveted by man, fertile for seeding
Under the rising sun's heat, searing and brutal

Mystical ideas threaded into a life of woven seams, splitting and ragged
Vision and sound colliding, though silent and soothing like in winter the snow falls
The skies meld the ancient stars, and drowning seas, and there moves the glaciers
Lands become barren and flooded, borders great thick rock solid towering walls

Built by tired human hands
By those who once worked in bands
Now separate and crawling
Under a god who has fallen


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Winding up my wings

My wings are wound up.
Don’t ask me to fly.
I have locked myself inside the cage.
Without leaving, any reason for my rage.
I feel safe inside these bars…
As I am afraid of  outside unknown wars.
In your vision, my smiles and tears may be invisible.
It does not make any difference for me even if it is quite possible.
Neither do I blame my Lord nor any human being,
I blame myself…
For filling my heart with unfulfilled dreams…
And am frustrated for being helpless with inseparable wings!

By,
Roja Meeran.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

adieu

You need a visit to the bush
to see an elephant

You need a visit to the bush
to see a bufallo
 
Who will go to the wild
to see the fun of these animals

'Abidoye Adeosun' has been there
to see these animals playing

'Akintan Oluwasegun' has also been there
to see there funs, now both are part of them

You two are great warriors
of the world above

REST IN PEACE my two lovely friends

Dine not in a earthworm soup
Dine not in a millipede stew

Whatever they eat in the world above
Dine gracefully with them

Death
though...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

On Verge

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

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

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

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Harlan's Holler

~ Harlan’s Holler ~
Dean Kuch ©2014
The locals say, in the light of day one can visit Harlan’s Holler, stay on the path don't incite the wrath of the man who lost his daughter. The townsfolk say, to this very day, you can hear poor Charlotte cryin.' Beneath silv'ry moon, where young lovers swoon, as she lay there, slowly dyin'... In the August heat, with tiny unshod feet, Charlotte ventured into the Holler. She soon lost her way when the light of day Gave way to midnights squalor. Ripe berries sweet for her mom to eat she'd gone there for the pickin', her bucket now full, twirling locks a' crull, the creeping darkness began to thicken. She wandered for days, to the towns dismay, poor little Charlotte could not be found. Old man Harlan yelled; damned them all to hell— then placed a curse upon the ground. No crops will grow on the ground you sow, all your livestock will surely die, you'll toil endlessly, in the end, you'll be just the same as my Charlotte lie. You'll burn in hell, you'll see, in the end, you'll be just the same as my Charlotte lie... The days dragged on under the summer sun as the child withered to dust. Fred Harlan died, Bible at his side, felled by his curse and vengeful lust. Down on Harlan's Hill you can hear them still, mournful sobs by Pa and daughter, when the moon's just right, in the dead of night, stay away from Harlan's Holler. Lest you tarry there— 'neath the moon, beware, of the curse of Harlan's Holler...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Plate

I bent over to pick up the broken pieces of the plate,
this was Grandma's favorite plate.
She had gotten this plate from her mom,
it had always occupied that same spot behind the couch.
The same couch we where not allowed to sit on.
It was still like new covered with a thick piece of plastic,
the plastic used to be clear, now it was yellow with age
Beside the couch on end tables there were cut glass bowls filled with candy,
the candy was multi colored with verticle stripes, 
they looked like miniture pillow but without the softness.
Like the couch the candies were meant for looking at, 
almost to much for an eight year old boy.
I wanted to be a good boy so I only took a few,
they looked better than they tasted.
I walked to the kitchen to find some glue.
I had hoped she wouldn't notice
back it went to it's special spot
When she got home and looked at me I cried and told her it was broken
She just held me and said it was okay
Grandmas are like that


By Richard Lamoureux
"Picking up The Broken Pieces" contest



Details | Prose Poetry | |

These Salty Waves Pt 1

What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to say? All these lies you bottled up come sweeping, crashing with the tides. My footing's gone, the ocean real, but how am I supposed to feel? And here I am, a drowning mess, a loveless lie, I do protest. And here I am a drowning mess. So all those things you said to me? Where they just lies out of pity? So all those things you said to me? Or am I lost in salty waves? Yes I know my future's grave. Or am I lost in salty waves?And now the panic in my head, when I should be tucked up in your bed, reels and reels right here instead.I'm going down, a sinking ship, funny what name drips off my lips. It is not God, or Angles plenty, or even that I'm just damn ready To let go of the hell and the lies. I'm wishing for your gentle eyes. Or at least the way they always seemed, but perhaps that's just this salty dream. I have no clue what I'm to do! A drowning hopeless mess, for you-- think it's cute, and oh so funny, but here's the bitter truth now honey. I'm going down. There is no help. I can't be saved by God himself. I put my life, my whole world of trust, and you've thrown it away for lust. Well what the hell's a girl to do? I'm just so entranced by you!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Outright Hidden

 When biding entailments of an adoption stay kept - more than otherwise shown; staved off from enlightenment, are these lives of which, we have now coopered and held within their fiery unknown…  
       …Where ablaze are thoughts from far, far reaches, as if each a reddish licked flame from a long lost fire… Fires of which, brushed every shade of burnt orange that still hue of a past sunset’s desire.
        Your sunset, our own living sunset, a sunset awash in its own past beauty or life’s chaos -; now viewed by everyone as hope never surrendered. As if the artist’s hand-hurled, color-of-the-sun fireball - splashed broadside our own clouded gun metal gray horizon – for better or worse…”


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thoughtless Explosions of Verbiage

In times of joy and in times of pain 
words are the only elusive attempt at portrayal 
Daunting Contraptions Contracted in a few fleshy pounds 
hidden in a bloody swirling cesspool hiding in our skulls 
Thoughtless explosions of verbiage fill the pages of 
time & space in this place, feeble attempts at nothing 
merely interjections of uselessness. We canter down 
these halls of life opening doors & closing others, 
doors hard to shut are better left open. To breath the 
breath of life through these pounding heads of humanity. 
Beating its burden of confusion & false hope straight to 
the source ... producing order? What a concept in this place 
as to say a controlled explosion our existence is 
the oxymoron that is all. We live the days like 
the pun of some joke that's been forgotten. 
We soothe our souls with others expressions, broadcasting 
feeling to the masses. Ideas thought for someone else 
helpless sheep in this hillside pasture we're spinning on. 
Songs of hope & joy inspire & drive others to the end. Confident 
that more words will help in the future. Addicted to 
others feelings & ideas to produce our own. Mindless bites 
gurgle out real life for ratings while we all watch 
ourselves and turn back to the box. The box should 
falsify our existence but then the black emptiness that 
has become our hard existence. Tired lonely 
followers dancing till the end .... 
Ah the end 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Frail and Failing

Mystical sadness 
for we are one
To find some fun
Facing the blinding ash
Of a black widows kiss
To be forgotten in the shedding light
To fall back onto your after life
That you'v worked so hard to accomplish
Were nothings been achieved
But confusion in the fog
That we'v tried so hard to avoid
Constantly being followed around with a spot light
To put you in the spot
Everyone's waiting for you to fall
So quiet you can hear a leaf fall
Can hear it screaming to its death
You can become in tune
To the chorus of failing leaves
Hoping that a being that's standing under the tree of realness
will catch this stranger
To be placed in between a book page
For the rest of eternity 
to be in comfort of being hugged by pages 3 and 4


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Apart From Me







Somber silly little Setter, English; painting trapped himself in the side yard whimpering, howling away wildly. 


Sunscreen-on, moseying on over, in His tenderness He offers a helping hand. Hot Summers cool vapors the blessings found  here, there to and fro leaning midst the still lulling; gentle calling of the Rains. 


Yes the Grace of God, in His joy humming, arriving just in time, and so is Patience the greater venture I suppose the eminent virtue. 


His Love always; Honest, Open... Willing already beholden... . Far beyond the wreck I make for myself and others... chains stretched bounded securing me yes, my freedom in kind stripped away from me given in the effort this provisional very prominence preceding me when in denial of these facts.     







Details | Prose Poetry | |

FLAMES

Nobody knows my story
I don’t even know my story
I sit at the window
Gazing at the raindrops 
That wriggle their way down my sill.
I wish I had been given more grace
I wish I had seen the grace
Nobody knows what happened
I don’t even know what happened
Had I murdered her?
Had I let out her spirit?
I wish to remember
Yet I do not want to know
My story is not forgotten; it just doesn’t exist 
Or does it? Only in me?
An illusion, a mirage or a dream?
Who knows my story?
I bet nobody knows my story
I still remember her scream
Piercing through the walls of that tower
I still remember that mouth,
Too tired to utter words
It was only the tongue 
Alive enough to lick that blood
Blood that tickled
Freely from her forehead 
She had stared hard
As if to tell me what?
This story runs endless
This story is timeless
It keeps arresting my thoughts
Should I have helped?
Could I have helped?
When I was frozen?
When I was rooted to that spot?
When I could do nothing
But to stare back?
I do not know my story
I have no idea what it sounds like
It happened too fast
In one split second
Right before my eyes
It all went up in flames…


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Labyrinth

A circular room
You're trapped
Find a corner
Sit and ask
Where's the door
Out of the maze
Labyrinth will eat alive

Why did you enter?
Find the answer
Before it's too late
Walls are closing in
Where's that corner?
So you can finally ask
Minator tears away at the flesh

There never was a door
You silly little fool
Forget the corner
Run and run
Circles pass the time
Time that flies when you are blind


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My End

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

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

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

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Never got to say goodbye

Screaming in my head not able to hear nothing else.
the screaming is Me saying come back so I can say goodbye.
but the screaming goes unnoticed due to only me hearing them.
  I wish I could have you one last time to say one last goodbye.
Before you go but your already gone, never even got to say goodbye.
Maybe one day soon I will get to say goodbye and hello, as I will be dead 
to with no regrets.
the screaming in my head goes silent as I finally get to say goodbye forevevr.
 the screaming in my head is because I never got to say goodbye.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

contradictions

here are a few prose from the bible................


in matthew,an angel is sitting on the rock outside the tomb;in mark,a youth is inside.in 
luke,two men are inside.in matthew,the two marys rush from the tomb in great fear and 
joy,run to tell the disciples and meet jesus on the way.in mark,they run out in fear and say 
nothing to anyone.in luke,the two women report the story to the disciples,who do not believe 
them and there is no suggestion they meet jesus.in matthew,when mary magdeline and the 
other mary arrive at the tomb,there is a rock in front of it,then there is a violent earthquake 
and an angel descends and rolls back the stone.in luke,when the women arrive at the 
tomb,the stone is already rolled back.


these are but a few contradictions,in prose form.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TRAPPED

I have no friend dear diary
You remain my only companion
Tales of my tragedy, you carefully conceal
A most loyal comrade, heed these words
 My great book, tis me and my teary voice
He was my Anthony and I his Cleopatra
Our love smoked higher above Apollo and Aphrodite’s
We were twined together
Like seaweeds, hidden among rocks ashore
Now our combat is nonstop
And only my mirror sees my bruises 
My chamber remains my foursquare
Tending my wounds till my skin regains its lustre
The only unhealing wound? My heart of hearts
I cling to that thin thread of hope beating myself with guilt
Thinking he will return should I become a better person
That person I brought to life just to face disappointment
He charged fiercer
Battered me from dusk to dawn
And “sexed” away my pain 
For that brief moment my shell is cracked
I remain broken; I see shame
In my quest to fight back
I’m met by the fiery in his eyes
Knocking me down each time
With pride aside I’ve found my voice
If thee find yourself in another’s clutches
Carry on this message
I’m tired, I’m simply exhausted 
And in need of help…

©Naa Takia, All rights Reserved 2012





 

 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Between Heaven and Hell

What shall I do
What shall I do in the meantime
In between this heaven and this hell
Believing in God more than what the people tell
What shall I do
What shall I do in the meantime
Under the sun
Never ending Corruption
In between this heaven and this hell

Between zero year and the end times
I've bidden my time
Smoke and mirrors
A day further
Time goes on
That  light on the horizon
Is just a mirage
Just the glare off a shiny nickel in the dirt
Nothing but Despair
The entire world 
In a state of dis-repair
We march on further
Into the abyss

A day further
Time goes on 
So what shall I do
What shall I do in the meantime
In between this heaven and this hell
Believing in God more than what the people tell
What shall I do
What shall I do in the meantime
Under the sun
Never ending Corruption
In between this heaven and this hell


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Suppression of Suicide

I sat there,
"My God, I can't take another day"
my mind cried;
 My heart was so cold and black...

"Look at yourself", 
I looked in the mirror... 

"You have turned into a Monster, 
you are no longer living,
You are a zombie."..


"You love him so much, 
but look at what is happening"...
Life isn't worth living...

This is not love, 
this is not what I want out of Life, 
This is Madness...  

"Does he really love you?"...

Yes, he does---
I don't know...
He doesn't stop me from the things I do... 

All I know is I really love him...
 
I want to Die!!!
But what would he do?..
What would he feel, 
if he found me dead here?..
 
I wrote this little note 11-14-1996 that night:  
Telling him I love him and will always love him... 

I don't want to die and hurt him, 
if I killed myself, 
"Then it would hurt him!".. 

I wished he really believed me... 
I wish this nightmare would go away... 
Why can't he accept the fact that I'll never leave him?.. 
How do I know he'll stay?..

I know how he feels, 
I know why he feels the way he does about me... 
I feel the same... 

Why am I repeating 
this stupid feeling of rejection?.. 
Why, do I care if he leaves me or not?.. 

I got a nice spot to be buried, somewhere..

I know the other side is much better... 
I'll get a new body, another life... 
I don't want to die unloved... 
I don't want to die alone... 
I don't want to hurt someone I love... 

Maybe he'll join me, 
maybe he won't... 

Whatever he chooses, 
I'll never stop loving him... 
I'll wait for him forever... 

He'll blame himself if I die... 
But it's not his fault... 

I should of spoken up... 
We both should of been more open... 
We should of communicated more... 
I don't know?..

I guess we were really scared of one another!!!
                                                                   
"Feelings of Death" 11-14-1996


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Pa







Had a dream about my Pa tonight, We all went out with them to Lake Loral Nancy His wife cooking up a good ol' Chicken Pot Stew slow-cooked set way up high atop the hickory us loading up the Bayliner for our afternoon fishing trip. We reminisced, Canoe in toe as we used to do just in case, yes just as we did back then; you-know if either would wished to float to one or more sides with the Canoe tied to the railings of the boat, or more or less to widen the chance at a greater spot to cast a gander upon our luck... . My Father by adoption; having-stated many times early on in-all of our teenier all together, God being-in-charge of all good-Blessings and if-you will--luck... we'll always catch some albeit one Yes I began to see through this statement he mentioned often God is always presenting always providing this-His Honest Hope, for us both--as I believe like my Pa, for any one yes everyone who is patient remains-open... ! Our woes, and Peace abiding... uncertainty grievances questions yes laughter were our main recollections as we dropped our first lines as we cast them... . I tell you I truly did love Him, still love Him, will always I figure... yes I know Some folk are so defined never wish to grow any further their Character divorced by Cancer, Nary did my Father allow it. On the day he passed He told Nancy, "I love my life. My Family Children. Love all those close to me.... but I'm tiered just plain wore out." the Lord took Him that night, the next day forthcoming I was told and O how I cried — But then realized as I saw he lived the greater life - He worked on this purpose until the day he died, and so for all he work for this final reprieve — it was for all of the ones he loved, because I feel for all whom he loved, he'd prayed for all to do the same... Yes a suffering in kind the same I'm seeing now - All-of-it I'm-finding; because he taught me the greater of his Faith nary a day apart from Him, and me... his youngest Son two Others older Sons if you will, yes I feel his family and friends still have this eminent belief to boast; Yes, in-the Company--Comfort... of Jesus' Peace... !


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Finding My Pure Heart

All the violence on TV was probably not good for me
All the decapitated corpses on video games not the brightest idea for me
Life’s real dramas just frustrate me
All the fabricated television dramas annoy me
We all love a happy ending yet we consume the misery and pain of others
Haunted by life changing events
At times I just simply need to vent
Why be educated and humble when being ignorant and shallow brings you fame
Why save your virginity for marriage, when society’s sluts take all the good guys that a girl covets
Why be a nice guy, when all the respectable women settle for assholes yet are surprised when they are mistreated and cheated on
Why live a life down the correct path, when the wrong path is glorified and admired by society
Beneath the darkness and rubble of life exist the flickering white light of my once pure heart


Find more of my writings and poems at jorgesouthkorea.com


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Crossing The Lines

Parents get caught up in the politics of crossing the lines,
feeling too apprehensive to discipline their children,
for fear that it will be misinterpreted as brute force,
Although sensibility tells them that if they don't 
intervene, their childrens' behavior can grow much worse,
However, too much coddling makes them spoiled,
so parents become paranoid,contemplating, how much is too much of love,
discipline and advice?
A million years would not make them any wiser,
and the young ones will not grow any nicer or any more
rambunctious than they anticipated,
but, the childrens' guardians remain frozen in fear because they sometimes find it
difficult to make their boundaries clear........


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Judgement

Listen to the wind as it crashes into the towns and villages and downs mighty trees,
Stand still, let it blow until you nearly fall, face its anger and lean into the cold wind,
It brings snow so heavy, flakes will bite your face, freeze your wet golden pig tails
Stand in the blizzard then fall to the ground and stay there, this is your judgement day,

It's time to reflect darkest needs, and the moral ruin in that space, of your passing years.
Listen to the wind bending boughs, branches and the flow of a turbid stream of pollution,
A pollution that floats the wretched souls and bodies of all mankind to death and to hell,
You hear a sound of branches creaking under the strain of despicable wrongs in your life,

It's a mighty power that takes away the beat of the immoral pulse of your sorry humanity,
So now you are ready to listen, so listen hard, but then you know your own sorry story.
Listen to the wind and hail sweeping over dead leaves, throwing them into a black sky,
Do leaves shiver or do they shout out loud in rage as they are scooped up in a frenzy,

Will you pray to your god, ask him for forgiveness as this is your last day on earth,
Or will you beg in the tattered slops of your own righteousness just to save yourself,
Listen to the tolling of the old passing bell that swings in your black dome of vice.
You will feel the devils havoc amongst immortal souls, a hell fire dwelling in your heart,

A story of your progress a disease of lies which sucked away all goodness from your days,
Lies have plucked the red roses from childhood and set a brand of hate on your wet brow,
The story of lies which have stalked and spread up and down the earth for many centuries,
Lies that sweeps millions upon millions to destruction, for this disease there is no cure. 

How many sighs have been noted down in your heaven and how many tears were for yourself,
Those too often troubled fountains flowing like April showers, your wolf's tears fallen,
How many hearts have you broken in loveless famine, all for a want of an act of kindness,
See how deep the dyes painted in your days, a selfish dense black cloud as the background,

So look behind you, see the old man carrying his scythe, he is waiting and he has patience. 
Listen hard, listen well, do you hear trumpets blare over the crashing white landscapes,
Will you pray brimstone or treacle and tell the wind your sins the unacceptable truth's,
Did you sit and drink your wine murmuring everlasting hate in a rich full flavoured voice.

You are just a blank space in a world of nothingness a mere sour taste in the universe,
Your vicious wrongs telling the same old stories heard by thousands, thousands of times,
You close your mind and pretend to forget what cannot be forgotten, tell me are you bad, 
Because I would like to know if you think you are a good example, I would like to know.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I SAW A SKELETON

I saw a skeleton 
In a board meeting
He was so cool the air was ice
And all were under the big chunk
All were frozen chickens, eyes vacant
Like dead man
Only the skeleton was alive
And talking like an orator
The big hollow in him
swallowing the universe
I felt the pull
And tried to flee
Don't miss the class
He continued with full gusto
Gentleman, now I present
A synopsis- how the hells are made
And the heavens are walloped...
Sun broke through my house.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Come To Me

 
Come To Me
Come to me, he said again, to my dismay and tired chagrin, I fought to tarry a while longer... As I grew weak, he grew much stronger— “...Come to me.” † ~*~ 'Tis just a melding of simple fate, a subject not for one's debate; and lo', this wretched creature beckoned I fought him off just as he'd reckoned— “...Come to me.” † ~*~ "Am I not worthy of your best? Have you not put me to to the test? I dare not wish eternal sleep..." He glared at me, blank sockets"- deep— “...Come to me.” † ~*~ His skinless masque, devoid of feature with feral grin, this wretched creature reached yon, His slender hands of bone beseeching, calling,- "I'll take you home— ...Come to me." † ~*~ "Where is this you and I must go? To heaven's gates, or fires below, Should you divulge our destination?" Yet, he looked on;- gaunt presentation— “...Come to me.” † ~*~ May I offer you some wine? perhaps, if you just took some time, You'll see, I do not wish to go. He smiled at me, and said... “I know” “...Come to me.” † ~*~ Wretched creature, scourge of nations You wrest me to your lost damnation Can I not reason with you a bit- Please, sir! There, do come and sit— “...Come to me.” † ~*~ "Away, I cried, you demon's seed I bear no illness, I have no need to follow you, please I implore Away! Away," come back no more..." yet, He went on, much as before— "...Come to me." † ~*~ "I must stay here, my work's not done! The battle wages, the war's, undone, 'Tis my fight not worth completing?" He only watched, and kept repeating— “...Come to me.” † ~*~ "Oh Death, I know your wretched grin, I've seen its reflection on my own sin; Have I no time to make amends? This can not be where my life ends..." “...Come to me.” † ~*~ "I refuse," said I, "I will not go!" His voice grew darker, his countenance, lo' 'til I arose, from tufted bed, then I turned 'round, so softly said, “good-bye” ...And went~ .
Come To Me © Dean Kuch™ 2013 All Rights Reserved


Details | Prose Poetry | |

BEYOND THE BRAIN

Secretly treading on the wrong path
I'm afraid of my of my own shadow
Chasing me down the lane
Disappointed by my own self
and reeking of fear within
Even my breath stinks of fear
The unknown and the future all unclear
You don't who trust and who to blame
You are just there.

Louis muhereza


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Running shoeless

Black cherries
Platonic hearts
Remembering moments from the past
Climbing railings
Watching cars pass
Red, white, green and blue
A picture of a world I once knew.
Loss of breath
Running shoeless
Suffocating smoke filling the air
Angered cries
Too many lives
taken in like a fishing net.
We are only people in the end.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

the compliant press

The compliant Press 

Snowstorm in America, where else? There are snowstorms 
in Scandinavia too, but how cares. In Russia 200 hundred 
people have frozen to death, the news on TV, cover  this in 
two seconds because all camera eyes are trained on America 
and its fiscal cliff-  I hope it fall in to it- and snowstorms. 
There was a time when America was important that things
of this inconsequential nature were important…no more. 
The united states of America´s parochial problems no longer
matter as it is a nation bankrupt like Hellas and sustained by 
useless wars in the Middle East. When the lords of the press
notice that their focus was wrong, the main language thought 
a university will be Chinese and Arabic. And as they gurgling 
drown in the new world order we will hear the faint echo of
democracy and freedom, none which behooves humanity well.
And the lords of the press will serve their new masters with
tame diligence as they served the old masters of power.  


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Man I Want to Be

Years ago, I would have acted differently.
Full of emotion, of energy, of life.
But now I hold back. I avoid that which may hurt me.
The old saying “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,” 
is a truth I suppress into the inner confines of my heart.
For I’m nearly a grown man and the man I want to be is cold and emotionless.
Is it the fear of loss that drives this ambition?
A fear of commitment?
No.
It is the embarrassment of being different.
The cold world around me dresses in red and I once dressed in green.
Curious glances at my nature stung like a thousand bees. So I hide my true color 
under a false red jacket.
I zip it up so securely that my difference, though concealed underneath,
 is but a memory of the courage, the embarrassment, I once dared to show.
For I’m nearly a grown man and the man I want to be is a coward.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Broken Man

I got lost somewhere between hope and reality. I tired with all my might but things never seemed to go right. I had all my dreams ready but they never came true. I planned to achieve numerous goals but I never could. I had the perfect life planned out in my mind but now I feel as if I just wasted my time.  My best efforts never produced any success. Have I been walking through life wasting all of my breaths? Quitting and surrendering is the obvious choice for me now. Do I continue to fight until I have nothing left? Should I just hold my breath and patiently wait for death? Too broken to die and barely alive to continue. I just wish I had a clue to figure out this mystery called life.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

One For Love

Your sweet breath escapes you and engulfs my soul 
Through words spoken as though from some celestial being 
Warm emotion floods me, floods my very fibrous core 
Love I feel is not a mere four letter 

Word that reluctantly man takes for granted, but more a 
Monument to the jubilous fire you set my soul alight with 
Speak, I cannot, the true magnitude of shear bliss 
Endured by my mortal flesh. With the slightest brush 
Of your angelic fingers. None can know or fathom 
what true insurmountable beauty lies within 
green fields of yet discovered highland plains laden with 
flowers and sweet honey aroma blows within. Feeble 
in my attempts to profess my own meek emotions 
turmoil of my own past colliding with the yet to be. I destroy 
myself knowing such turmoil I cause in an entity 
none like yourself. Meager apology and material possessions 
offer no hint of emotion of love and remorse contained 
My, love, our love, will endure of that much I am sure. Open my mind 
My only wish, to show you things I need you to see. I have known 
No strength such as yours you take for granted. Times as this 
I've never known but with you only would I have it to spend. Forget 
Not the who I was, the who I am, and the who I will be. 
My love, our love will endure of that much I am sure 
 
Monotony & Mundane remain the same 
caught in this slippery pretty net 
we're all falling in and around our own whirlpools 
our upward spiral climbs too high - the higher up the further down 
Fly the same play the same one with the other 
floating always floating 
This sea we've created weaved in the merciless 
fabric of the time we all flock to certain death 
holding the hands of our clocks & wondering why 
our own bleed. double edged is the face of 
a sundial. With each shadow flicker anguish & 
joy death & life exist permanently & are lost forgotten 
by time held by life lost by eternity. 
Let's all rally hand in hand while the band 
plays on 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The inside tempo


Old boys! 
Jut their youths' ideas 
Marvel at dark streets 
Surrounded by lark' sound 

Age of the sun 
Life of the earth 
Facts seem phoney 
All dwindle hardy hopes 

Tongues spoken 
Words split open 
Guns left free 
And harvest in vain 

Hearts desired 
Reality crooked 
For the way paved 
Broken justice reserved


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Deepest Fear

 So many thoughts. so much stress, tryna peel around corners of suggestion, dodging fear bullets tryna answer your questions.

Feeling so distant from thought, thought I could run, but i'm caught up again, words just aren't good enough to describe the pain i'm in.

I'm losing, losing my war with self, losing sanity, & losing it all, backed up fetaled in a corner,

slowly losing vanity, vision blurred, curved, &skewed. Like condemn your thoughts. Believe words and blame views. Definite deficit difference, acknowledged by many, feared by some, &ignored by few.

young minds grab a pad and let the pen speak scriptures and leak truths, like the bible was known to the face of the unchanging, &pissed on by the blasphemy you hear in the news.

 Thanks swizz, we cruise on to the next one, limiting all within all I've seen young-in slung, hung by nuice louder than ears drum, ears drumming out catastrophe. Comparing natural disasters to the lord's only begotten son.

 Son of a bastard father, son of a bitch, son of none, A motherless child. They treat me like i was a new religion, judged by appearance, Looking into my equivalent of a bible and treating it like it's Saul Williams' diary, Opening a telegram of coded language & screaming Sha Clack Clack at the misleading analogies,

 of me,

 to things like hurricanes, earthquakes, and tsunamis, naw mean, naw, me, not me, wrong clip, take another picture, &reassess the image in your menstrual mirror, get to know me a lil and maybe you can judge me. Because until then, you'd never know my fear of what you think of me..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TRAFFIC JAM

trying to catch plane
it was insane
we got caught
not bought
we were like lams
in a
TRAFFIC JAM


Details | Prose Poetry | |

If Wishes Were Horses

I say goodbye a lot—not in an “I’ll see you later” or “until next time” sort of way—but in a “goodbye for good” and “never speak to you again” sort of way. I’ve always been all right with it, accepted it, and embraced it, even. You know, people come and go; they serve their purpose and even though sometimes it’s worth it, they go away. I’m guilty of it myself. Just leave. Get out. Go. Don’t stay. I’ve said goodbye so many times to so many people in so many ways, but you posed a problem that my brain, mind, soul, body can’t escape. I just want to be back inside your arms, your bed, your life, your heart, you. Instead, I ran off, 9 thousand miles away to wake up as you go to bed, to play in a giant sandbox. I do not want to stay here; June cannot come quickly enough. March, April, May—three more months of this living in your tomorrow, you in my yesterday. I miss you. I fear you. I long for you with intensity as deep, as overwhelming, as powerful and dominating as the sky’s infinity. I love you. I want you. I yearn for you in every single way; the tears I’ve bled for you are insurmountable. I wish for Home; I wish for the West. Even greater than my desperation for friends, family, familiar faces, familiar places, is my ache to have you near; if wishes were horses, and if horses had wings, I’d have one to take me there.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Spoken

Spoken!


Are we meant to walk a tight straight line,
Wouldn’t that be saying to walk like the blind.
How will the hollow be treated in the end,
The two edge sword is being used for family and friend.
A crooked smile is hard to bend right,
The strong is most needy when using their might.
Unconscious wisdom spoken to bring down to the top,
A cliff is extended in sight of the short stop.
Wrongful delight can’t teach a child confusion,
But a picture made by evil hands gives a right way illusion.
Falling short to the tall brings along a silent bed,
Hot air in a head makes no stop air blown on hot makes stop while ahead.
Carving your pumpkin with heart out of chest,
To take a heart out of evil empty chest is best.
Cut off your left if it hinders your right,
Close your eyes to see dark to realize whose light!

Ashley Hogan AH


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Mother's Worst Nightmare

There you were

I held you in my hands

You were my gift

After nine months of care

I wished for you hopes and dreams to come true

You were my dream come true

I guess my prayers weren’t listened to

But someone took you away from me much too soon

I said hello to you

But I never said goodbye

I still can’t believe you died

My soul and heart forever broken

Nothing to make it better or fix it

I laid you to rest on many nights

Knowing you would wake up

Unfortunately,today I laid you to rest

Asking god to love and protect you

In heaven you wait for me

To resume our relationship of mother and son


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Long Gaze

Resting my eyes i sat a while
lids locked. muscles sliding to rest
toes & feet washed rough on stony traverse
boil to a constant roll...burning breath in exhausted lungs
tome creaks by & calm trickles
eroding the barren skin
turning the serene oasis

light gently slices away
falling softly piece by piece
to the empty ground beneath my feet

lull to the dead beat stand still
the fast tempo kinetic air inside
pounding life force
choking for a sideways glance unattended



Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Drunken Coward

What is the number of heads of families that have been nasty drunk in their homes,
How many drunken rages hang like blisters on chapped lips when cowards abuse wives,
The number of bruises made by a drunken fist on the hidden parts of a battered wife,
And how many handful's of hair have been pulled from a wives head by a male coward.

What levels of tears have been shed and collected as a prize for the cowardly bully,
Did the money for food, clothes and rents get spent in taverns and malls for drink,
Many hearts have been broken by the kind man they married and turned into a monster,
Do battered partners forgive these human vices, the shame, lies and the harsh misery.

If one of these cowards saw the moral ruins left would he change or just say he would,
Would he change his behavior if his footprints that have caused hatred could be seen,
Can he see fear in the eyes of his wife and children as he staggers through the door,
He must enjoy his power his perceived self image he is a hard man beating the helpless.

Victims have had their most beautiful time of life plucked like roses from sad cheeks,
Lovely faces look down to the floor because if he catches their eyes they will get beat, 
Living in a world full of fear never knowing what will happen as they wait for his return,
As he walks up the path he grins he is happy and knows he will find a reason to attack.
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Are Things Which We Never Speak Of

There are things which we never speak of. There are things which never cross 
our lips. Even though our minds and eyes say them, we have an unknown fear of 
actually bringing them to audible words. For if they are heard, it is as though we 
are vulnerable. We are vulnerable to the only thing that we believe to control by 
ourselves. Thoughts like these are the ones that prevent us from opening up to 
the ones we trust. We feel as though we can’t share these thoughts without 
having some consequence brought to us. Even our closest friends and loved 
ones never know our innermost feelings. They do not truly understand where we 
come from because we lack the ability to express ourselves fully whilst having 
this fear of being vulnerable to openness. We don’t know if there will ever come a 
time that this fear will be wiped away and lack the inability of bearing ourselves, 
however, we must always believe there will one day be a time that we can do 
such.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Alone

Glistening gently it sits alone,
Frozen in place, never twitching
It eyes softly chiselled, never blinking,
Full of fear and sadness.

Time does not affect it,
Merely bores it, frightens it.
No-one to care for it, no-one to love,
It sits watching and waiting alone.

Sitting on its haunches,
Waiting to move,
Waiting to roam free , 

The Hare sits afraid.

It dreams of greenlands,
Dreams of family,
It hopes to find it,
It hopes to escape.

No-one can help him but his master,
Only his cruel, master
Though he shan’t,
Darkness consumes his heart.
Only he can help but he shan’t….


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CRY ON ME

if you feel  too
you can  do
am one of a few
and this is no lie
you can feel free
TO
CRY ON ME


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TOOTH ACHE

it make s your head turn
your eyes burn
it can't eat can't sleep
you do walk the beat
 its kept you awake
a
TOOTH ACHE


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Reigning!

Your love is reigning down on me.
I feel, with each drop,
The cleansing and soothing
Of my very soul.

You know what Your child
Needs before even I know.

How deep is Your love for me?
It touches the depth of my soul,
It sees the thoughts 
I fear to admit even having.

And yet, knowing all my darkness,
You still love me.

You are remarkable!
You are so full of mercy
And so faithful in Your love for me.
How can I ever love You so?

I fear the thought of not having Your love.
I am terrified to not have Your forgiveness!

Even at my best, I fall short.
Only by You Lord, can I say 
I am loved and forgiven.
And I know in my heart You live
Because You live, I have these things.

I fear nothing with You near me.
Your child rejoices with gladness

For the mercies of Your love.
Lord, I love You with My whole being.
Take my life and make it what You want
While I journey through this life
Reign down on me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Clip My Wings






I do not fear to clip my wings,
of lover, friend, or carnal things.
I lean into the winds of spirit,
and gently I am lifted in
soaring heights.

My being trembles with delight,
surrounded by angelic flight of light.
No fear to soar to the heavens gates,
or cross the streams below with
no goal.

I am free as a bird gliding on wings
soaring ever so high above the earth.
Warmed by the hearth of the Father's
Heart.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Incessant Bubbles

Incessant Bubbles
                    by Odin Roark

I was well aware of the Hollywood bubble,
The Washington bubble,
The 1% bubble,
But my own vacuum couldn’t be that permeable…
Could it?

After all,
I might have chosen insulation,
Just had many others.
My boss,
Girlfriend,
Even her cat.

Did that make us all unrealistic,
Or merely protective,
Responsible,
Sensible?

Who wants to be vulnerable?
Who yearns to be bilked,
Milked,
Used?

Oh, I had a thesaurus of justifications.
But…

Here I was, sitting on the bus bench, eating my Big Mac… waiting.
Not for the bus, but the next panhandler.
Some kind of addiction, eh?
Of course I had the right to judge.
I worked hard.
Kept my job.
Never bummed around.
Avoided partying.
Never got into drugs,
Loose women,
Spending sprees.

No,
I was a good guy.
Minding my business in my well constructed bubble.

So,
Why did today start the doubts?
I was just sitting there, when, oh, Jesus.
Here comes that fucking mongrel again.
What’s with this mangy dog.
Why me?

Give me a panhandler to reject, any day.
This damn mutt was a deal breaker.
I was fixed in my ways.
And this little shit was always…

“Damn!
What do you want?”
Mr. Grunge sat back on his haunches.  Just sat there.
I fingered what was left of the burger.
He tilted his head.
“Yeah…  So what?  Man’s gotta eat.”
I took another bite.
Mr. Grunge didn’t move.  An ever so quiet sound slipped through his panting now.
Hell, he knew me.  Seen me enough times on this bench.  Knew I wanted to be one way, but always found myself being another when he turned up.
So gentle, his lean forward.  A sniff first.  (Even he knew it was always a good idea to sniff a McDonald’s first) His eyes looked up at me, then gently took the piece I’d torn off for him.
“So…you got what you wanted.  Beat it.”

See…this is what I mean.  He didn’t run off like all the other times.  He laid down at my feet, his muzzle resting on my shoe.  “You’re fucking up my thing.  You know that, don’t you?  Panhandler is going to avoid me now, thinking you’re some kind of rabid monster that will bite his ass if he comes near.”

Then, it happened.

Down the sidewalk strolled his guy.  You know the look.  Made the mutt look freshly shampooed.
I got into my “Go fuck yourself” mood.  Readying up my usual protective…
But, this guy just sat down on the bench.  Didn’t look at me.  His eyes looked down at the dog.
And I’ll be damned if he didn’t reach into his pocket, pull out an old dried up half-bagel—yeah dumpster or waste basket cuisine—broke off half for Mr. Grunge, sighed and munched on the other half.  “Nice day,” he says. 

So now there’s three of us munching away.  Fuck it…I give what’s left of the burger to the guy, and I’m wondering if I’ve picked the wrong sphere for myself.  There’s got to be one that’s right for me, right?
Oh, c’mon.  Don’t get all superior on me now.  We’ve all got our bubbles.  How you gonna survive without one.  Fear’s natural. I just need to pick my dreaded whatever better.  You know, the kind of threat that’s really worth being afraid of.  Like maybe never seeing the mutt again.  Never witnessing a panhandler that’s handing out.  You know?

I guess I should go with the flow, ‘cause it never gets easy.