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Prose Poetry Happiness Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Happiness

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Best Man

It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.

That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store

That was your appraised value.

But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.

Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood

“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards

I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter

We scream in misguided nerd joy 
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session

Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!

But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!

It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap

My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.

To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”

I chose to be a human this night.

Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall

A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table

Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums

In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form

It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose

At the TOP of my LUNGS,
I whispered.

“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could. You never responded to my open-hearted palm. You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man. But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say! You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows. Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday. So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband, Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall, With children pointing & laughing hysterically, “Security” enters the room As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder, “Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me. The Best Man that you will never hold again.” ©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lucila

So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes

Details | Prose Poetry | |

BEAUTY IN THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
It’s a common saying that is decoded from the look of a man
But of a truth, genuine and true beauty is beyond what the eyes can see
Only the heart can feel it
It glows with such power, even the ‘blind’ will perceive
Regardless of our status, rich or poor
Aboriginality, the language or cultural background
We all can see and perceive this inner beauty with the same view
One advice for my fellow brothers,
Always by pass the look go straight inward
And from the inward, outward appearance can be well appreciated
And advice for everyone
As you take time to make up the physical beauty
Create more time to nurture the inner one
For when you are inwardly ugly
The outward projection is nothing but a fake 

(c) 2010

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Show me the way Home (He's coming back) pt.1

      My Bros.' & Sister's the [Book] tell us that we are made in the image of God, made
in the likeness of him.  So why is the World suffering much to much idiosyncricie's whe-
ther you're fat or slim ?  Do you know!! Do Ya!!...  long and many year's ago, Noah
is assign an important task, that being! to build a ship (the Ark) for the purpose that
(GOD) seen the supplication of his creation.  He is sadden that sin enter into evil thought's
of mankind, and the collaboration of their choices brings no satisfaction to the reasonable
reason for Noah being choosen to finished the Ark {no satisfaction}....  My guess is
that Noah prayer's was like, "Show Me the Way Home", Lord, thou reason that the rain 
shall come, makes a consorted effort to save a generation, I am so along.  "Show me the 
way Home".  This-thiss generation ignore's the preaching for a 120-years, now water is
around their necks and the door is (slam!!) shut.  "Slam-Shut".  My Brothers ' Sister's
do you wonder why the likeness is impossible to live up too.  We choose to live to do
our own thing - our own way.  That's O'K from a selfish standpoint.  But for a spiritual
analyzationable lovepoint, sometimes the seperation is somewhat confrontationable.
     So-so my brother, the long way home is a fight that the "Anti-Christ commit to the 
principalitie's warfare against the conscience of your mind and you become blind and
you heed to the warning and now he see's (The Anti-Christ) that you are not strong:
(I'm so all along) Now my sisters that implie's to you also, your fight is a battle the ene-
my approaches from your blindside, and if you're not carefull, "you will believe in all the 
lie's.  (Be Strong)  
"Show Me the Way Home", LORD-show me.  Me and the tall and short one's and the cre-
ated of all children's whether large or small.  When we have fought against the file's of
the enemy, and we all are along.  Before the gap get wider (and ?)  "Show Me the
Way Home".

P.S....This Poem is the first of a two-part initative in God's awsume plan to regenerate a
society of any culture, that we as his children must ask him to "Show me the way Home".

Copyright © John Streeter

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Have you forgotten

Have you forgotten?
Or do you not care?
Has someone or something
Taken it away somewhere?

I know you once had it
I saw it...I did.
Your bright smile
So wonderful to hear.

We just have this one life
Of this I am told.
So please let me help you
Find what you have lost.

Forget about past hurts,
It does no one good.
Brooding and weeping
About things we can't change.

Wake up and feel
Marvel at little things
Taste the jam on your bread
But most of all be happy
Because you're not dead.


Copyright © Randall Smith

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mama's Song

I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful 
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention

There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden  
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart?  Should I?
And to what profit?  Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs.  However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant 
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me 
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family 
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody 
and "Mama's Song"!

Note:  For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children.  RIP w/Papa!!

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Welcome To the Soup

Welcome, Ms. Valmer!!  Glad you are aboard- now you can comment on any 
poem, right after reading it....and try your hand at your own, should you choose.
Lotsa great people here.  PS- could not open greeting sent- comp. needs 
something installed - some file, I'll have to find out how to do it.  So glad you 
joined! Luv, tom

Copyright © johnathon bart

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Daily Splendor

Splashes of pink from the flowering Crabapple....haze through
the sturdy square of lemon yellow glass - framed in Knights's Armor
....at parade rest on my porch.

   Inside on the ledge, my Christmas Cactus welcomes Spring....with
bazookas exploding triple pink perfections in every direction!

                        ~~~ these are my favorites ~~~
                             
                           ~~~ rising from the soil~~~
                             ~~~ shaped in glass ~~~

   When I'm pink, sound disappears
....and comets are late for tea

   Perfect prisms of lemon light my intentions....prevent my escape

   Sometimes, I wonder how long it will last....before the lemon sours
....the cactus only bristles....and the crabapple is bitter, once again.... 
   


....dedicated to AG....xxxooo

Copyright © James Marshall Goff

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In The Mood

                        ~In The Mood For Love~
                    
With a candle light & a glass of champagne after a year 
of our marriage we came back to the same garden where 
we met and fell in love a promise we will keep 
each anniversary.

Today still in the mood for love sitting listening to sounds 
of music while our lips met kissing to cool our hunger for 
making love at the end of this unforgettable evening

He was so much in this mood of repeating what he told me
the day we met.
When I am with you,the sun will wake up the sky will welcome 
you,look out the window and see the sea a pale blue under a blue sky. 
God I`m happy to be with you my brain is my own,I feel vibrant,
I feel alive,thank you world.

When I am with you, I love every grain of sand, every drop of water,
every bit of air I breath, I love every image that my eyes are blessed 
to watch, every bird that flies across the sky, I feel alive again.

I feel in the mood of living endlessly,I feel softness back in my heart,
I feel I can be generous to give,give,because I am so full of happiness,
I feel in the mood of loving you more & more.

When I am with you,every hour has beauty and meaning,one after
the other they form a day,a night,another day,another night,
and it all has a purpose,It all means consistency .
Do you remember?Yes my darling,I do.

When I am here with you,I feel if I listen, I will hear answers,If I look,
I will see truth,I am so happy to share my feelings with you because 
I know you will understand,I want so much for you to experience the 
power of my feelings towards you. 

We never pass through lifeless moments when we are together,
we both stay awake, alive,moments that wouldn't ever be wiped out, 
they remain engraved in our heart. 

Here,your approach was a blessing to both of us. We were sitting in a 
crowded area,yet we were alone, we could both hear only the muteness 
that surrounded our encounter.Oh the beauty when your lips are wet,
you purposely put me in the mood for love eternally.


Therese Bacha                                      
2/5/2013    ( Win No.9)

Copyright © Therese Bacha

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Addicted Towards Happiness

     ~Tonight A Free Ride ~

Tonight my thoughts are running towards 
my healing ocean, becoming the place 
where voluntarily I am convinced to watch 
the thousands of stars in the sky, illuminating 
my shore on arrival, to share my lively routine 
visits with this one whale friend that accidentally, 
have come to meet a few months ago. 

Approaching with a jester it looked me in the eye 
moved its head asking, why am I gloomy tonight?
come lady ride on my back let me take you away 
from your everyday thoughts let us experience our 
journey I invited the stars in the sky to lighten up 
your dimness tonight.

Yet, now that we have each other try a different 
approach towards your loneliness the wind is a 
friend and will not blow you away the moon 
promised a short visit to accompany the stars.

Accepting the proposal of that ride it will clarify
the energy of my inner body and soul the way 
my friend the whale has it looking up thinking 
counting the stars will give me the opportunity 
to dig deeper towards my senses, my spaciousness, 
peacefulness as a new approach. 

Suddenly with a falling star nothing seemed 
impossible to arouse my intense curiosity 
about life's mysteries how I ended up feeling 
that lonesome before I met my friend,
determined to lean towards my depth and discover 
my beauty and power that I have abandoned, 
when I failed to notice how much emptiness 
existed in my depth. 

Instantly I started feeling addicted towards 
my happiness I allowed my thoughts to stir
my presentiments understand my liveliness, 
after descending on shore.

Once arrived I thanked the stars that allowed 
me to enjoy the ocean cooperated to help me 
redeem an aluminous light through
my coming years. 

That voyage assembled my gladness 
to lean towards all the advantages 
that actually already exist beyond.
Thank you my friend. 
Always.


Therese Bacha
June 27 2013

Copyright © Therese Bacha

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A bright smile

I have a bright smile
And my eyes do twinkle
it's so easy and fun.
to make people wonder
As to what I have done.

Laughter and quick wit 
I also possess,
So much pleasure I get
When a smile or a giggle 
I do coax.

Just giving some fun
On a Tuesday,
Some ones blues day
But not mine.




Copyright © Randall Smith

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mood

Copyright © Bhavna khemlani

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Here Comes Winter Again

Here it comes again; softly knocking on windows at 2A.M, here comes the winter at a cold silent night, awakening my soul with the smell of dust after rain, the smell of mom holding me into bed, with the voices of my sisters playing next room, here it comes again with painful delights, here it comes again taking me back home.

Let the drops of rain knock on my door and let them ache my heart, let me taste the sweet smell in my tongue like a little boy getting wet beneath the rain, waiting to be rebuked, but none of this does matter because the burdens of life are slipping down with the rains being drifted on his coat, none of this does matter because the weight of life was just not this cold before.

Here comes the winter with empty corners in my head and echoes of laughters in my room, a piece of chocolate I can no longer find and a broken toy I’ve never thrown away, with good sweaters that never felt warm on a cold night like this, let the chilly breezes of winter take me back home again, to smell my father’s smoking cigarettes and my mother combing my hair, and the smell of coffee beans on one cloudy morning to refresh my day, oh here comes the winter, remembering me again and stopping by with few memories to take me home.

Check out my writings at:
http://echoes19.wordpress.com

Copyright © Samar Saleh

Details | Prose Poetry | |

CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Liquid azure sky

In a dream, I walked naked through a shimmering valley, high in the sacred mountains of a
distant world. The air was warm and moist; the ice I trod upon sparkled like precious
jewels. As I neared the precipice, I became intoxicated with joy. Suspended high above me
in a liquid azure sky, three golden suns drenched my perfect body with benevolent rays of
pure liquid love. I am the sun, the prism, and the rainbow. I am soul, child of God,
resplendent, perfect and free.

Copyright © Jean-Pierre Gregoire

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Genuine Smile

A genuine smile joyfully gives to a day
Much more value than one really knows
It's more than the gold light of the sun
More soothing than the moons soft glow

It reaches down deep within one's soul
Making such inspired feelings to arise
It makes a heart's flame leap forward
From the dormant place where it did lie

It causes a young heart to begin to pound
And it brings about a shortness of breath
It adds new meaning to life in one's mind
Along with a glow that will always last

It's a treasure chest full of beautiful jewels
More valuable than a single pearl of great worth
For a genuine smile is valued so much more
Than any treasure which can be found in the earth.

Wendell A. Brown,
January 2013,

Copyright © Wendell Brown

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FRIEND IN YOU

(Tatyana Kasima)

Life is a journey of countless sub-destinations
It’s in stages and phases
Life is a function of time a subset of different season
Wet, dry, winter, spring, or summer
Each is experience one at a time
 
Life continues as a journey
When the journey is far
I am empowered to keep moving
When every thing seems locked up and become tiring
I received encouragement never to look down but keep focusing
 
When the sun is at its peak
I am hopeful there is a shade ahead to hide my head
When it’s stormy, heavily rainy or snowy
I know with an assurance
That the house ahead will take me in
 
Just in a land of different culture and lingual codes
I feel at home because I have a friend that knows, trusts, and believes in me
He is the reason I’m encouraged and the source of my strength
He is the house and home that take me in
He is my beautiful angel sent from above
I bless the heaven for the friend in you

© 2011

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande

Details | Prose Poetry | |

All About A Red Saturday

At last time has brought me to this day yet again on another Saturday night things forever will end sweet flowers with petals in need For me it is nothing more than a day my life will begin the pain I feel will forever remain yet to others it is merely a Saturday Here I stand at the path of yesterday and today for tomorrow there will be nothing more to say in so many demanding ways I thank God it is Saturday The last day in a week seen as play but as for me it is such a lonesome day tomorrow is day number one the day life begins has yet begun Peace floods me in my solace this day knowing it is final, done, ended, this 5th day in May the day I was finally told to give up and walk away I am no longer trapped by my fears or waiting for he to cause me pain I am the one who won on this Saturday At last I do not care to be played or hurt to the extreme, a lovers old tired game I want to thank you for moving on to another's sweet way This will forever be known as Red's blessed Saturday and with this release back into the wild game I find my heart pure for those locked deeply away thank you for letting me be and not trying to keep hurting me SATURDAY is officially my lucky day! enjoy the date that you made, love her deeply, cherish her face for I will forever remain ever-so grateful for this Saturday To you both I thank you, and send a prayer of passionate love your way! At last I can be happy all because of one Saturday in May! To me a new anniversary I have now made, with God's amazing grace.

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The color of love

Without him beside me, my future seems so bleak, being naïve, 
i was told he was not meant for me. Ignoring this world of cruelty
and its power tear our world apart. Now sitting i ponder why I being so naïve from the very start

My tomorrow will never come, for I will forever live in his yesterday. Turning my back on the one who loved me in every single way.
Not even time can heal a shattered heart, but I guess somewhere in his heart he loved me after all

Many times I’ve dreamt of him and unable to hide my tears,
As I reminisce that sad day I decide we go our separate ways,
I pinch myself, as in a dream, knowing it is not true,
How could I let go of such a man, no woman would ever do.

I remember the look in his eyes when he dropped by and found my note. Pain crippled on his face leaving such a heart in pain, as he read along “My heart is with you but I will forever be alone, never will you and I share a place of our own. Rejected by all to cross the color line thinking my love is blind".

 If again such a love should come my way, I’d break free of those dark days I’d confess my true heart and reject the rest and  break through this racial barrier and fallow my lovers path wherever he lead to ease this heart that beat to grieve.

Copyright © kelleyana junique

Details | Prose Poetry | |

RISING WITH THE GLORY OF THE SUN

Rising with the glory of the sun,
But never to go down with it,
I'll fly higher and higher,
Side by side with eagles among the clouds,
I'll tarry until the day is done,
I'll soar waiting patiently to reign,
With the moon among the stars all through the night,
And eager to rise and shine with the sun again.

(c) 2010

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Prayer

Lord, help me to understand you more and more.
Help me to appreciate the gifts of life as I explore.
So many times I've put doing my will about yours.
Please turn my heart towards your forever love.

Lord, help me to live the way you ask me to love.
And to love the way you ask me to live.
Dear God, I pray to you on my bended knees.

Hear my cry.
My urgent need for you.
Let me see you in all things.
Give me life anew.

Teach me to listen.
Teach me to be kind.
Lord, strengthen me that I might find.
The road that leads me closer to you everyday.
Please Lord, 
I beg you
Show me the way!

----By Janille James----

Copyright © Janille James

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Who i am

Who i am

Gazing at the mirror observing what I see,
all might not be perfect, but it all belongs to me.
In the eyes of the mirror, a woman beckoned me,
when I looked at her from head to toe, I just love what I see.
 There might have been a part of me, that to me was never known,
 i would have search to find it, if I had only known. 
This love for myself that was embedded inside confused an approaching frown
 and the moment I spent to discover myself, my world Turned upside-down.


I was afraid of people saying, "Who does she think she is?"
 Now i have the courage to stand and say "this is who i am".
 Never will i follow the majority of living a life of constant duplicity,
 as a successful rebellion, take me as I am, or watch me walk away.
 What makes me, me is my originality, with lots of sincerity
 and I cherish this freedom which lies in being me.

The eyes of the society might not project its light on me,
but never will this bring me down or makes me think less of me.
 No external source will fulfill my void, within me i find my eternal joy.
 Known life's is too short to be self- obsessed but when my eyes sent me a rainbow
 filled with gentle colors that project confident within me, 
my world seems brighter each time i opened up the window of my face. 

Copyright © kelleyana junique

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Signs

Watch for falling rock the sign said. Well I wonder who he is and how he got lost? Must have been a blunder.

Narrow Bridge, I thought to myself, what a quaint name for a bridge as I looked at the arrow pointing to my left.

No U turn, well I don't see any place to turn, or is that reffering to me?

Dam Water ahead, well that must be some terrible water, 
but such language why bother?

Watch for children playing? 
I don't have the time so I'm certainly not staying!

So many signs, so much confusion. Think I'm
going to put up my own sign~~~

"WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN
 WHY ARE THERE SO MANY SIGNS
AND WHO WAS THE CONFUSING
BUGGER THAT WROTE THE BLOODY THINGS?"

Whew, I feel much better now :>)

Copyright © Jack Ross jr.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lingering Glance

Silent moments together that Creates passionate desire.
Feeling the closeness of nature that bloomed on face of the one we admire,
creating warmth that ignites into a burning fire, giving feelings that takes us
to the seven heavens or even higher...

Gazing in nature marvel as our eyes met each other so profound that
 we immediately drowned into each other's gaze. Holding each other there,
 and no use for words to say, as we exchange a visible frisson in lingering glance.

Bodies so close while we shared a romantic dance, a sensation like a hypnotic trance,
 Then our heart takes over and emotions conquered the rest searching for comfort,
 I rest my head upon his chest. Feeling the pounding of his heart that beats only love for me

Accepting the gift of love that overflows the hearts. Awaken flame 
which makes no other pleasure feels the same. A complete satisfaction of wholeness
That goes beyond physical attraction to a deeper commitment. 



Copyright © kelleyana junique

Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE DIVINE MOOD

The Divine Mood visited me
today.  Swimming in the clouds,
tearing at my heart.

As worlds fell into parts,
my being, my breath fell apart.

EXHALE

Breathe in.  Make room for
the Divine Heart.

Warm and toasty, a warm
cinnamon bun.  Like a cat 
purr in the sun.  There is so
little warmth.  Eyes have a 
hard time focusing;  the best 
part of the day is done.

Beautiful in the galaxy.  Search
for the gallery.  Tiredness reaches
my soul.

There is a hole where there used
to be none.  A space is opening
with or without me.  This will be 
done.  What to do with this fatigue;

Rest here or rest there I am the wings
of the 
BELOVED.

Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page

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.

Copyright © Molly McCarthy

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Twinkling eyes

Twinkling eyes that sparks, funny how emotions can takes over the heart
Impossible words that is hard to find, thinking one movement and he might cross
the line.  He wore his pride like a badge, but the wounds in his heart is deep,
and for him to love again is just a broken dream.

Even through loneliness scream when he’s under his sheet,
He rather succumb to its sting, other than listened to the silence song his
Heart had to sing. Known his heart is a self made wall,
And he’s not the type of man she should tell how much she loved afterall.

Thoughts kept running through his mind when he recall
how profound he looked her in the eyes. Making him feelings so awkward that
 he could not control all he knew is having her besides him daily, his love will grows.
He realize that her tender care is the only thing that keeps him alive, yet he 
Settled with routine and afraid go beyond the boundaries.

She reaches out to feel his touch, but somehow had not get enough
Thinking of going her way, but she knew her mind will suffer in everyway
He took her in his arms, where she found security. Hands in hands 
She looked in her lover eyes and saw the love inside and
Made him show the feelings, he always had to hide
Tears fell down his face as emotions takes over
his body language says everything and there things became clear.

Copyright © kelleyana junique

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Unconditional Dog

First of all, it’s a big responsibility,
especially in a city like Jacksonville, or Philadelphia, or wherever really.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you’re walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain’t no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is
unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
Broken glass bottles.

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Somethimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Sometimes love just wants to go out for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise. It will run you around the block
and leave you panting, breathless. Pull you in different directions
at once, or wind itself around and around you
until you’re all wound up and you cannot move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.

Copyright © Spenser Jones

Details | Prose Poetry | |

It's Great To Be Alive!

Tamera liked to run in the cold, on a whim she stopped by Woolworth and bought a package 
of hot tamale candies to eat after her run.  She loved having a reward for everything.  
Wearing her golden sweatpants Tamera decided to run laps, which she loved to do on the 
track alone late at night as the moon tipped his head and winked at her. She started this 
shortly after her divorce.   It was cathartic for her to watch her warm breath rise in the cold 
air.  Running in the winter made her feel alive to be so cold, to run and beat the elements. 
She loved the feel of the wind in her hair as she ran.

She didn’t notice the man that joined her, until he passed her.  She hadn’t seen him before.  
He had a Florida Gators jersey, orange sweat pants and a blue ski hat on. She liked his 
strides, they seemed fluid.  She had only been running a few years herself.  It was a hobby 
that she enjoyed.  Having company on the track felt good, normally she had the track all to 
herself.  She usually left after running three miles.  Tonight she felt like running more laps 
than usual.  She kept running.  Her new friend kept running too. Tamera was always 
competitive. Who knew maybe she could outrun him.

She found her rhythm and felt the adrenaline rush of the endorphins finally kick in. That's 
what she like about jogging, the endorphines. It felt freaking out of this world!  
Her heart was beating fast, her breathing was steady.  Her strides were growing wider and 
longer.  It felt so good to Tamera to be alive and one with the track.  She almost felt like 
she was flying over the Grand Canyon.

She kept running and running, until she could hardly feel her legs.  They felt numb, she heard 
the crowd as they cheered for her.  She saw every handsome man that she had ever known 
standing on the sidelines naked as they were cheering for her.  She smiled at them as she 
passed them by like a blur, for she was so fast.  She imagined her ex-husband lying on the 
ground rolling around in sheer pain as she ran all over him to win the race.  She saw herself 
jumping over the highest hurdles with the grace of an agile deer.  She was in her runner’s 
paradise. 

After a while, she noticed she had the track all to herself once again and her handsome 
gentleman, Mr. Moon had also moved along.  When she checked her mileage counter, Tamera 
had run eleven miles.  It was a great run, the best she had ever had. It was a great night to 
be alive!

Copyright © Marie Harrison

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A.A. Milne's Intuition and the Magic in Nothing-Else-To-Do.

“This is where we are,” I said, as I aimlessly threw pebbles to my left...
and my hand ripped grass, the destruction of Spring and the creation of happiness as we
gathered ourselves in the midst of nothing-to-do, my nails recovered dirt as my palms
discovered life and he

took.my.hand.

carelessly, without thought, as if it was the only thing to do...


I checked my knees for bruises and found the fading black and blue of Pennsylvania, the
pattern resembled the horizon we gazed at beyond the cliffs where my feet felt slightly
unsure and my fear of heights dared me to step one inch closer to the edge, I had watched
him and found his fearlessness to be divine as he went two inches and ignored the rocks I
had payed close attention to race to the bottom of nowhere as if to find the somewhere
that existed...

beneath us...

I gazed up into sunshine and followed the trail of Saturday clouds, dreams scattering
themselves, their shapes secrets that hid in the middle pages of picture books, and I
imagined us as my tongue spoke the wisdom of A.A. Milne and thought about the
intuitiveness of childhood, I smiled, and inched closer to his side...

“Here we are,” he sighed, slipping his hand underneath the back pocket of my favorite
tattered blue jeans, and as his fingers fumbled with the frays in my fabric, he kissed me,
once, on the lips, a Saturday quiet where only we existed in the time it took breath to
meld and touch, and settle weeks beneath skin in the slight chill of April, and I nodded
as the sky watched us and thought..

we'd make a beautiful picture book, we'd settle in the middle of a page whispering secrets
that could create the smile that spoke of youth.

Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese