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Prose Poetry Journey Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Journey

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Vase Dream - c'est la vie

       Vase Dream - c'est la vie 

White vase with no design
Dangling there - c'est la vie 
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything
In an apartment rising skyward
Lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or there about
And more - c'est la vie 
The balcony did its’ best of course
Displaying the fragile curves
Morning sun light danced approval
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from… 
Poof!.....And off  it went… c'est la vie 
An alert French man
Pastry smile and all
Happened along
With left handed nimble fingers caressing a Beaujolais 42
The other hand stretched out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie 
Intact
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened 
Something like an egg
A natural death ensued - c'est la vie   
A passer-by seized the moment
Lifted vase and fled
Made off down and dirty
An ally
Another fate for vase awaits
Less encumbered
In a land far away
To dream of ledges - c'est la vie 
If so inclined   
Or so designed
 

Modified on 10/21/14 for - c'est la vie - Poetry Contest
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An Invitation to Night Terrors

Lay your head beside mine if you dare and enter the world of my nightmare.  A long hall 
before you is lined by many doors, and opening each one exposes terrifying horrors.  
Unlock the first and see the cemetery where so many ancestors have been buried.  
Unkempt graves covered by thorny vines propel you back to tragedy-filled times.  A 
second door reveals a room filled with flames where lost souls scream for second 
chances in vain.  Behind the third door my late husband lies as I emit such mournful 
cries.  I rush to the fourth door and watch the rerun of a fiancé who drowned while 
together we had swum.  A fifth door swings open and I see a lonely woman, aged and 
forgotten by those who once loved her.  There is something so familiar about this forlorn 
soul; a glimpse of my own future I behold.  Have you the courage to take this journey 
with me into the terrors that come in nightly dreams?  And if you are willing to behold 
such sights, should I see you as a demon or an angel of light?  If you choose to lie at my 
side, perhaps these dreams will subside.  But there are few who are up to this task.  Are 
you one of the few I must ask.

Night terrors seem so real as they occur, but by morning they may just be a blur.  
Perhaps it is my fate to remain, as now, alone, because few lovers will venture into the 
unknown -- a misty place where fears and tears collide.  What partner would be willing 
to share such a frightening ride?  A journey through this realm of horrors requires a 
spiritual guide.  Those who promise to take us “for better or worse” are never truly 
prepared to endure such a curse.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Tale of Sandy the Snail

This is the tale of Sandy the snail...
Who always wore her hair in a ponytail...
She was different from others and I’m sure you’ll agree...
As her colors were bright neon fluorescent green you see... 
She wasn’t content just moving slow...
She wanted to run like a Marathon Pro...
Up early each morning...
When the Sun arose...
She did pushups, pull ups and touched her toes...
Alas... it was then she realized this was futile...
As everyone knows...
If she had feet, she would be more mobile...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A journey to the Promise Land (Getting Understanding) pt.1

I've found through the intrepid individuality of reality of life's lesson and Under-
standing the maker of the moon and star's. That the creator, the maker of the
tree's in the parks, mankind and all-minds, all maintaining of drama and percep-
tion. A journey of a thousand directions of heartless rejection's will never mater
alize had the first step never comprimise!  Comprimising to reinvent the word of
the maker of the moon and star's.
   O'How I wonder were you are. "Twinkle-twinkle star so high could tonight just
for me?" would you, could you shine so bright that other's could see just for me,
the maker of the wind and the sea. "A Journey to the Promise Land, fill to the manna,
fill to the brim to Understand".  That on this journey the maker of tall, short, skinny or
blind, the maker that cause rain to erase the individuality of reality. The nature of sin      
flow's through the land of all grain in the sand. (Do you Understand) The maker of the left
hand and the right, just for me(?) would you, could you promise me that there's sim-
plicity that my wild oats shall see. Maker of the moon and star's, "way back-way back
when you first told Moses". The voices of bondage shall you lead, unto a Promise Land
of Milk & Honey flowing with reality, flowing not for the eye's to see, but to talk about
the neccessity of history. Way back when. O"How you prove beyond all degree, the
truth of who is powerful, who is the maker of the wind & sea. "Get Understanding".
(The maker of knowledge and the air we breeze).


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sunsets and Journeys

Poem about beautiful sunsets and the journey of life.

Spent all day walking on the beautiful powdery white beach. Picking
up oceans treasures, scallop shells calico in colors rich and diverse,
conch, coral, cockel, Sand dollar, sea biscuit, lightning welk, snell shells
of every kind. Ocean breakers emerald crashing and rumbling up onto
the porcelain beach. Wade out let it splash all over me so cooling and
refreshing along with ocean breeze. Splash on the face I lick it off,
exquisitely salty. sand Pipers skiddering along, Pelicans and sea gulls
in the indigo sky catching my eye. Such beautiful things my spirit uplifted.
Sun now kissing the ocean in an explosion of colors. I sit down
 to take it all in. Orange, scarlet, green, violet, purple, amber,
 gold, emerald, jasper, amathyst, amber, alibaster and every
 hue inbetween. A glorious feastfor the eye and mind
 to put at ease. Dark now as the golden moon
takes it's Majasties place. What a simply wonderful day.
Giving sigh it's over I could do this forever. Time to go back to my home
in Arkansas. We have beautiful sunsets there as well. Beautiful mountains,
streams, forests, springs, caves, clear lakes await for me to revisit.
The air is clean with a fragrant scent, purple, yellow, orange, lavender,
azure, indigo, cardinal, porcalin, pink and more colors than I can
describe wild flowers frow. Clear blue rivers rush with white roaring 
rapids to float, forests of emerald abundant to explore. Mountains 
treacherous to scale, Hot springs to sooth and heal both body and 
spirit. Diamonds to find, red, champagne, blue, sparkling enchanting 
exquisite. Crystals bound in the mines near the healing hot springs,
amythest, garnets, water crystals, rubies and jasper in georgeous
colors crafted into rings, bracelets, pendants, watch bands and so
many more elegant things. I may never get to return to the beloved 
beaches again in my life, but I still have all these wonderous things
in My Natural Arkansas. However if I am fortunate enough to return to 
the glorious oceans and beaches, I will once again enjoy the treasures,
pleasures, sunsets  to behold so bold and vibrant, more wonderful
memories if it comes to pass. one never knows for certain what lays
ahead down lifes path so onward we go and enjoy each blessing
that the Lord has prepared to us to see. Hopefully we will learn on
this journey to love, care for and share with each other.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

23C


The digital face displays a naughty grin. 5:23am.
Sliding into seat 23C, I double-check my ticket just to make sure:

Seat 23C on Flight 753241698, with a designated lift-off time of 6:08am.


Beside me, chuckles Robert Anton Wilson's spirit:

"See, this is exactly why we appointed you as a Cardinal(the bird?) 
in The Church of The 23 Enigma. You are a perfect fit.
Son, this is a destiny you cannot change, 
so why not just make the best of it.

The plane might crash, be refurbished or decommissioned,
but the flight itself doesn't ever stop. Ever. 
Once you get on, get in, the flight stays on an infinite course.
Thank you for flying with: Synchronicity 23 Airways. Please, enjoy your flight."








2.24.2013: 23:57


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Death Of Love Part 1

      ~Death Of Love~ Part 1

The death of adoration is the moment of truth
                  abundance of caution is needed
                            when love has no tomorrow
                                            it changes to pain.
                                                   In the name of suffering 
                                                          weight your capacity to hold tight
                                                                             by not giving up the fight.
.                                                                                                 
                                                                            Therese Bacha      
                                                                               12/5/2013
                                                                Contest for Russel Divey 5 minute
                                                                                  WIN. NO.( 1)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

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

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

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

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

                                                                              But I would like to…

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

PINNACLE

PINNACLE With a piggyback of hopes and dreams, I set forth to reach a peak. Along bed of roses, rocks and tall sharp weeds, I harvested golden grains of progress. The days and nights rang a wake-up kiss on my head. They told me: "Move on, move on...Don't ever give up..." There are rainy days on the way. A rain shower teased my climb halting me for awhile. Some so strong, I faltered - gained some wounds. Some directly stabbed my heart. And somehow, sometimes they even knocked my very soul. Although tough thunder tremors shook me, I fought hard to stand still continuing my climb. Each height I step onto, I came to know moon and stars. Some of them began a war with me. Some of them a veil of fraud. But blessing, most have shed a continuing guiding light. Some hugged me. And wanted me to stay but some pushed and pressured me until I am all like a dripping sponge. The potpourri situations brought me: a ladder closer to our God. His faithfulness and unfailing love a durable adhesive to my persistence and dreams. A rainbow after each rain drew a promise of sun-kissed days. They melted the cold lonely years away. They permitted me a walk and run to heavenly meadows. Finally, I reached the pinnacle where grins a forever familiar tale. (c) Olive Eloisa 2:07pm October 01. 2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Selfish Beyond Belief

Looking through a full fridge
And finding nothing worth my while
Not giving a second thought
To the skin and bone children
Drinking from a swamp
With great big smiles

There's nothing good on TV,
We eat at the same place everyday,
And by the way I'm bored out of my mind!

But a scared little boy sees it all
Far away from the comfort of this hypnotic box
He gave his share of scraps to his younger brother
While his entertainment is watching
God paint pictures in the sky

(I racked my brain
Searching for ways I should be upset
Ain't one good reason I could find)

It was yesterday
I found myself and grimaced
It was today I helped out a complete stranger
And thought
"How silly of me to think
That was all there was to it...
Nobody's ever just found, we run too frantically
For all that nonsense.
We do the best we can
For as long as we can.
Though selfish beyond belief
I do think there is still hope for me"

I smiled in awe at the discoveries
Tomorrow would bring


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Journey to Africa as seen by an eight year old

My journey through life has seen so much
far have I traveled and much I have done
seen so many things that most others never do
the rock of Gibraltar, with teems of scary monkeys
traveling out we sailed through the Suez canal 
wondrous mysteries that delighted an eight year old
camels striding along, enormous crocs floating by
the land so close you want to touch it and run on it 
Zanzibar our next port of call, ram shackled boats galore
the heady scents of spices abounds teasing the nostrils
the vivid different colors everywhere flood my senses
on to our destination Dar-es-Salaam harbor most picturesque
a miss mash of ships some luxury most tramp ships or boats
sails of all colors, dark people unloading trunks from the holds 
this was a time taken out of time, a way of life quite relaxed
just think of the things ahead,  the adventures that awaited me

written 08/08/2013

contest    Your Journey

in 1958 the Suez canal was open later it got blocked by sunk ships


Details | Prose Poetry | |

lead my hand o' dear life

lead my hand o' dear life

lead my hand
on this land
o' dear life, 
until the end

o' dear thought
of comfort

seed my life
feed me not in strife
bleed me joy from nine to five

lead me a journey of phases
a journey of ages
to face this

germinate in me a corn
of survival 
a history of possibilities
a record of living to afford
a source to live

for this life 
is a choreographer of life
a propeller of existence
an economy of spiritual commodities

a tear drop of opportunities
yet not so many does see its commonalities
an event of anomalies and regularities

lead me a way o' dear life
carry me a sledge on a journey of life 
a terrain of survival and life

a gemstone for many
a pentagon of any
a model of penny

an artwork of joy

a string of life on a journey
a script of many
a stanza of any

opn08022012/0106

from: 'journey of life' and 'on a journey', 
february 2012 

>> ntema's unique poetry (nup) 
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lead-my-hand-o-dear-life/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Black In Time

Let`s go black in time
Come with me black to history
Black to the mother land
Where we rightfully belong
Black in time before the Europeans
Tried to whitewash our
Skins and minds
Black to the kingdom and ancestry
Black, way black before slavery

Black am I 
Not just the color of my skin
The pupil of my eyes or the hair on my head
But black at heart, black in my thinking
And black in my thoughts

Black in time
Black my story, every sentence, every line
Black every rhythm and every rhyme
Black the days on their slave ships
Heading across the ocean lines
Black the shackles and the chains
Black the whips that cut our veins
Black the blood that stained the lands
Black the heart of every whiteman
Black the husbands and the wives
Black the circumstances which changed 
our lives
Black the mother and the father
Black the separation from each other

Black, black, black, black
Black the struggles and the fights
Black the system which took away 
our rights
Black the midnights we tried to make 
our run
Black the rope on the tree that hung the ones
Who wished to be free

Black, black, black, black
Let`s go black and turn the world around
Let`s take black our civilization
Every continent and every nation
Let`s take black the white man`s dominion
Let`s take black our rightful rulership
No more subjection under
The whiteman`s dictatorship
Let`s black out the pages 
of the white man`s days
And attribute the praises 
to the black liberal race

Black my eyes and the things they see
Black the visions of those who preceded me
Black Marcus, Selassie and Mandela
Black Obama and the Christ
Black the life I live because of their sacrifice


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dark Night

Dark night of my soul
Where fear and pain reside,
As rulers on their throne,
What courage cannot muster
To fight this battle within
And overcome its hold.
I seek to find resolve
To enter and seek a way to find
A way to remove its hold
In the dark night of my soul
And morning joy I seek
When it’s time does peak.
Dark nigh its lessons bring
If I seek to find them, 
While morning waits to come.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Life is a Healing Journey

The heart above all things, most fragile,
     bears all things.
So easily wounded when past scars beckon;
Unhealed, unreckoned.
Reminding me;
     of life’s journey past,
     awaiting to be healed,
     forgiveness to be sealed.

Forgiveness must allow
     the healing that I wish.
For the heart above all things, most fragile;
     bears all things where love abides,
     when healing does reside.

Today, an opportunity not to miss
     the healing that I wish.
So, ABBA, forgiveness I release
     so healing will replace,
     and love most precious will abide
     when forgiveness does reside.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Longest Day of Waiting

Life on earth is like a large platform where people show the highness or lowness of spirits of their lives. A queue in time bargaining for the much awaited satisfaction in life.  Just like in litigation, we all undergone proceedings in order to determine our unalienable rights --from conception to birth--judgment has been made whether to preserve or to abandon a life. Is it the longest day of waiting to be born on this earth? Not until we begin to crawl and cry weakly; run and stumble many times; stutter while trying to express the feelings, and get the needed fostering from parents that we realize all these as part of the stages of life. Is it the longest day of molding life inside the house? Not until we are brought up learning under the doctrine of the school to get further knowledge that we see a brighter future.  We struggled hard to academic discussion--from shapes, numbers, reading and into writing, we learned and been guided coherently. Is it the longest day of waiting for commendation? Not until we stepped out from our alma mater and into the challenging workforce that we feel the test of life.  We faced many setbacks and blows but determination made us to choose to get on it until we gradually climb into the targeted rank. Is it the longest day of the tiring effort to make a living? Not until we retired from work and have seen the fruits of our effort that we begin to feel good enough. As growing old is inevitable, it is about changes in yourself and life. Eyesight begins to dim and hearing fails, agility has turned into weakness, and health deteriorated until you sigh, “It is time to lay all worries to rest and maneuver myself into an open fluorescent green field.” 

For all we know, it is still not the end of waiting until we see our next generation coming into being and deserving to be treated as such.


Noel N. Villarosa
12 February 2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Descent

Wispy clouds of white
surround me and hold me
tenderly as I float 
effortlessly through the sky
on this day of days
filled with sunshine
warm breezes and
the scent of lilacs mixed
with new mown hay

Over streams and valleys
I journey caressing the
tree tops as I pass overhead
finding myself intermingled
with a flock of sparrows
winging their way toward
their favorite roosting grounds
on the valley floor

Suddenly I am drawn into
a rain cloud and its
gentle drops cleanse
my entire being and
leave me to dry in the
warm winds that turn
each droplet of moisture
into a silk like lotion
that softens my skin and
soothes my inner soul

As I draw ever closer
to the rich green grass
below me I feel a peace
enveloping me as if my 
journey's end were near
and my life's fears and
all of its sorrows might
end this day never more
to return

I descend slowly like  
a feather and nestle
into a thick growth
of grass that seems to
welcome me as the blades
work in unison taking 
possession of my body
and with my final movement
and as consciousness fades
I am transformed


Details | Prose Poetry | |

With-In A Dream

If only I could ride upon the back of a dragonfly~
O', what journey I would behold...

I receive the wind's forced breath against my face-and revel in my locks rolling in the vibrant 
sunlight.
We hover just above a splash of rainbow painted flowers, 
that kiss my toes with open petals of joy.
The scent so pure, 
shall decorate my skin forevermore.

We crest high into the ocean tinted sky.
Humbly greet birds which share in our gift,
and delight us in symphonies of angelic praise.

I close my eyes for a startled moment,
as we dance through a vineyard of bumble bees-
"Buzz,Buzz," They caution sternly to us, their unexpected visitors.
A smile imposes my lips at the thought of their disrupted task;
Only to pass them, look over my shoulder and witness their purpose resume within natural 
elegance.

A shimmering mirror of water now lies underfoot.
I feel the warmth of the sun's reflection cast up under our joined form.
"Faster, faster!" I command my fairy-friend.
As I lay down flat and wrap my limbs snugly around to secure myself, our speed begins to 
flourish.

With quick, steady, pace, we descend onto the water's surface. 
Skips and twists- twirl into a tango of splashes,
which shower my face with each perfectly intentional bounce.
The tickle rises up from deep in my belly,
I laugh, a laugh full of true obliviation.
Dragonfly now lifts, higher and higher we go- 
As I glide upon heavenly stilled wings.

We drift within utopian clouds, 
they pass before our sights like vapored curtains before a theater of whimsy, unveiling a 
masterpiece.
The presented gift, is that of majestic mountain tops that promise the scent of sweetly 
perfumed evergreen. 
This aroma leaves me breathless. 
The aroma evokes childhood visions of wishing stars, 
and kisses goodnight.
I inhale the memory for a moment longer, 
cherishing the scent before I must once again grow older.

My friend I have been blessed to dance in the breeze with,
slows to a transcending idol.
We encircling the center of a noble rose.
We descend gently into the heart of the queen of flowers,
and land on her royal stage.
I delicately climb down, lay upon her silk; 
and closed my eyes to dream. 
Dreams which have atlas' transpired to become,
my long awaited reality.

If only I could ride upon the back of a dragonfly~
O', what journey I would behold...







                                   


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fire and the Warrior

Out of the fire,
Life grows.
The flames burn strong, 
Bold,
And sear my soul.
My heart grows faint,
Weary.
The pain,
The intolerable pain,
Burning.

Yea, though I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
I will fear no evil in the flames,
Searing,
Searching,
To cleanse my soul;
To release the Light
In the dark night
of my soul.

In the fire,
Love brings forth life
Out of pain;
Darkness exposed;
Evil released;
My heart cleansed
Set free;
Life grows.

Shall I endure
For lessons to be learned
And freedom to obtain?
Shall I wait upon the Lord
To be set free?
Will I persevere?

The Warrior rises up;
To fight;
To endure;
For victory is sought.
Out of fire
New life grows.

The journey long
And narrow is the way.
The day becomes night
My heart weary
Loses might;
Becoming faint;
Despair.

The Warrior,
Champion of my soul
Rises up,
To fight,
To endure;
To persevere;
For victory to claim.
Out of the fire
New life grows
Giving rise to hope.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A melancholy of things unknown

There it is 
Lingering in all my fears
A melancholy of things unknown
I feel it ever so close 
Dancing on the brim of reality
So close but never far enough
Nestled deep In my thoughts
Whispering softly it calls my name  
We both dance gracefully 
Our paths never intersecting




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wisdom for the Journey

The journey,
A solitary path,
Narrow 
	and unsteady.
No compass to guide;
Only wisdom inside;
Soft voice to be heard;
	In stillness it resides.

In quietness;
Listen;
This wise guide speaks 
To those inclined to hear.

Wisdom beckons courage;
Lessons to be learned
      in the journey,
A daily step.
Regret,
     my teacher.
Forgiveness
     my healer.

Wisdom leads me deeper
     in the journey
And whispers hope
To stay the course.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Expand

When I was a kid, i believed that I would never stop growing. I measured myself, and knew that everything taller was a glimpse of the future. 
We would all be giants eventually. The tallest man that ever lived was named Robert Wadlow. He couldn't stop growing. On his first day of school, 
he was taller than his father. They say, that when he tripped on the playground his knees made twin craters from falling so far. By the time he was 10, the dirt in his home town was pot-marked like a second moon. 
Size always seems to matter most when we are falling. An ant dropped from an airplane will survive with no injuries, if an elephant slips 3 feet, 
it's legs will snap beneath it, and or us, it is those dreams that we remember most. The ones where the harness breaks. 
Where you step from the roof of a building without knowing why. When a plane rushes back toward the earth like a lost lover. We always wait just before impact, unsure of shattering or survival, 
and unable to accept our own size. 
Maybe this is why we hunt the large animals to extinction; To make ourselves seem greater. In the end, the victory of the atom bomb was not in the arms raised, but it's ability to topple all of the smallest creatures. We dream of surviving as mountains; of never having to look up again. 
We long for longer conquests. 
The ship vaster than the ocean. 
The fire dwarfing the fuel. We expand. We expand,. 
Weapons add more than just inches to your arm span. When you fire a gun, you can touch someone a thousand of feet away just think of all the giants our wars have already created. Cemeteries are like an infinity of white cross hairs. Mass graves that are just twisting of what we have always wanted; A mountain built from our bodies. We expand, we expand,. 
Our empires, stretching like red lips opening into the widest sssmile, and then swallowing the face whole. We build our largest statues for our war heroes, greater your conquest, the taller we will make you. We are taller than our fathers now. We cannot stop growing. Robert Wadlow did not want to be a legend. He wanted to train as a lawyer, but his hands were to large to 
write and type with. He died at age 22, half an inch short of 9 feet from an infection he never felt, because his nerves could not transmit signals that far. So stop trying to be statues. 
Walk. 
Feel the signals your feet send back to you and say "It is good to feel this close". It is good to live in our own bodies. Our bodies are whispers. Are bodies are matchsticks in the dark that light the small parts of us; The parts of us that can accomplish impossible things.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Still

Haven’t they seen where time stands still and the sun kisses the morning sky 
Running free from the break of day, laughter echoing for miles
Oh yes, it was easier then, when we were only 10
Spirit alive with tomorrows promise and innocence 
Watching sunsets disappear and then soon came the years

Innocence, memories from an easier time
Beauty fades, but not for you, I can see through
The soul never weathered and aged like your skin  
Spirit worn from facing each day without hope 
The soul renewed, found peace, stayed true 

Honesty is living life through your soul.
Life is more than meets the eye. 
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder 
And eyes are the gateway to the soul. 

Souls which have no color decend unharmed
Reality unmasked, the soul of compassion and forgiveness
Teach the young that they possess a power
To love each other past our cover.

When time is gone, the soul remains as the body decays
Before the end, slow down, enjoy the still
Give your soul to another who truly sees you
Taking only what you need to see truth
Be still and listen to what remains unspoken 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Be Still

Silent storms rage within my heart.
Be still!  Be still!
Fear to be fought;
Peace must be sought.
In stillness, Love speaks;
Bringing hope to listening ears,
Reminding weary hearts of bygone years;
     of lessons learned,
     for faithfulness earned,
     to stay the course.

Be still!   Be still!
     when silent storms rage within my heart.
Healing found in silence,
     when listening ears 
     learn to wait


Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Basement Of Ours

We never enter the basement.
It is a place of horrors, fears, and sorrows.
Our basement is a black door surrounded by the fogs of mystery, chilled with neglect.
I've seen it once, this basement of ours.
I felt its chill, at first what I saw was unknown. It was another world, a new land, unlike anything I'd ever seen.

This basement of ours was dark, it was a place where the black sun hung high, it has a warm hypothermic kiss to the surface of the skin. I saw ravens flying, riding on the wings of burnt and unopened love letters, frames of a talented and widely loved young wolf gone omega.

Here in this world I feel the weight of silence. It rains silence, blanketing what was once golden. It fills my nose with every breath. A I sift through this place, wipe away the residue of silence and time, I see frozen moments, temporary forevers. I see pictures, what this land might have been.

I've seen many things in this basement. But in this moment that seemed to last forever, I found quite a find. I found a find that intrigued me down to the deepest recess of my mind.

It was on the outskirts of this wasteland. Covered in silence, it lay beneath dancing weavers weaving silk bed traps. What I found was a product of the twisted oak, carved with the legacies of the natives, the light in a dark world.

It was a chair, a rocking chair. A chair placed by the window yet untouched by the sun. A chair I'd heard stories about, a chair that had lived a long life, raising small children now grown. Yet her sweet whispering allure called to me.

On it I read stories of the seasons, from the blazing summer sun, to the frozen winter nights. It had curves as the hills in Italy, depicting the wild horses that roam. This land of silence and pain now turned loud, deafening with the questions and thoughts racing through my mind.

Where was it made? How did it get here? When did its journey end? Why was it forsaken? But most of all, What was this place? This land I found now stuck in time. This land full of things now covered in silence, wrapped in pain and mystery.

I hear footsteps, up in the world above. They call out to me, time has come rushing back. This wasteland will return to silence. I never forgot that place, now grown, my children will soon discover that land. They will journey for the answer to what lies below. I found the answer. This place, this is the place of lost sons, broken dreams, and bad memories.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Battle Within

A battle rages on
     within my soul.
My flesh seeks its own desire
Though higher purpose 
Whispers quietly within.
This beast cries out,
In agonizing shout
To have its way
     without delay 
     despite the cost.
Will all be lost?

But higher purpose whispers quietly within,
Waiting to be heard;
Conquering the beast
And Love given to the least.
What master will I serve?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lost in Darfur

The displacement camp is overcrowded with a sea of people.
Today another village burns while families are killed. 
It’s not safe here for this camp has been attacked. 
Where do we flee or where do we hide.
A home would be nice…
A normal meal…
A normal life is just a dream…
Where is the justice. 
Why can’t there be peace.
My hope is for my people to be embraced for who they are.
I ask those who hear to light a candle;
A guiding light to help us find our away.
We may never see the light of our hopes and dreams,
But we remember memories of our blessings and gifts.
We are not be part of this world anymore,
But we are thankful for this world in which we live.
May we find peace until we have light for our path…

Edward J Ebbs - 08/27/14
Written for GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Martyr and the Warrior

A journey together,
Storms to weather;
Companions unlikely joined
Despite their task
     on this path which many ask,
“Why the battle?”
“Why the pain?”
“Does not God care?”

Martyr whispers gently,
“Surrender to Love’s grander plan.”
Warrior shouts the battle cry,
“Persevere, victory’s at hand!”

Martyr teaches mercy, grace and love
     to tame the tyrant within.
Warrior teaches perseverance, courage and strength;
     the tyrant to overcome.

Companions unlikely joined
For this journey long
Companions to aide
Along this path long laid.
Healing the prize
Despite surprise.
Lessons to be learned;
Trust to be earned,
     to heed the other’s voice 
     and make the wiser choice.
This battle within needs each
For which to teach;
As guides along the way.

Martyr entreats Warrior,
“Surrender to Love’s call,
For grace and mercy extended to all.”
Warrior enjoins Martyr,
“Be strong, be courageous,
Honesty within
To conquer every sin!”

Warrior needs Martyr 
to tame the tyrant within.
Martyr needs Warrior
To defeat the tyrant;
For victory to win!

The journey for this tyrant within,
Beckons Love’s call;
Grace and mercy to all.
Healing within and without;
Love’s nature calls out;
Surrender control;
Be courageous! Be strong
     to right each wrong;
Start within.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Surrender

Surrender;
Dark path to release
     fear’s control
     and seek peace.

Journey long;
Enduring wrong;
No retaliation sought
In this battle to be fought
     within myself.

Flesh cries out,
Longing to shout,
“My heart breaks,
     it aches.
This task I cannot bear!
Life’s not fair!”

Surrender;
Dark path without control
To release fear’s hold.
No weapons to embrace;
But Love to seek 
And healing in this place
     where fear resides
     and terror takes its refuge.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Filters

It visits the mind
Here in my bed where I rest my bones
It meanders through the avenues
Bypasses and fly overs
These thoughts of love
Here in my bed with me.

The mind like a sieve
Filters the moments and the fun
That I have shared.
It separates the hard times
Letting the good times leak
The feeling is good.

A moment or two visits the heart
Waters flow to it
For a second the heart is marshland
Where the feelings hold for a while
The reeds naturally filter the waters
What escapes is clean and aerated. 

Lovely is the feeling
In the mind I recycle again
To recall each moment I shared.
Deep into the forest of yesterday
I journey into the labyrinth
The feeling is enchanting. 

Thought after thought I journey
Deep and deep I go 
For I remember yesterday.
I journey so far away
Without knowledge
I am fast asleep


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thrill-Seeking Junkie

Got out of bed
threw on layers of hand-me-down ragged clothes
then headed for the door
head-sore from the night before
left the motel life with backpack and bedroll
walked alongside railroad tracks
paper brown bag full of psycho-pharmaceuticals in hand
beautiful day for railroading
Destination Reno, my old stomping grounds
where the ladies be looking so darn pretty
twelve days later on arrival
walked Downtown to the Strip
my long journey a hallucinogenic trip


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love's Call to Surrender

Love’s call to surrender within;
Heed Love’s voice to win
     healing in the end
     will not offend.
My blind eyes caution,
Sensing danger often;
Alerting vigilance to what lurks behind in darkness.
But Love’s call offers hardened hearts to soften 
     and set the captives free
     from what my blind eyes see.

My heart cries out
     with fear and doubt,
“Will Love save from poison darts
     aimed at this heart?”
“Will Love save? 
Remove barriers within
     to let Love in?”
The journey begins,
With faith as mustard seed,
When Love’s call I heed.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Heavenly Journey, Pt. II

Part II


               I thought of Jesus’ Ascension into Heaven and the Passover.  There were 
beautiful fields of green clover.  I was so amazed.  Was I loosing my mind?  There were 
animals running free, of every kind.  Even lions, tigers and bears!  The sight of them 
gave me quite a scare.  My guide smiled, sensing my fear.  He said, “No worries- no meat-
eating animals here.”
	There were no “houses”, but many mansions of great size.  As Jesus promised, 
this was surely paradise!  I was just in awe.  Especially when there, with flowing black 
hair, stood my Grandma!  There was so much joy on her face.  I ran into her warm 
embrace.  She wiped my tears.  Her voice was music to my ears.  She said, “Don’t fear 
eternity.  When you time comes, I want you here with me!”  I smiled and shook my head.  
She kissed my cheek and walked on ahead. Oh, how bad I wanted to stay - right then.  But, 
I knew my own journey had just begun.  I knew I would see this magnificent place again.  
This memorable journey reminded me of my sins.
	I knew I had to look deep inside me.  Suddenly, I was back to earth, inside my 
body.  I had a burning desire to now focus on my spirituality; If I was to one day make 
that Heavenly Journey!!

* Entry for Matt Caliri’s Contest- “The Journey”


Details | Prose Poetry | |

MOTHER OR THE WALL

theyer strong
they carry on
with you with your bone
they make your tone
over all
MOTHER OR THE WALL


Details | Prose Poetry | |

She has no idea

She wrote it on his skin, 
and he hoped that
it would sink in.
It was just a phone number,
but he thought of it as coordinates,
that once he left the bar,
the darkness,
he would find something,
something worth leaving for.
He remembered the way she 
smiled as she wrote,
the way her nails carved into
his hate of that place;
That the fact that she was there,
made up for the dirty glasses
and watered down drinks,
the stale smoke,
and the crooked toothed lounge singer.
He got to his car,
and warmed up 
the heart of a new journey.
Lit a cigarette with the lighter
she left, before kissing the 
neck of his shadow,
whispering to the wounds
he was so used to drowning in.
As he exhaled the first puff,
he watched his tachometer 
steadily rise, red, angry 
revolutions, memories, 
nightmares...regret
swelled against the 
windshield, blurry. 
"She has no idea
                            what she is in for.." 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love Lights the Way

Love lights the way in the darkness
A shelter in the storm; 
	to heal the broken heart.
Hold on; 
Hold tight to Hope,
Because Love will light the way.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wise Hearts

Wise hearts travel from days long gone;
Trials endured
No respite in sight,
To hope hold tight.
Seek wisdom,
When winter comes,
Causing flesh its chance to be redeemed
Though dark night seemed
Unending;
Unrelenting.

Spring at last arrives,
Transforming hope survives,
Despite its wain
Throughout the rain;
New dawn brings life
For wise hearts enduring.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Faith

Faith walks with Sorrow and Suffering.
It’s Light buffering 
their weight,
too heavy to abate.

Why journey with these companions so unpleasant?
What purpose to achieve?
What must I leave
     behind?

Faith walks with Sorrow and Suffering
To transform
All that does not conform
     to Love.

Faith allows my choices to be made.
Will I trust?
Will my heart not fade?

Faith beckons my blind eye to see
Far beyond me,
If I will but trust
And hold tight to Love.
It’s magic to behold;
Worth more than gold.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Love, Conflicting Pain

This has been an absolute journey and I have traveled it with and without you. There are days I have opened my eyes only to be blinded by sun light. As I walk through a darkened coveted desire I'm trying to hold on to you. Listening for the moments you gave to me, all the excitement and how quickly you take that feeling away. My innocence has left no imprint in the path that I walk, so please don't try to rescue me. My knees are bruised, my heart has turned grey, this is where my journey begins without you. What have I let this world become of me? The purity I once new. Hair brushed back in a braid down my back as I walk away my heart still yearns for you. Your love still knows how to make my heart suffer. And your plastered on my inner shell that holds me together, with tears and laughter, I'm blinded by your love.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sweet Surrender

Love leads the way to freedom
Through peaceful surrender,
     so tender.
Sweet surrender release my hold
      to seek your gold.

Crumbling defenses are bold;
Desperately clinging,
Despite agony’s stinging.
Fear cements each brick
      in this fire
      despite earnest desire
      to seek Love’s sweet surrender.

Fear clings tight
Chocking my will
      in this fight
Holding firm to control
Despite its toll.

Love whispers its promises;
Surrender the door,
Empowered by trust
Not to end in dust.
Love’s sweet surrender will not disgrace.

Sweet surrender
Release my hold
To seek your gold- 
     a life of peace.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seed of Faith

A tiny seed
born of need
Planted deep
     within the soil of my heart.
Will it not depart?

This seed of faith
Laid deep;
Solitary.
It’s sheath decays,
Lying prey
     to all that prowls
without its beckon;
Death to reckon.

This seed of faith;
It’s treasures now lay bare,
Deep below;
Darkness surrounds;
All hope is lost;
This tiny seed broken,
Laying bare
     the promises within.

With hope yet abandoned,
Evidence appears,
Though barely visible.
Out of death,
New life;
It’s journey to begin;
Delicate.
It’s purpose to fulfill.

Faith not forsaken
Begins its way;
To unfold,
     through darkness,
     it’s promises within.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TO LOVE AND TO BE LOVE

its a feeling
will have you reeling
you'll be looking
your minds cooking
its comes from above
and its like heaven
TO LOVE
AND TO BE LOVE


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Journey Through the Valley

Yea, though I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death,
No evil will I fear;
For You, ABBA, 
     are here
     with me in this fire
where freedom may be sought
if these flames I will embrace
     with grace.

I feel the pain of grief;
     the desperation of control.
Despair clings tight
Choking delight;
But faith holds deep within my heart,
Its desire unyielding –
	the grip of control to depart,
        my fear to release,
        and find Your peace.

Yet, in the fire,
A thorn plunged deep within my heart-
A seed.

This seed of faith grows
As Love burns away the fear,
	Purged from my soul;
grief washed away by tears.

ABBA teaches me
In the valley of flames 
If my eyes will see
        Him.

Will I be broken bread
       and poured out wine
       while abiding in the vine?

Yea, though I walk through the valley,
Life springs forth from death 
In the ashes;
If I yield control;
If these flames I will embrace
	with grace;
        to cleanse my soul 
        and let Love grow.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Dinosaur

Hide,
Scorched like gauze
Moving slowely and surefooted

A path no longer blazed yet
Bridges behind still burn

An opening,
A thousand eyes turn to stare
Fruitless in its search,
Faces no longer there

Disgruntled and aged
Grown shorter in its decline

The Dinosaur walks out of the 
forest,
Onto the edge of time.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love's Call to Arms

Awake! Arise!
A journey beckons
     for all to seek Love’s surprise
     without disguise.

The path laid out
     for traveler’s devout
     to seek Love’s prize,
     despite the toll-
     self-sacrifice.

Love’s call to arms
     with promises to find;
     the cost is high,
     the way is long,
     though worthy of the strong.

A noble journey
     despite the cost
     to seek the lost;
     for Love to transform
     and healing to perform;
     reveals its hidden treasure-
     Love beyond measure
     to fill the weary soul and broken heart,
     never to depart.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ (~) ~ The Journey ~ (~) ~

~ (~) The journey towards home, yes quiet the tender longing, my soul, weary, inside inside- out in between outside all about; given the struggle, attention... being and remaining always seemingly to be quiet-and quite the insidious, aspiration, perfection, whereas it would lie finally; it stands-for-me-to be-yet-incomplete... yet and still forever-transfixed; my peace, the simple fulfillment humble fruit, gentle blessing of this hope. (~) ~ ~ (~) Such it is this journey for me, struggle... greatest-ambition... my joy full and overflowing in the day of its fruition. (~) ~ ~ (~) Just like a diamond in the rough glistening-there-lying in the snowdrops; given the honest exclusions of my soul at-times covertly divided absent-growing-evermore-futile the original vision of it I feel now, request far more... ! (~) ~ ~ (~) Love I believe forever providing abiding beside the truth telling overtly of this — conjured up all the remnants of fallacies-as-they-are I've-come-to-see will always try to keep the heart mind in complete denial — as grace is the only hope as well I believe delighting thriving there amid the-space-between... . (~) ~ ~ (~) For all of us, mercy, these simple treasures are-what I pray do-remain, I mean imagine if it were the-day-that-they-wouldn't-care-to-be — oh I know yes the quiet-separation, perfect longing, confusion-within — oh-God yes Heaven-forbid... ! (~) ~ ~ (~) I mean brogue-down beaten up-chartreuse black purple handed down to me my face... grappling-I'm not yet crippled my soul lay opened amenable amendable-willing-now-desiring only for this one-conviction the charity of-your Mercy... .. (~) ~ ~ (~) Touched by this I was also though back in the day though nary I know the way it went my joy it left me in my hate... . (~) ~ ~ (~) Consumed I became like an angry wind by someone something else, but I too believe as well and consider it today to be ultimately by the allowance of the merciful outstretched hand of God... .. duly abiding-by-His-word, in-Faith... .. (~) ~ ~ (~) And so I offer this one exclamation to Him hoping for nothing greater or less than this result as I say for-another-time; "Okay God, you have my attention now, I am listening... !" (~) ~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4wojcSO9Ww&feature=related


Details | Prose Poetry | |

NOMAD OF LOVE

I am a nomad of love…
Wandering through deserts of despair
Camping in oasis that fade away 
Hunting on land full of swift souls
And still I forge on.
I am a warrior of love…
Planning the best defense to protect 
My heart standing knee deep in false hope
Fighting for a prize I have yet to find
And still I solider on.
I am an artist of love…
Molding my burning desires into shapes
Writing a song that dares to be sung
Painting a picture only I can see
And still I dream on.
I am a believer of love…
Preaching on theories that have no validity
Teaching a vision of both folk and faith
Praying for something I know must be
And always I move on. 
Onward to the final destination.
That I know, that I feel, that I need
called love. 




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wise Journey Long II

Wise journey long
     brings eyes to see beyond
      the toils of each day
      with steadfast heart
      to weather storms approaching fast.

Wise journey long
     brings eyes to see beyond
     past wrongs;
     transformed,
      yield grace;
      lessons learned will not disgrace

Wise journey long
     brings eyes to see beyond
     and focus for the day
     without dismay
     of treasures most precious,
     not purchased by gold;
     gifts to behold;
     Wisdom,
     Courage,
     Purpose,
     Hope
     and Love most dear,
     dispels fear
     for this journey long.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Desert Edge (part two)

On comes a traveler from lands that I have not wandered only visited
Bringing with him memories of the pains I have borne through my life
Like the desert whose dunes I dared only once to climb when youth held me fast
A fleeting grasp, a tentative hold that was as it must be for us all I have come to see
In those valleys of sand where the sun drank from my body ravenously to crack my skin
I saw only once the whispering vision of life in the distance
Shimmering in the heat of the burning sands stood an oasis many miles deeper
So I set out with that vision hardly in my mind across the desert
Over mountainous dunes and into abyssal valleys with the sun raking my back
I walked and then I crawled when my feet became blistered stumps rubbed raw
I crawled until my hands and knees bled
I crawled until I held my head high no longer
Still I wandered, still I moved despite the sand choking my eyes closed
I crawled my body burned and my eyes blinded by sun and sand
Only to find my way back to this shack on the Desert’s edge
My journey had betrayed me I believed
My journey had twisted me all around I thought
Until today when came a wanderer through the desert forge
To sit down and rest with heavy sigh and cloud of slowly settling sands

On his shoulder sat a grey old owl watching me silently with eyes of tired wisdom
In his arms the man carried his second friend a satyr with ivory pipes to match his horns
I nodded in quiet solitude rocking back and forth in my old wooden chair

So it was that we listened to the gentle creaking of the wood
Listened to thunder rolling in off the great Blue Divide
Listened to wind shushing through the leaves of Heaven’s Gate
Felt the heat wafting over us from the Desert’s edge

Neither of we two speaking, only listening until at long last with the sun beginning to set
The satyr stirred just enough to lift the pipes to his lips and then to play
A hauntingly sweet song of blissful sorrow like age-old memories of lost youth
And we listened to him play his song long into the night
Until the stars failed to shine and the curtain of day touched the veil of dreams

“Time to leave, time to go, time to say farewell
For there are roads still to travel and I have yet much to see
And so long a way to go,” he said with a quiet voice of strength


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Vegas Be Damned

Vegas be Damned!


Vegas took him off the board at 80.
As the cards were dealt each day, passersby
would swear the deck was stacked –
against him.  Fate had, for some reason,
chosen him to constantly be in the line
that closed for lunch, watching the bus
he just missed - leave.  Youth, street kid,
pin setter in a bowling alley, living at the
kindness of friends parents, eating as the
opportunity presented.  17, enlisted,
good duty, three hots and a cot.  Re-enlisted,
war, Korea, PTSD (before it was PTSD).
Discharged, returned to the streets of
his youth – no longer a youth.  The drink,
elixir of the damned, damnation of the
scarred, comforter of the comfortless.
Arrests and jail time, flop houses, back
to the streets.  Early in his forties, fate’s
dealer broke open a new deck.  A chance
meeting, a choice, an unsteady walk,
a door, into a new life.  Get well jobs,
dishwasher, grave digger, volunteer.
A 75 dollar car, an apartment of his
own, friends, and fellowship.  Another
better job, 30 years later, retirement
at age 75.  A birthday party shared with
friends - many half his age of 84.  He
still walks the streets of his youth
proudly, thinks of those who, unlike him,
were not as fortunate.  Those who succumbed
to the rigors of life, and death, the unseen
wounds that never healed, the hopelessness
of a stacked deck.  He laughs a lot, has a
bit of a skip in his step, a wry smile on his
face, an MBTA Charlie Card in his wallet,
and a plan to be a part of this day.
Vegas be damned!

John G. Lawless
10/18/2014
for Gautami Phookan – Sketch a Character – Poetry Contest


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wise Magician

Wise magician,
Change this agony from suspicion;
Cause hope to rise
In this journey long
Without reprise.
Redeem lessons unlearned
In journeys past
That now harass.
The cost so high;
The journey long.

Wisdom must be sought
In each battle fought;
Gold within redeemed in fire;
Rekindles lost desire
When surrender released
Transforms soft heart
From one of stone
No longer on the throne.

Wise magician requires toll,
Surrender all,
And seeks a grander plan,
Though turmoil at hand,
Causes faith to take a stand.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Martyr's Journey

A solitary path
     to seek true self;
     myself to find
     without refine.
My heart revealed;
Love not sealed;
Old wounds unhealed,
     echos choices made without regard to impact.

My heart calls out
     in quiet shout,
     wrestling with doubt
     of Love’s conquering task for the greater good.

My flesh cries out
At Love’s request
To seek other’s best
     without rest.

Flesh seeks it own desire’
While Love requires fire
     to consume its selfish attire;
     for choices to be made-
A life lived in self-seeking pursuit?
Or, a higher call
To Love’s grander plan-
Peace, joy and healing for all.
Shall I heed Love’s call?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seaking Approval

Exhausted entities
To breath in the exhaust
Fumes will be your fuel
Who's the fool now?
Drowning in a pool of your own spit
To find the perfect fit
Falling into a pit of ash
Uncovering your secret stash of secrets...
The truth will spill out
Get your fill of lies
Because every human's a spie of the FBI


Details | Prose Poetry | |

De Ja Vu

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: De Ja Vu 
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014


"Excuse me, I don't mean
to interrupt your lunch....But, 
Do I know you.?"

"Naw, I don't think so....Um, 
from where?"

"I can't say where, But, we've 
met somewhere before."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Me and The Zimmer Man

•to zimmer (v.t.) – to flash brilliantly with apparent blinding insightfulness, suggestive almost of a certain numinosity.**
•** numinous (adj) – of or pertaining to a numen***; arousing elevated or religious feelings.
•*** numen (n) – a deity; a divine**** power or spirit.
•**** divine (adj) – of superhuman ***** or surpassing excellence.
•*****superhuman (adj) – exceeding ordinary****** human achievement.
•******ordinary (adj) – you, perhaps, and I, most definitely.



TO BEGIN WITH, THIS IS NOWHERE NEAR THE BEGINNING…

Me and Bob Dylan ( that is, the person sitting next to me
 who I had every reason to believe was he 
who possessed THAT reluctant voice of a generation,
 and the person I had no reason to believe wasn’t me)
 were cruising in a beaten-up FE Holden down Dictionary Highway, a nexus of beaten 
tracks, without a number,  but known by all numbers between zero and infinity,
 simultaneously stretching in all directions at once past everywhere and nowhere,
 taking in along the way such memorable places as The Black Stump, Billyo,
 Woop Woop, Buggery and **** Creek, and, in a kind of lexical alchemy,
 bringing you right back to where you thought you were 
thus producing near-stichometrical tales such as this.
 
We were on a rhyme-spree.
“Bob, ” I asked, “to what now do you aspire?”
To which he replied, in a drawl slow as a  wet week,
 ”A spire? A place no man can dwell”.
This was going to be a long ride, I could tell.

…to be continued, or, TO END WITH, THIS IS NOWHERE  NEAR THE ENDING...




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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wise Journey Long

Wise journey long;
Settle my soul
When life takes its toll.
What trials bring
will make my heart sing
when healing is released.

Wise journey long,
Settle my soul;
Deep places within.
Wisdom brings deep peace
Bought with scars along the way
Now healed, transformed to gold
When I am old,
For wise hearts know
The cost high
Of days gone by,
Now allow wise gifts released
 	to those who seek its prize.

Wise journey long
For wise hearts belong;
Its treasure to be won
	with perseverance by each one.
Seek its prize in journey long.
Disappointment finds its wings
with steadfast purpose
Promises hearts to sing.
Pursue deep joy only to be found
on journey long.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

To My Loved Ones

Light as a feather Free as a bird, Untethered. My soul takes flight Bound for I know not where, Yet I know that I must go. Like those who have passed before me, Now it is my time. It is with mixed emotions that I leave This world, my family and my friends. Then wings of faith embrace me And I feel my spirit soar. The angels envelope me In a welcoming embrace, My dear old friends surround me. I have reached my destination. And so, my loved ones, Smile through your tears In fond remembrance of lives shared. And when it is your time to pass And you must begin your journey alone, My hand will be the one Reaching out to guide you on your journey home.