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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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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


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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

If

If a fruit's peel scraped, yields its zest,
     may my love be the juice of
     the most opulent orange?

If so much as a glance can initiate passion,
     may I look upon your beauty
     and dream of sharing all tomorrows?

If an embrace be a sign of affection,
     may I cling to you as a newborn clings
     to their Mother?

If tears grant absolution,
     may mine be a river, so our souls
     can float serene, on waters of peace and hope?

If the light from one's eyes be a sign of joy,
     then yours are radiant, shimmering stars
     in a clear night sky.

If one's touch could convey security,
     may I place my hand in yours until
     I pass from this life?

If life truly be a journey,
     may I take each next step at your side?

                                                 If
                                                 8-7-14 b.b.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ALL ABOARD

I am a driver
responsible for controlling starting, 
stopping 
and speeding.
I am a driver of a steam locomotive 
a railway train powered through a steam engine. 
and fueled by burning combustible material.

I shall evoke nostalgia,
I am goint to lead you hand i hand
To the simple delight 
You’re going to experience an enormous plume of steam bursting 
As the train as it pulls out of a station. 

All aboard!!!!!
Dum di dum di dum
Around 100 different lines, we go
All part of the fantasy,
The ultimate romance of travelling by steam train.

Ladies and gentlemen
I am captain Nehpets Gnik
Welcome aboard.
This journey will take a week,
We shall meander along the coast at Torbay, 
over viaducts, 
past harbours and beaches with pastel-painted huts, 
this is a 120 mile track taking us inland through the Devon countryside 
From there to the Dart estuary.
Will will stay staying at local hotels 
with more luxurious establishments along the way.

Dum di dum di dum
Dum di dum di dum
Dum di dum di dum

I hope you enjoyed our journey
Please don’t forget any luggage 
Hoping to see you again.

16th January 2015


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?