Prose Poetry January Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About January
These Prose Poetry January poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about January. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry January poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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White of sky
like the surface
of a frozen lake
mirroring the snow
as orange weaves
in and out of trees
the color of dark
cutting into the thin
stillness of winter air.
Each footprint covered,
Next day, light
brims at the horizon
and splashes yellow gold
upon deep maroon,
brown seeped into the barren trails
of this vanilla earth.
Her eyes amused me, slices of January that held April tightly....
she could rain in snow, drop from upside-down skies, and we held tightly to the tears that
only appeared on the opposite side of closet doors as we marked our claim on unusual with
hand prints that never saw the sun.
Two days could have passed underneath us before we blinked, my windows whispered glorious
promises but we kept them closed for safety, for the opposition of who we could be, and
she knew the secret of every season, she knew how to laugh when bedroom doors...
I drew her behind the mirror and we created October across December stars, we became
disobedient underneath the glorious names we sang that night for lips speak magic when
they pretend to lie and dishonesty was but a kiss away from sunrise.
Time stung me come August, come March, come the age of thirty-two, her eyes had been shut
for years now and she sunk beneath flowers I am positive would be beautiful enough to
photograph had I the courage to glance, but my feet have never crossed the grass that
blankets her and roots her promises...
tangled beneath tomorrow with a tight grasp on yesterday, and I wonder if the days have
yet to fade the color of her hair.
It rained in January when I existed miles away, teardrops of memories that fell as softly
as the whispers of her name, I closed the bedroom door tightly and listened intensely for
the echoes of dishonesty, for she remained there, somewhere, behind mirrors that painted
her and the lies that bit my tongue, that reassured me...
our hand prints would hide from summer...
covered in ice-cream secrets that screamed her pain from a smile, from a foolish wish that
spoke us inseparable.
Her eyes, blue as October, slapped me, that day, as they painted themselves the secrets
girls are never supposed to witness, as they refused to allow April to fall but declared
with the beauty that she
could never see.
MEGALITHIC TREES AND US
IN VIRGINIA WINTER
The inclemency of winter
has stripped the towering trees
of their peacock foliage of fall;
gravity sucking them back
to the womb that gave birth
to their bare breasted branches.
Yet these pompous zombies of nature
stand poised like wooden megaliths
winking and smiling at the sun
peeking through stilled clouds
lingering in stolen spaces between
shades of blue and gray chilled skies.
In the irony of this scene’s prelude
to nature’s power of resurrection,
we stoked the hungry fire and fed it
another log; and warming away the cold,
we waited with the trees to greet the coming snow.