Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Prose Poetry Inspiration Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Inspiration

These Prose Poetry Inspiration poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Inspiration. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Inspiration 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 | |

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow


The morning comes; all is still
as the sunbeams glisten through the curtains.
Another day.
I sweep my mind of night's unconscious bliss,
when life was momentarily free
from the pain of dreams unfulfilled and
the inability to cope.

Another day.
As my consciousness takes over,
the new day's plans unfold, and suddenly,
like a bolt of lightning,
new hope leaps into my heart.
This will be the day—
the day of accomplishment,
fulfillment, of peace with myself,
with those I love, with nature,
with my God.

I rise.
At once I'm caught up
in the trivialities that separate me
from my hopes and dreams.
The early morning thoughts get swallowed up
in the day's tedious routine.
I follow my plan as best I can...
But life can exist by plan just so far.
The day is full of side tracks—
uneventful little nothings that slip in between.
And the day goes on.
Time speeds by in its steady way,
never looking back or pausing—but going on,
an unmerciful enemy,
and my plans dissolve 
with the ticking of the clock.

Before I know it, it is too late.
The day is done; the quiet night sets in.
Yes, the night once again. The time to tally up.
Oh God, it has happened again.
It's been another day—
another day of little nothings.
Another day like yesterday,
and the one before, and before.
I didn't grasp the unattainable,
that moment of moments.

I lie in bed awake,
day's plans not even half completed.
A moment of failure, of self-pity.
What have I done today?
Worse still, what have I left undone?
Then that special night it came.
A time for reconciliation, an inner voice—
perhaps God's answer.

What is the matter with you?
Are you not alive and well?
Are you not loved, and do you not love in return?
Have you not helped someone today,
even in the smallest way?
Have you not made someone smile, or
perhaps comforted a child?
Have you not heard the song of a bird?
Or seen the beauty of a tree
swaying in the breeze?
Or felt the warmth of the sun, 
and the cool of the night against your skin?
Have you not watched any one of nature's
mystifying wonders at work?
Each one of these things is likened
to a miracle in itself.
Each one, a unique experience
of accomplishment 
and fulfillment.

Suddenly,
the importance of those little nothings
became magnified a thousand fold.
I came to realize a day is not an entity in itself,
but a building block of life,
each one of different weight and size,
depending on the kind of experience within,
and the little nothings,
the cement which holds it all together.

Today was not the same as yesterday.
It could never be the same,
no matter how trivial and uneventful
its moments seem to be.
Today is another building block,
different from the one beneath it.
Tomorrow is another day,
cemented to today by little acts of love
and giving of oneself;
by sharing and appreciating
the simple and wondrous
miracles of life.

Tomorrow is another day.
Despair is gone.
I am at peace with myself,
with the ones I love, with nature,
with my God.
Tomorrow is another day.

© Sandra M. Haight 2014 
   All Rights Reserved





Details | Prose Poetry | |

Language Barrier

I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,

at least not all of it,

but the emotion pouring past her lips, 

the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists

enunciated more clearly,

than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,

and grabbed me, held me still.

                   …In that moment, her soul was in my arms.

In that finite, tender breath of our lives,

she was my mother, my best friend…

but I could not console her. 

I didn’t have the words;

and my heart sank into the 

concrete between us,

wet with the pain of God’s rain

and her tears. 

                  …Were my tears

So, I simply opened my palms

toward her crouched form and 

spoke the only words I could 

fathom, that would be accepted

by a stranger on a dangerous street. 

"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."

I knew she did not understand…

"Lo siento" 

                  “que va a estar bien”    

                            “Dios te bendecira’ “ 

the words were as messy as the overturned

duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly

from my lips, as my knees hit the street.

Two strangers, cried in the rain,

knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,

and yet we shared the weight,

together, for those few moments;

the barrier of language was broken.

Love spoke for us.  

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

…Love transcends any language

               


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seasons and Imaginations


Wind so cold.
Blowing.
Fondles my face.
Tickling.
The tears from heaven.
Pouring. 
Tapping. 
Dancing.
Unrelenting.
I wonder if i wish
    to stop them
From numbness,
    to waking,
          then sensing.

The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
                                                  I'll play.
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin 
     with the pure coldness that you bring.
Unusual,
     like it's my first time in the snow.
Somehow, 
     the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
    that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.

The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here. 
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
   And again I fold.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

RWANDA'S BURIED CALVARY

A hundred days of tomb-like silence; a hundred days of blind eyes and deaf ears; a hundred days of wooden hearts and cruel minds. This was long ago, but still its stigma is there. Years may pass but MY LIFE will never be the same again.

I was barely a woman then, carefree and with smiles touching my lips. I was enjoying the view of the sun shining over the tranquil green  hills  of Rwanda. But, in a blink of an eye, the beautiful calm scenery I enjoyed was tinged by some shouts I heard from a river nearby. Curious, I went to see. Meters away, I saw a happy huge man wielding a machete butchering another man on the ground. Before he could see me, I turned round and ran.

Ran as fast as I could!When I reached our home, immediately, I was told by my father to keep on running. To run to a Hutu Minister miles away from our home. To run and be safe. To run and beg for my life's safety. Paper white and shuddering I ran and ran until I arrived at the Minister’s house. Scared but kind enough, the minister kept me together with seven other girls. 

We were placed then in a remote bathroom in the house. 

A bathroom three feet by four feet in size.  A bathroom where the other girls and I hid. A bathroom where in the next days, we alternately sat, stood and stretched. A bathroom that served as our refuge in times when the killers {Hutus} stormed inside the house. A bathroom where we ate beans and insects just to stay alive.

On the radio, we, Tutsis, heard our names  being announced as needed to be killed, too. There was a window where we could peek  and see people running and running. Clubs and spears a terrifying rain brutally killing men and women alike. Screams and cries a regular ringing requiem outside. Intense. Intense. Intense were the surroundings, I remember. In the bathroom, we maintained silence as if no one there. For at any time, we could be caught… Raped… Killed. And we knew back then that, the green hilly Rwanda was turned into a garden of bloody wails and tortured tales.

Then one day some troops came, stopping the genocide and finally we planned our liberation day! 

It was through courage. Cunning. Prayers that we are alive. Rwanda, may seem peaceful now, but for us victims and survivors, our life will never be the same again. I can't seek revenge for our loss: families, property and the trauma I experienced for it would only prolong my Calvary. I would rather forgive and hope that such genocide will never happen again.

© O. E. Guillermo

Sponsor	Cyndi MacMillan Contest Name	
GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE 
Placed 1st... :)

Oct. 11, 2014
*Rwandian


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Child's Peace

Tell me of your peace. 
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place 
As it gently sloughs the pain away 
Tell me of your peace 
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind 
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace 
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know 
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease, 
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here 
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now 
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies 
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free 
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within 
Waiting for you
For you to let it be


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your My Dear Friend

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

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

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

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Poetry Began

                                  
Today my thoughts were feeling melancholic, 
my silence minutes later fought back 
to help me reach out to the moment 
of relief and not to relinquish myself. 

Today my thoughts were trying to sing,
 my silence started to enjoy the music 
since poetry became part of my life, 
it helped me to remove any 
negative influences.

When my thoughts fought with me not to write, 
my silence thought I must hold tight and not fight, 
nor run away, but keep typing as poetry will allow
 you to discover yourself, 
and the whole world.

One day my thoughts were never 
awakened by a passer by, 
my poetic thoughts started to weep, 
moments later a bird stood at the window
 and brought joy to my ears, 
thats when I wanted to love 
and lose my reasoning, 
to celebrate a new day,
hold my pen and write a poem.

When my thoughts wanted to fly away,
 my poetic thoughts insisted I should 
stay to give myself feeling of safety,
 and remember never to get discouraged 
nor weaken, as that would destroy 
my wisdom and my poetic life, 
instantly I felt more powerful,
and wrote down this poem. 

My thoughts woke up much 
much to tired to live, 
reading through my poems, 
I was reminded that the heart 
has its own reasons which the
 mind knows nothing about.

That day my thoughts wanted 
to travel and feel happy, 
my silence created for me
 a beautiful idea to carry on the plane, 
my poetry book, to read through the 
sources of my own knowledge, 
penned down in writing.

My thoughts one night wanted 
to dream and could not, 
my silence thought, 
don't ever feel sorry for yourself,
 another night will shortly be here, 
reach out for your poems, 
read them, and peace will prevail.

On a new day my thoughts 
broke my heart, my silence 
insisted I should start going
 back home be alone, 
and not sit by the phone 
and wait. 
Enjoy the moment by writing poetry.

Its hard to write like a very
 talented writer, the reason is,
 every human being does not 
have the same brain,
 the same diversities, 
the same creativities, and 
inspirations, that is why, 
I took a walk between the trees
 wanting to feel that soft breeze
 pleading to come along my 
way that beautiful day in May.                 
                    
When my thoughts woke up 
my heart started to beat
 I know I can, I know I must, 
I know I could, I know I would, 
my silence answered, 
 I know you should, 
you should Now,
 Remember, Poetry, 
Has Become You.      

               Therese Bacha                                           
                  3/6/2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Getting Older

          Getting Older

Young man sitting next to me on the bench I asked him,
Young man if I am sad what will you do? I will ask you to share your sadness.
Young man if I am cold what will you do? I will cover you with my coat.
Young man if I am angry what will you do? I will listen and help you forgive. 
Young man if I am standing what will you do? I will give you my place.
Young man if I am crying what will you do? I will wipe your tears & enlace you.
Young man if I am hungry what will you do? I will give you my sandwich.
Young man if I am sleepy what will you do? I will cradle you.
Young man if I need a friend what will you do? I will befriend you forever.
Young man if I am lonely what will you do? I will take you in and look after you.
Young man if I am lost what will you do? I will hold you to find your way back.
Young man if I want to kill myself what will you do? I will forbid you to do that.
Young man if I want my children what will you do? I will locate them for you.
Young man can you get me off this bench walk me to the bank, yes of course.  
Arrived at the bank holding her hand she went to the teller told him to get her out 50.0000$. Thank you for sitting on the bench with me. Remember this day
Its a Thanksgiving gift.

    Therese Bacha
   15/3/2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Paint the Permanent

I stand before the canvas of my life
with the arsenal of brushes I've been armed with
choosing the paints with which I'll work

My will is to paint the permanent
No watercolors that can wash
My strokes will stain the canvas true

In my art studio my brushes fire
Salvos of sultry reds
Volleys of vivacious violets

But I don't always paint alone
Others there are that share the studio
And though our canvases won't always hang together
A small army of artists are we

Who paint our lives with care
For all the world to see
The hues we use only we may choose
Brazen and bold, subtle, or stark
Soldiers of our arts
Aiming and striking and painting our hearts out
Until we die
And go to the Gallery

But as for me
I stand before the canvas of my life
And the brush is in my hand


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Patience

PATIENCE

We hear that patience is a virtue 
Is this true, or simply virtual reality 
When leaders are teaching our youth; 
do as I say, not as I do 
Regression to a version of the American 
truth

Impatience is becoming intolerance 
But to be patient is viewed as ignorance 
In a blind world conforming to violence 
Very few see need for benevolence

Many view crime as way of life 
Government fuels fires, causing strife 
Committing true crime with their lack of 
pride 
Our country torn by those who lied

Promoting bigotry and distaste for the 
unknown
 But these days color and homosexuality 
are lactose free 
Intolerant of equality, it’s a problem, 
clearly 
Love is love, embrace the hate 
Hold it tightly until it sees the light

Peace pushed just beyond our reach 
We realize that “hope and change” was 
just a speech 
Wars raging through the land we call 
home 
In God we trust, not this powerful regime

Speak out now with virtuous impatience 
Change is change no matter how small 
the feat
Restore hope with unfaltering acceptance 
and grace 
Serve what you stand for, no time left to 
waste


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Rain-bow Nation

Hey!
are 
you 
a 
Zulu? 
Am 
a 
Bushman...no 
you 
are 
a 
Bantu,a 
Bantu 
or 
Hottentots? 
Maybe 
an 
Afrikaner.                          
I 
came 
from 
the 
Cape 
Colony...not 
from 
Soweto 
where"balck 
animals"are 
Dwelling, 
pathetic 
Creatures 
formed 
by 
the 
Hands 
of 
Hades.
Beast 
of 
burden 
for 
the 
Afrikaner.
Bound 
with 
fetters 
and 
Chains,it 
ploughs 
the 
Field,cultivates 
and 
plants 
The 
seed 
of 
sedition..alas!
These 
beasts 
un-
wind 
their 
yokes;to 
be 
human.
Can 
a 
leopard 
change 
its 
Spots?
Yes 
these 
animals
Prophesied.
Lo!
what 
do 
I 
now 
see?
No 
Beast 
of 
burden 
to 
till 
our 
Land 
rather 
they 
dwell 
Among 
us.
Alas! 
their 
prophecy 
lives!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Up in Smoke it's Reality

Fantasy like Reality can be a disappointment...
Clearing the Air........

He worshipped her from afar...
He had since he was three..
He hid it well , no one knew...
She was his heart’s desire...
With her big bright eyes and her winning smile..
He never thought she would beguile...
Then he turned ten and it was clear..
It had been she who did inspire...
this young man ,with his heart on fire... 
He arrived at seven in the morn...
To help prepare the feast de jour...
He stuffed the bird and chose to make..
Her favourite dessert...fresh Raspberry cake..
He feverishly cut and whipped and stirred..
Grandpa ‘s little helper was becoming quite the gourmet chef...
Then came the time to shower, and get dressed...
He chose his wardrobe carefully...
Making sure that he looked and smelled hmmm good....
She arrived and you could see him beaming proudly...
Everyone feasted on the bird and ate their fill...
He waited on her as I watched..
No one even blinked an eye..
They spoke for what seemed an eternity..
His face could be read for all to see...
Then out of the blue, she excused herself..
And went out on the patio to puff some stuff...
His face went white, I could see his plight..
She chose to be with others you see..
Who foolishly did an atrocity...
The one he worshiped from afar..
Went up in smoke...as she smoked her cigar...


 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Familiarity

What is it about me
that I cannot place you
in the picture painted by the years
the life has already spent?
Do you merely lurk,
and leave at a much later time?
Or, 
maybe
you are staying
because 
    you 
        are 
           meant
                to 
                   stay.

Then,
stay.
If you may.
I pray.
While I find a place (for us)
in the picture of eternities,
the gods must be 
hiding, 
conspiring;
themselves amusing.


Ah, the grand scheme of things -
                            a forgetting.
A familiar spirit we feel -
                            a remembering.     


(Note) This piece was inspiredly written for the beautiful souls - even the 
strangers - I have met along the way and will still come upon in my lifetime. To 
each special one, you have stirred quite a familiar spirit within. A remembrance 
of forgotten past, I suppose. Thank you for letting me peak through your 
soul's window. The veil of forgetfulness has never been thin as now to me. You 
have so given me a gift I shall treasure in the moments I may tend to forget 
who I truly am - a being with a soul.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

After Reading Rumi

... I felt the world open up
before my eager eyes.
A rusted gear from within,
began to crank without compensation.
An unexpressed thought,
that words could not describe,
but merely approximated
by divine decree.
A foreign emotion being made
familiar; the Tower or Babel being turned
on it's proverbial head.

I wanted to see it all at once,
the world that was just given,
but handed it back instead.
I treated what I learned
like a four-leaf clover.
May someone else pick it up again
and carry on with that fragment
of well wishes.
In the words of Rumi, today
I seek wisdom by becoming Somebody, 
compared to yesterday and my goals of cleverness.
The world could not be
changed by words alone...

... I rolled up my sleeves.



NOTE: Rumi was a famous poet in the thirteenth century. His work has inspired me quite a few times. I don't know if he was Christian or not, but there was a lot of wisdom in his poetry... I'd definitely recommend him!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

the Rain

  The Rain tried to find its way into the very depth of the souls, sneering at the gloomy faces of people who were walking through water. Unexpectedly a sudden clear laugh of a boy who jumped into a puddle mocked all His aspirations. 

  With an increased force the Rain turned into a wall of water pushing the pedestrians into the open doors of the shops, blocking the traffic and confusing the air controllers at an airport nearby. 

  Seizing for a moment almost absolute power over the world, the Rain suddenly felt bored and first burst out into numerous crossing lines, then calmed down and throwing the last blast of wind with water drops at the running boy, He sighed in despair and having banged few open windows He disappeared, staying for a moment in thick eye-lashes of a girl who was adjusting her make up.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Resting

“Resting”

It is as if the world stood still
A moment froze in time
No sound of water rippling through a stream
For peace possess my mind
I lay alone, my time to rest
A cloud beneath my head
My thoughts my dreams
Of pleasant things
My life is at its best
It is as if the world stood still
Of a time only I could know
As I have laid in a bed of peace
Like sand upon the shore
Escape the scorns of worldly test
My eyes are gently closed
As the scent of roses fills the air
My worries are no more………I rest


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Phobia For Adrenaline

We're together in this, the fault is ours withhold the explanation we'll share the blame. "Not in this life! my take is already on the billboard" Now is the time to stick together holding each other, sharing one umbrella until this trying moment is over. "No way! I'm definitely leaving the squad". On the first sight of danger and an unpleasant situation of horror. 'Forgive me! but I'm stepping backwards" Persistence pays refined is the product coming through thick and thin be a risk taker and have guts. "Please, I don't need the award". Now is the time let's seize the moment a fool is the person who kicks opportunities away. "You go ahead, I'll do that afterwards" It's all about sacrifices subject yourself to undue limitations for the benefit of your next generation. "hell No! I'm definitely going overboard" The battle may seem bigger but you're more than capable examine the challenge, but focus on your strength. "Thank you! But I'm dropping my sword" Be unique, be different don't follow the crowd be a trail blazer and a pace setter. "So that I stand odd?" On the road to glory and a monster appears despite the capability to overcome he deviates from going goalwards. His achievements make neighbours bored his fury towards strain makes him seem awkward and his strong will becoming flatter than an Apple Keyboard What a being! His excellency, Mr. Coward.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pleasure in Possibilities


Writing my prose,
unmeasured.
Sometimes I try poesy,
another pleasure.
Untrained. Unskilled.
But, what a joy!
to freedom,
my thoughts I find.
And so, as day by weeks
would turn into a lifetime, could be
the possibilities concocted by gods
may be.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

On Writer's Block

Perhaps I should
write about something
besides love
although my freethinking pen
is attached to my heart
a battle I cannot win...

I seek
to be a writer assassin
but I cannot slay the muse
or force her to show up
I must pamper her
squeeze her
and kiss her
for all of her inspiration...

Ah, but not to write
is short of torture
a chaotic and bloody battle
If I write
I find inner peace
not writing
is death of the soul...

Ink on paper
arrange and polish
add and delete
merciless determination...

My words
my poems
are beatings of my heart
put to paper...

It's a sad thing
when one gets writer's block
such frustration and tears
fortunately for me
I don't have it....



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled

Awakened I am
bright eyed
bushy tailed
eager-delighted
to live another day,
a new hope and
a new prayer
that no-one,
no-disease,
no neighbor
no jealousy
no callous driver
or scorned lover
corrupt me today
Allow me to
mend yesterday.
enjoy today,
and prepare
for tomorrow. .


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Thoughts Of Love

Each day my love I think of you
And so happy am I made to be
For so joyful has my world become
With the warm love you bring to me

And there is no better way my love
to start the beginning of each new day
Than imprinting your smile upon my heart
to help gently guide me on my way

For what is love to me my dearest
Does only come beautifully from you
For you are the dream I once dreamed alone
Yes that within my heart finally came true

And each day that passes I find my love
There will never be no better way
To brighten my world each new day
Than letting thoughts of you to stay

For each day my love that passes by
I spend my time thinking of only you
And I find my thoughts are so alive
With the love of one who loves me true.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Garden Club Ruse part 1 of 2

For years no one ever had a clue...
Of the secret she hid..no one knew..
The child inside her never shed a tear...
Although she lived everyday with fear...
She grew up never knowing what love was...
Till that fateful day, when he met him on the bus..
He was tall and handsome and had a great smile...
Knew all the words making her feel worthwhile...
They fell in love and soon were married...
And that’s when things changed...the love got buried..
The days were long and the nights were lonely...
They seldom spoke, and if only...
She hadn’t seen that ad...this never would have happened..
Join the Garden Club today and...
 wipe all your cares away 
There’s more to this story..I must conceive...
So please follow this sequel and I believe....
You will stop and think of the words I wrote...
And perhaps even take your own personal note....
	


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Romantic Feelings

Thus thou be kind to let me be
This heart explodes if not said to thee
Words spoken as true as love
By Jove! Ye art sent from up above

Those sweet smiles that make thy world go round and round
Just one night thine heart was not found
Because la belle dame named
Just took it on her arm

Oh I think I have gone mad
To pursue that love I never had
‘Cause I know we art two worlds away
How I wish I could longer stay

Though it may this heart ever throb
But I admit there is a locked doorknob
I can’t enter, stay outside
At that very moment I could have died

I will dream tonight f that very key
And dwell in the world of hyperreality
So that I can subtly see
The thoughts of being together; you and me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Madre

Touching to sea essence with their noses
Old men  by the seashore
Sails up flags waving goodbye
Gulls laughing
Don Coto's Face brown and wrinkled
Smiles from ear to ear
Prepares for the voyage to gather bounty
From the land the sea to see
The coconut trees
Leaves rubbing against each other
Waiting for their daily drinks to arrive
The sun plays peekaboo
With the rolling clouds of white and blue
Man loading their Cargo
Their wives saddened
Tears flowing 
Nearby laughter
Josélito Negrita and Tony
Chasing down fiddlers 
by the mangroves
Oblivious they are
Life is just fun and games
Atop the hill
The river flows endlessly
Mi madre Maria tomasa
Is at the river bed
Washing clothes
Andre the fiery
Flamboyan..
She's beautiful, radiant black hair green eyes
Strong yet loving she was
I miss her my family mi familia
My people mi gente
My culture mi cultura
Mi India Borincana
With your music of love 
Life and lore
I will never forget you
Dreams never die
Although years may pass
I'll shall return 
Just like my 
Father..














           All rights reserved
              A Camacho jr.
                1996 -2015


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Inspiration and Truth of Sacred Scripture


Eternal God is the author of Sacred Scripture
The divinely revealed realities
Which are contained
Presented in the text of Sacred Scripture
Have been written down under the inspiration of Eternal Holy Spirit
They have Eternal God as their author
Have been handed on as such to the Church herself

Eternal God inspired the human authors of the Sacred books
To compose the sacred books
Eternal God chose men who
All the faculties
Powers
So that
Though he acted in them
By them
It was true authors that they consigned to writing
Whatever he wanted written
No more

The inspired books teach the truth
Since therefore all that the inspired authors
Or
Sacred writers affirm should be regarded as affirmed by the Eternal Holy Spirit
We must acknowledge that the books of Scripture firmly
Faithfully
Without error teach that truth which Eternal God 
For the sake of our salvation
Wished to see confided to the Sacred Scriptures

Still
The Christian faith is not a religion of book
Christianity is the religion of the “Word” of Eternal God
A word which is not written
Mute Word
But the Word which is incarnate
Living
If the Scriptures are not to remain a dead letter
Father Christ
The eternal Word of the living Eternal God
Must
Through the Eternal Holy Spirit
Open our minds to understand the Scriptures


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Deep in the Woods

Deep in the woods, far from the crowded places
is a tranquil glen that Time itself has passed by
a place where legends still live and even grow
 If you walk there with heart and eyes open wide
amazing things will pass some even nodding hallo
poets of days of yore sit scribbling their poems
fired by the inspiration that this sacred place brings

Sit awhile at their feet ponder the words with them
then go to your own corner and pen with fresh eyes
tell of the array of wonders spread out before you
how silent from human sounds is this peaceful glen
the thrilling chorus of exotic birds joyfully fills the air
stroll awhile with Zeus, Thor and other gods of old
listen to the wisdom that they teach as they speak

And when the day is done and nightfall overtakes
lay down under the star studded sky and drift away
follow the paths of your mind as eyes closed you listen
let your soul run free and totally unchained, no fetters
become one with your surrounds in this hallowed place
when you leave you will take with you a very special gift
that of open mind and heart and a better understanding


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Matutinal Features

Another dark warm day with an heavy atmosphere/Humid
Not into dark days and my washing machine is noisily killing me, 
Coffee the life hike up
The always nice counter persons/English, Spanish, Portuguese/I always try to focus on something/A newspaper/Then seeking for my needs/ as a conversationalist I like to see what's going on and the exchange of views, ideas and information/ Today the chitchat was
Immigration/Vibes from educated people/Sincere desire for the other welfare and wellbeing I think

O Variety! 
O Benignant Good-Hearted Goddess!  
O Bless, Boost Bless Boost!
Togetherness/Support/Encourage 

My Bus
My matutinal route/Beautiful faces/ African-American women/All beautiful shinning souls/After a certain age they look epic to me/ There's a mystic that I cannot explain/Even risking an overstatement my perception is clear/Larger-than-life women/Eyes nose mouth chin,Faces of charisma.
The physiognomy in different moods and perspectives the art of judging facial features is one of my hobbies/Indicators expressing person's temper, character
Returning/Same Bus/Mix of cultures/5 most spoken languages in the planet were certainly represented/Creole that I try to understand but due to the mixing of semantics and dialects the understanding is disperse/Arab phrases/Compliments/Outside someone with a lost insight a disoriented soul shouting, crying out something/Preoccupied I made a quick prayer/ The connection with deity always brings Peace/Mother and daughter getting out pampering and nurturing each other and my sense of wellbeing/ ANOTHER STOP/There is always someone yelling on the phone in a larger bus stop/Commuters generally respond with hungry and startled faces/Some look comprehensive and complacent/I reaffirm my decision not to go mobile/It's about human behaviour/ An obvious addiction/ I lost several friends because of mobile intolerance/It's something imbibed in our culture to an extreme like coffee, tea, sugar, alcohol /With a liability/To alienate communication beyond the bounds of what is acceptable/A compulsive addictive behaviour that is killing conversation, the rules of etiquette and killing/BROAD AND MARKET/People greeting one another with genuine satisfaction on the rush to get inside, entrepreneurs and employees in business suits/THE IRONBOUND/Where a great part of the gastronomic world tastes are represented, construction in each corner "Lets Move Forward"/ People jogging in the park/destination/John Paul II Plaza


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Transformation

Life escapes me; 
Moving beyond my control;
My heart broken
     in a million tiny pieces;
The wounds are deep;
Evading every part of me …

But, Love begins a healing process
Deep within my cocoon
Gently soothing, healing deeply
     in the painful places …
Will I trust?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Art Of Living

Life is too short to be lived and only one we get. 
So cheer up always and don't live it with your eyes wet. 
Try to scatter the pearls of smile all around you. 
As pains are short-lived,for dark times as dew. 

Make yourself detach from every negative thought. 
Forget every moment when you were sad or fought. 
Real pleasure of life is experienced only by smiling face. 
As smile comes when you prove yourself & win life's race. 

Inspite of being best,you should learn to be good first. 
'What can i learn from him?' this should be your thirst. 
Never hate others for the things they have not. 
But love them for the qualities that they have got. 

Failures never come to desperate or make you weep. 
They come to teach us how to stand before we leap. 
What we lost is not as important as what we are going to gain. 
Work hard without losing hope as your efforts never go in vain. 

Tension,tears,sadness these all kill your precious time. 
Prefer sweetnesss of happiness & coolness to the sour lime. 
So always be happy and try to be the reason for someone to please. 
Now relax your mind & atlast click your smile by saying 'cheese'..