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Prose Poetry Fear Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Fear

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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

Copyright © Derek Ortiz | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |


poet-mrs.anjali denandee , mom
i am a snakes-owner…..
i catch snakes from here and there….
by my own-hands……..
i am very-expert……
i live in a village-corner…..
to my snakes , i take too-care………
i put , in bamboo-baskets……..
give to these , milk…
all drink it………
on many-ways……
i show the dance of the snakes……..
many people enjoy it………
the crowds give me foods , cloths and also money……..
i am not poor..
by these , i eat..
i dress……
and also i buy my useful-things …
by the money……
one day ……
a doctor says to me ,…………
‘’ if you give me the poison …….
then i shall give you money ‘’ ……..
i agree with him,then…..
at every month…..
he contacts with me……….
and i give him the poison…..
and take money……
he goes back in his city , then…..
we contact , again and again……
after some years…
i become very-rich-woman…….
one -night …..
i give milk ……..
to my snakes…
and at that time…
a snake bites on my right-hand….
i think that …
i shall be dye…..
without any treatment………
yes…by my collection …
of the poison……….
the doctor creates the medicine …
but i can not take it………
i know that….
after some-times………
will stop , my heart-beats……. is the reality……
where is my safety ……

Copyright © ANJALI DENANDEE | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

- A Meeting With A Ghost - 1973 -

Several years of my childhood I spent with my aunt and uncle
who lived in an old rectory in Northern Norway
It was a hard time, much work, little food never time for play or entertainment
My aunt and uncle were strict, we had to work for food

When I had some time to myself, I spent time at the old church yard
or in the woods close by - No other children to talk with
therefore I spoke loudly to myself
The old church yard was my secret world
Old gravestones that were far over a hundred years old
People who were forgotten long ago, no flowers on the graves
The man who we called "Gravedigger", was always serious and rarely smiled
but he was always kind and often had time for a little chat

Earth was sunk and often I found bones, buttons or needles on the ground
"Gravedigger" said always put them back in the ground and I did as he said
One day I found a shiny white incisor
I didnt put the the tooth back into the soil - I took it home with me
This happened in the fall and it was dark early
It was dark in the castle room at the rectory
I did not dare to light the candle
It was my work to rekindle the fire
As I fumbled my way after the wood I suddenly felt like a light stroke
on my head - looked around me and listening
I whispered "is there anyone here?" ..... No sound, no answer
In silence I sat ... suddenly felt someone stroking my hair through
Ice cold fingers which had a nasty smell
Now I was really scared
I hurried in from the woodshed with wood and fired up in the fireplace
Stuffed my hands in the pockets it was still so cold
There .... I felt the tooth from the cemetery
Looked at it from the fireplace light
A powerful knock on the windowpane I turned to see
You will not believe what I saw
A face pressed against the window, a face that I had never seen before
He had red hair and lots of beard
The face scared me ...
He started to laugh a scary laughter with open mouth
Now I could see ... he lacked an incisor
I walked a little closer to the window,
but then the face in the window diseappered

I felt I had done something wrong
Decided to go back to the graveyard with the tooth
The darkness and the fear took me as I approached the gate
The laughter came back, he stood there waiting for me 
I placed the tooth gently down at the gate
He just looked at me and laughed again the frightening laughter
It is many years since this happened to me
but I remember it like it was yesterday
One autumn night many years after I awoke with
a cold hand on my forehead
I heard the laughter, saw his face and red hair
long beard .... but he lacked no teeth

 - A story written by A-L Andresen 1973 :)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Who Are You

In the Work That Reconnects,
we have a dialogue exercise
in which Person A asks Person B
"Who are you?"
several times over a few minutes,
as it feels right to reprime this exploratory pump;
then person B does the same for person A.

The person hosting, facilitating, enabling
this reiterative question's redundant possibilities
is merely an echo-present listener,
noticing diversity within these multiple evolving responses,
without judging good, bad, ugly, or even indifferent,
quietly hearing rhythms of longing for love
between the crippling cracks of anger and fear,
compelling and compiling self with other hatred,

The question,
Do all these diverse self-descriptions truly fit
this same love v. anger-fear polyculturing-multisystemic elephant?
does not usually arise.
we accept all these scrabbling voices
and hats
and feelings
and ideas
and beliefs
co-occurring within one bilateral
positive-health v. negative-pathology mindbody ecosystem,
seeking diastatic fullness
polymorphic communication,
design, development, co-empathic investment,
and cooperative-integrative implementation outcomes,
at the end of this elephant's rhetorical day,
if not sooner.

Why is this not always the case
when we ask our friends and families,
our public sector leaders 
and financial sector investors,
"Who do you hope we are becoming?"

What loves are we preparing to invest in 
and which past angers and future fears to divest of?

What indicators can I give
that I already invest in cooperatively regenerate health
designs and intentions,
co-mentoring therapeutic diapraxis
of which I preach so positively to others?

I know you support restoring regenerative health to our soil
and preserving clean water,
as I do.
So does it bother you,
as it does me,
that we still contaminate our water with poo and pee
instead of investing in nutrition-starved soil,
where both could be positive resources 
countering past neglect and abuse,
rather than doubly-negative pathology?

We say we support cooperatively vibrant and healthy local economies
and empowering political vitality,
so does it bother you,
as it does me,
to so often hear "either-or" deductive reductivism
and wonder why not first cooperatively consider "both-and?"

I appreciate what you just said
and I wonder if adding X might make your idea
even better.
Do you agree,
or maybe you see concerns for yourself and others
new to me,
of which we might learn together?

Could a cooperative election or social change campaign
begin with compiling interdependent hopes and wishes
and loves of Who Are You?
thereby more smoothly avoiding stuckness-traps
of fear and anger and dissonant pathological constipative outcomes.

Could investing both-and cooperative communication norms
better lead toward co-investing in healthy wealth,
politically strong-embraced policies,
procedural and dialogical transparency,
polyculturally inclusive design and development and discernment
of poli-eco-logical therapy
v. multi-morphic pathology;
co-arise local through global health outcome networks,
diastatic eco-normativity,
embracing each and every sacred Person A and B response
to Who are we?

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

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

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Rest in Him in this hour, He is the one His love has the power, Your eyes will see all the lies, The enemy you will come to despise, Take heed hear the voice of the only one, Jesus the Christ, Gods own son, He will keep you safe, safe from harm, He will hold you in His arms, Don't listen to the voice of the enemy, Tell him to go tell him to flee, Say you are not going to fool me, Jesus the ONE keeps me safe you see!

Copyright © Lyn McSweeney | Year Posted 2014

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.....

Copyright © Tiffany Flowers | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Loving Defiance

Punishing for revenge,
could this occur to natural systems
without capacity to imagine alternative futures?

Punishing others for their defiant behavior,
actions and words stronger than merely ignorant
bolder than merely angry with each other, and ourselves,
but how much more
to accurately measure fair consequences
for words of anger
compared to more aggressive, too often violent,

If I had never been a victim of another's vengeance,
violence of word and deed,
intent and practice to exercise power of revenge
against a defiant world,
including me,
however unwittingly, impersonally, 
would all defiance in my life
calm down into more generic anger
about fear of living as dying alone,
haunting dreams of chronic claustrophobic stress?

Perhaps my defiance was merely being who I really am,
but it didn't look right through your vengeance lens of opportunity
v. risk.
A safer mark becomes another punished victim
growing increasingly defiant and/or depressed.

Repressive chronic stress
echoing post-partum critical stress disorder,
and fear of Ego's demise
predicting total loss of sensory consciousness,
loss of love co-arising Time and Life,
CoPresent TransParent Consciousness,
Communicant of InFormating Memory Strains.

If no defiant anger,
then no punishing revenge.
If no revengeful lack of mercy,
then no fear-filled anger,
opening each moment's life
to love's new-old possibilities.

An empire of nations and tribes,
and sometimes mobs and klans,
invested in competing my anger against your fear.
Evil intent and competitive will have suboptimized Live 
by divesting of truly symbiotic evolution,
settling for lack-of-love anger management,
yet faithing nondual co-arising healthy regeneration trends
for all Earth's Tribes,
but only worshiped as NotNot HumanNatural EcoSystemic Universal Timeless Power and Integrative Function
by HumanNatural EcoSystems,
perversely enough.

An empirically deductive-dominant historical culture
falls defiantly apart,
angry and afraid,
to open unoccupied space for empathic nondual love,
peacefully interdependent governance,
mutually subsidiary co-mentoring ego/eco balance therapists
advocating contentment of cooperative ecosystems
over contention of competitive  political-economic systems,
designing and developing merciful justice 
as active pay-it-forward peace.

PreMillennial Tyranny of angry frightening gods and destiny
fading before Great Transition Bodhisattva Warriors
finding good humor in mutual co-existing on Earth as Host,
serving nutritious composting manna,
to all permacultural role-models
aspiring toward polycultural outcomes,
BiCameral Occupier-Parasites 
filled with nuclear-neural folding and unfolding regeneratively-timed virus,
benign merger messages of deductive/inductive-empathic balance,
like breathing in and out,
to produce healthier and safer outcomes than revenge,
followed by more defiance, etc.

Revenge breeds defiance
as forgiveness and zero-interest investments
breed co-arising love/live and nutritional prosperity.

Forgiving defiance,
whether personal or political,
whether economic or environmental,
predicts optimal revenge
of loving anger and fear
as they co-mentor our selves,
our cells,
our memory of time,
both day and night bicameral.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My life as I feel it

Everyone things I know so much but it is really just my amazingly simple mind..
Not really very much to me, just want to be person who wants to always be kind..
Most people will never know me, the person who desires to be alone with no noise in the dark…
They only know the person who says yes ma’am and no thank you sir with a smile along with the remark..
Letting out the things that swirl around in my head could get me caught in my own dread..
Of disaster and I would much rather keep up the façade instead of the alternative ahead..
I put up this front so nobody will know how much I am falling apart each day…
In addition, the loving family and husband that I have makes everyone smile and most will say..
They were always meant for each other, seem so happy, and in such bliss..
If they only know that, we have not had that connection in so long and how much I miss..
The feeling of his arms holding me tight, as we would lay together every night,,
Now I am broken in both bones and my spirit, which gave me my light..
I have been lucky enough to have a love of a lifetime as well as bunch of good..
Friends that really love me but do not realize half of my dark thoughts under my hood..
So to all of the people I see I wish a great day and life as well as trying to never offend…
Moreover, to the heavens every night I send a kiss and a prayer to help me regain my love before my end..
Because deep into my heart and soul I will love you Matthew for all of my life and even after..
You were my fairytale, my heart, and together we could even be one great disaster..
Therefore, to my darling husband who is one of the few who knows the real me, my kisses and hugs are so deep..
And my longing to feel better so I can run into his arms I fear will be only in my dreams, so I just lay here I weep..
Loving can be both wonderful and evil at both the same time and what I hate
Is the different way he looks at me now whether or not he realizes it I know that for us it is too late..
For me I will be called home soon I feel in my heart my dear..
However, you will live on and still have love to give another, which will always be my fear...

Love you always…
Buffy Sammons 7-30-15

Copyright © Buffy Sammons | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Slowly fear, and sweet

Dear God,

You've probably heard this prayer
a thousand times over, and yet
I feel like I need to say it everyday
even if it's just for me

each day I realize how scary 
this world really is
and even more how frightening 
it is inside myself 

if only it were so easy to let go
as if there is something 
I want to keep inside
like if I truly to let go
I'd lose something

even though my mind is a war zone
but there is just 
a little something that 
hangs onto the notion of You

help me to love people
outside of myself
please guide me to walk,
slowly fear, and sweet

Copyright © Ryan Sheeler | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gods and Devils

Gods and Devils

And on the saddest day,
“Men” created “Gods”
bestowing upon them
the power to terrorize “men”,
reduce them to subservience, servitude.

“Men” worshipped these “Gods”,
begged them for fulfillment, forgiveness,
petitioned them for mercy.
Blamed the “Gods” for all things
good and bad, holy or evil,
for all that happens is
“the will of the “Gods”.”

“Men” fear their own “Gods”.
Cower silently, heads bowed, as those
who “represent the Gods” pass -
Grovel before the power of an
unseen “God” – before a “Man”.

The “Gods” created “Devils”
as a defense against the “Men”
who created the “Gods”.  Declared
that all who questioned the
validity of the “Gods”, and their
powers, were -  “Devils” -
therefore a manifestation of “Evil”.

Thus, the “Gods” and “Devils”
created by “Man” have conspired
to hold “Man” hostage, to punish
“Man” for having the audacity
to create such “Gods” and allowing
these “Gods” to create such “Devils”.


Submitted to – Gods and Devils – Poetry contest

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Silent Majority

Secrets are anxiously being kept with a behavioral struggle, as one of the special few enters the room; obviously preoccupied with his thoughts. Bottom teeth are nipping his upper lip tucked tight, rope acting as added mastic reinforcement, for his otherwise bitten tongue. Ordered by his authorities to hush his puppy trap, or else… Fear of consequence leaves will power to fight off the urges that voice egg this silence, almost beyond breaking point. Grinding gears linkages’ full grown wisdom tooth. Blood begins to fester from a crevice, pooling up and fading color as sweat beads from every pour. A drop falls from the nose's tip, momentarily reminding him to keep it clean. Left arm takes a desperate appearance; dramatic exhalation, frantically patting down his back side. Relief sighs hanky, saves this rear from near death, experienced if only instantaneously, so does it vanish into the memory foam that evaporates. Illusionary anxieties that are all too real. Too often do silent secrets hold the dark-man-majority fending off beast’s remote of dumb-blind control. Rage would seem defaulted reaction, but sealed lips tell no lies by omission's special fact. Spoiled rotten litter crop dust mad cow pest hand me down; shoe. Secrets kept silent by best friends’ false impersonation, left hope less faith stolen. It's no wonder he said his name was Rob? Crook clinches his jaw grinding teeth, fighting off the compulsive squeal. Integrity overthrown at barbarian's hand, that a razor edged blade once conspired, begging your pardon.
Unable to mend lacerations when knowledge cut the throats of the few who could only be looked down upon once pedestal lifted higher eyes. Betrayal of integrity; murder’s associated conviction locked away from the grinders’ lower outlook, as decay tartars build up a stained existence, evident when generation next locate systematic flaw’s plaque. Riots rage wild, setting fires’ self-seeking justice perfect recipe revenges, reciprocated actions equally unjust. Transforming their ignorant innocent bliss, by becoming that they swore in family names, mortally impossible, achieved the utter improbable. In eyes blink anxiety taken refuge, as their lips fester from a bitten tongue, with application of mastic. Grinding wise teeth, as they themselves, knowledgeably, harboring secrets vast majorities, ordered by higher eyes to remain silent. Humilities’ pity related, only by the same hate that government enlist fabrication armies of vocal attacks, imaginary connecting dotted-boundaries, lined with installed, illustrious fear. Cycle this repeatedly into space time continuum as links’ chains seem indestructible. Silence high jacking freedoms’ conception, until courage presents possibility’s presence. Cowards’ mute in progress presently, such coarse remains, anxiously awaiting the apocalyptic squeal of vacant ears, with one true hope; to return voices back to this totality formation, combined collectively, corrupted, and tragically flawed; silent majority. 


Copyright © Ir0nic ZiNk | Year Posted 2016

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

Copyright © Molly McCarthy | Year Posted 2013

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 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.

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fooling us All

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

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

and then there's addictions
the medications 
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

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |


                                            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.

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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


Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

 black males
are dying,

faster than
on a

nothing is done

young brother

They killed Pac, 
In Vegas
nothing was done

They killed Biggie
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

your eyes,

see the

Hands Up 
Don't Shoot!

Young  black males
being murdered
their cases run  cold -

the  killer lives another

to murder another
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?

is a 
pattern here -

it's Vile

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!


We Want Justice -

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014

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!

Roja Meeran.

Copyright © Roja Meeran | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The black fear

 upon the skin of the drunk earth 
The black fear breaks the column of the blue lightes
And the lighthouses of the white sea ,
Sinking in the ridiculous anger
And the rebellious love crying above space of the tired universe
And breaks my horizon mania .

Copyright © sayf mahasneh | Year Posted 2011

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.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

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

Copyright © Matthew Horstkotter | Year Posted 2013

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

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2012

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 | |

My Love

My Love

Every time I watch him walk away, I wonder to myself if it will be my last time to let him know..
I hurry and think to myself if I have told him everything, I should have and if I was able to show..
The love I have for him so deep into my heart and my soul and that without him I am no longer me..
I do not think that he understands how much I miss the way he looked at me and anyone could see..
That we were soul mates from the start and just met a bit later in our lives but still..
Were meant to stay together and this illness that has pulled us apart against our will..
I miss holding his hand as we walked and the way he used to twirl me around in his arms so tight..
When we were out together, we were one and now that I do not get out much, I feel that he might..
Get tired of taking care of me, stop looking at me as if I am his wife, and will stop wanting me in ways..
That I want him more than I could ever want another person and even though he “isn’t going anywhere dear” he says…
I feel him drift sometimes and I start to reminisce about all of the old times before everything seem to hit..
Back in our best days and nights that never seemed to end because as long as we were together we never did quit..
We lost so many close loved ones and now it is hitting even closer to home than we expected would..
I want so much to run to him and jump into his arms with all the passion if only I really could..
My love and my husband you have done more than you will ever know for me just please..
Remember that I am still a woman who loves you and even if I do not live much longer, you still hold the keys..
To unlock every emotion in my being and I really do not think you even know…
How hard it will be for me to see your eyes when they finally tell me it’s time to go..
For a love of a lifetime is so very rare and does not seem to me to be fare or right..
To give me my true love that I pray I will get to see the next day every single night…
Love you always..
Buffy Sammons

Copyright © Buffy Sammons | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © Jessica Arteaga | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Growing Time by Shrinking Space

Making more time for sacred love and naturally blending contentment
results in shrinking internal space
for angry-past politics and fear-of-future economics
competing for dominance,
and vice versa,

Shrinking internal time for Gods and Goddesses
of Anger and Fear,
Prodigal Twins of chronic ego over-investment,
results in more therapeutic love
and healthy fertile poly-ecosystems,
contenting trends of confluent communication,
beloved community developments,
bicameral embryo 
co-arising time's cooperative network regeneration
of health and safety trends,
more love and peace-filled octaves of bilateral-neural energy,
which may well suggest less marching in angry depressive squares 
of both self-with-others fury
about ego-anthro-centric mortality,

Most mental health therapies respond with priority 
to critical anger and fear-management issues,
as well they should.

Ecotherapeutic regenerative nutrition development
can also be responsive to these negative chronic monocultural trending issues,
ecosystemic risks of health-loss,
all positive-dreamless day and night.

However, a fully polyculturally proficient permaculturist,
as are we all, potentially,
also intends and practices co-empathic responses
to existing positive-deviant trends
within each RealTime moment's CoPresent Landscape,
stretching Left with Right toward love as synergetic self-reiteratingOther
co-arising operations and designs of natural rich pleasure,
Earth self-investing opportunities for global,
yet local, personal, internal,
spiritual, natural, eco-logical,
inclusive bio-health and safety self-perpetuating outcomes.

Bucky Fuller's Synergetic cooperative integrity,
thermodynamically and electromagnetically balanced,
is also Permacuture Design's regenerate-polycultural climaxing-trend outcome
projections for interior as exterior RNA/DNA confluent syntax,
EarthTime's bilaterally transparent
Ecosmological Memory (0)rigin-(0)Mega Tipping Points
toward optimally nutritious midway,
love and peace find their way each day,
evolving between anger-fear double-binding Codex.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

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......

Copyright © Tiffany Flowers | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sublime Terror

Let's say I am an anthropocentric terrorist.

What would we be saying? 
And isn't that redundant somehow?
If terrorists are ethnocentric,
does that not also require you to indulge in anthro-centrism?

I suppose
if you are not an Anthro,
then it's OK not to care the least bit whether you live or die.
even better,
your death is more attractive to me than your life,
especially if I might eat you,
or at least use your well-blooded body to fertilize my barren soil,
and assume your assets as my own.

But, as long as I'm part of human nature,
you have no negative campaign plans for my more timely demise?

That could depend on whether I am a cultural supremacist,
or just a generic anthro-species elitist,
without further violent prejudices
and control issues,
and lack of ecological respect for Earth's healthy future.

I suppose terrorists don't celebrate Earth Day,
or not with any integrity.
But if you were both a cultural and anthro supremacist
and I am of your specific Tribe,
as you cut up your Good v Bad World,
then we're both good right?
I can go about my business
and you aren't trying to rain on
or reign over
my parade?

Well, what if I were predisposed to live and let live 
within my little Tribe,
but not to tolerate other competitive EgoManiacs?
I guess I would be rather a jealous god
of all I see and smell and touch and covet.

Yes, safest to simply skip egocentrism altogether.

Best for you; because not best for terrorist me.
And what form or function remains for your self-identity?

Without ego dominating consciousness of identity,
replacement candidates might be zero-centrism,
or eco-centrism,
or EarthTribal integrity.
These might remove this primal taproot
for ethnocentric terror,
and fear of kosmic death.

And, if we lived in a culture of interdependent natural systems,
and some say we do,
I don't think this is even a matter of scientific dispute;
anyway, if we lived without ethnocentric walls and barriers,
aversions and prejudice,
what about ageism and sexism?

Without ego-identity dominance,
then we all share a polycultural polypath,
a cooperative Commons of interrelationship.
Diversity continues deeply rich and good
within Earth's promising health
for future generations of all species.

These seem like nested root systems,
from individual ego supremacy
enabling prejudicial elitism
both within AnthroFamily
and between AnthroFamily
and our more inclusive RNA/DNA languaged EarthTribe.

Yes, if we could each just get over our less regenerative selves
and further invest in polypathic cooperative planning and policies,
strategies and logistics,
we could create a shared Earth
in which we would all find it much less risky
to let go of our overly dominant EgoIdentity,
ready to step into a more bicamerally balancing comprehension,
consciousness of EarthTribe's sacred moment by moment primal identity;
to see and hear and feel without,
love and reiterate and resonate within.

More of an Earth-bonded lover
consuming and producing interdependent contentment,
cooperatively researching contentiousness
for content appropriate to each moment's full potential.

at least not an ego-ethno-anthro-centric terrorist.

How about an ego-ethno-anthro integrative terrificist?

I like EarthBound Wonderist.

You sound like an unearthly wanderist.

I suppose that's better than feeling like an Earth Day terrorist. 

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

HIM of Praise

 HIM of Praise 
HIM of Praise 
 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. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Some of them;
Fencing their fear by lies;
they know not,
but demolishing their fragile clay: 
Stone by stone,
Thread by thread.
Then walking through their way,
having nothing,
But sword of gloom
and Psalms of curse.

Copyright © Fatima Nusairat | Year Posted 2015