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Prose Poetry Love Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Love

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Think Of You - An Alternative Universe - 6


From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.

We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.

Seven!  I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.

Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race.  I entered with Lisa.
 You gave me that look. Oh that look!  And you  left without a word.

At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically.  How it made you giggle to make fun of it.

It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance.  You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.

Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.

Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.

At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.

Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
 tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.

Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked 
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.

Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly 
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.

I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke. 
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.

Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our 
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?

Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice. 
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.

Not everything  is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.

I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!

and I...

i think of you.



March 29 2015
Armand




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

LIFE

I asked to my father
Baba, What is life ?
He politely said to me, " Life is Duty . "

I asked to my mother
Maa, What is life ?
She said to me with smile, " Life is Responsibility . "

I asked to my teacher
Sir, What is life ?
He said to me with love, " Life is Education . "

I asked to my spiritual master
Gurujee, What is life ?
He said to me with confidence, " Life is Devotion . "

Today my son who reads in class nine
Asked me
Babai, What is life ?
I have said to him, " Dear, You are my life . "

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


( Father means BABA, BABAI and Mother means MAA in Bengali language .  Gurujjee means spiritual master in Indian society ) 

Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Language Barrier

I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,

at least not all of it,

but the emotion pouring past her lips, 

the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists

enunciated more clearly,

than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,

and grabbed me, held me still.

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

In that finite, tender breath of our lives,

she was my mother, my best friend…

but I could not console her. 

I didn’t have the words;

and my heart sank into the 

concrete between us,

wet with the pain of God’s rain

and her tears. 

                  …Were my tears

So, I simply opened my palms

toward her crouched form and 

spoke the only words I could 

fathom, that would be accepted

by a stranger on a dangerous street. 

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

I knew she did not understand…

"Lo siento" 

                  “que va a estar bien”    

                            “Dios te bendecira’ “ 

the words were as messy as the overturned

duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly

from my lips, as my knees hit the street.

Two strangers, cried in the rain,

knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,

and yet we shared the weight,

together, for those few moments;

the barrier of language was broken.

Love spoke for us.  

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

…Love transcends any language

               

Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love

Love is like a fire
It often expires
A comfort that revives
Your tender soul alive.

A blind joy soaring
The loveless signs ignoring
It rises high with freedom's grace
To spring a blush upon your face.

Love is sweet like antique wine  
It breaks the fetters of loveless mind.
Love is loving all the time
Love is a spirit unconfined.

Love is a constant kindness
A joyful untamed madness.
Love jealous not
Or is a selfish glut.


Love is a divine quality
Expressed in purity!

Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In another time

They say: " Fate is out of your control and destiny is what you are meant to do." I guess, some things in life are not meant to be, but then why would fate bring two people together when it is not their destiny. Circumstances in life can mean two hearts with a powerful spiritual connection cannot meet, because of the obstacles of distance. What use is a bee if it cannot produce nectar, what use is a tree if it cannot produce oxygen and what use is love if two beloveds cannot unite. Their frustrations burn with the agony of not knowing, torn between the emotions of the heart and the ego of the mind. Love is invisible, you do not see it, only feel it. It is an intangible phenomenon that everyone will experience in their life time. The touch, voice and sight of the beloved is like no other. To feel the breath of a loved one upon your face, to gaze into their eyes, to kiss their lips and to merge, drowning in an ocean of passion are fundamentals of love, so many take for granted. Whilst those apart can only dream of such pleasures. Someone once said: "Life is a balance of holding on and letting go." A heart cannot spend years in the wilderness and a human needs physical contact. Do you listen to your heart and keep the hope or do you succumb to your mind and walk away. Love never dies and you never stop loving someone. Sometimes in life you may have to settle for second best. Maybe in another place and in another time - she would have been mine...
21 July 2016 Simple musings, fictional poem for contest. (written in ten mins) In Another Time - Poetry Contest by Ir0nic ZiNk

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Certainty and the Shade of Seven More Months.

He's infuriatingly...

pretty...

and I follow myself over his smile to find my eyes, promising uncertainty and chewing on
my bottom lip with the hunger that resides in...

love...

He rolled me over and kissed my dreams, his mouth became my salvation and I nailed myself
to the bedpost as we made love, my legs became morning while I screamed midnight to the
dawn...

and I had never seen such a beautiful sunrise, I had never seen the beginning color herself so
strangely...

I told him, as our eyes appeared shallow, as the light dimmed and he breathed summer on my
neck...

“Blue is blue, Dear, don't try to shade it with red.”

But he explained to me the art of bruises, he informed me the results were beautiful, and
he held up a mirror to my unmarked skin, places where the black and blue and...

purple...

has dissipated...

while he sheltered my chest with his hand, covering my heart with his palm, and told me
the results still beat...

in.me.

I cried, tears of the rain that once fell in April, and he held me, time slipping between
us, beads of sweat that spoke eternity and seven more months, and I spoke silently so he
could hear me, I whispered his name...

“God, you're beautiful,” he said on the second I realized the sadness had left me, that
she had found content and was studying the games we never played with the fascination of a
child, I touched his cheek with the surreal movements that occur when one has fallen and
been caught and smiled at the thought of us...

I sacrificed my pain that night, I handed it straight over to midnight when the day broke,
I blended the sunrise with blue and watched the sky turn purple with him right beside me,
I counted the minutes to eternity and he laughed at my obsessions as he told me I was...

beautiful...

as he drank my belief off my left shoulder with a kiss...

and I looked at him, in the light, my eyes deep with the memories of the sea, as I kissed
him, with a certainty I never questioned as tomorrow started forever...

and he would live inside me
for seven
more
months.



Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Forever Love

FOREVER LOVE

 Margie........my one and only........Margie

 love's music echoes timeless
 spring fed      it flows forever

 Pop would get up early, make Mom's hand-mixed
 favorite black and green tea, and when ready,
 he walked down the hallway tinkling her teacup
 with a spoon, gently waking her.

 When he came home each day
 he'd whistle the tune......
 "Margie......how I love you ......"
 alerting her that he was near.

 On occasion, his mood would be jubilant
 upon arriving home,
 whistling......
 "Sweet.....Georgia.....Brown!"
 just like his favorite basketball team,
 The 'Harlem Globetrotters'

 Mom was Dad's whole world,
 I could hear his expectant excitement
 in the tone of his remarkable whistling
 whenever I pushed him down the hallway
 in his wheelchair, knowing his one and only
 lifelong love would soon be in sight.

 He couldn't mix and brew her favorite tea
 anymore, or wake her with her tinkling teacup,

 but until the end, he could still whistle!

 .....and man! 

                       could he whistle!

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dear Victor

Dear Victor

The day you walked in I was just ten years old and for the first time I felt the gentle butterfly flutters of a young hearts innocent attraction. 
I wasn't the only one. With your floppy golden hair and aqua blue eyes your arrival caused quite a stir and class distraction. 
Vivacious, popular among boys and girls alike, open in a way we weren’t used to. 
Your candour brought forth such delightful laughter and certainly more than the odd blush from me! 
Many a lesson trying not to gaze in your direction. 
My one and only lashing of the belt for tracing a handwriting exercise in my haste to escape the classroom to join you in the afternoon sunshine. 
The teacher having left the door tantalisingly ajar so that those still inside were tormented by the sight of shirt tails flying in the breeze and the sweet smell of freshly mown grass. 
The valentine card I sent (well, had someone sneak onto your chair!) had pride of place, hidden under your pillow at home. Your older sister taking me to show it there, both of us giggling and shushing each other as we went. 
Any mortification at being unmasked as the sender lost in the sheer giddiness of this sudden turn of events. 
Never boyfriend and girlfriend, too young for that. We stole playful kisses during postman’s knock at parties (somehow it was always you who came knocking) and when just a little older, we danced all the slow songs together. 
New school, new classes, new faces. No falling out, just a natural drifting away. 
I still liked to catch a glimpse of you amid the throng in the corridor just to know you were okay. My day made if I caught a smile.
Though no longer close, the news you were leaving left me sad and a with quiet sense of loss. I never got to say goodbye.
Every year I wished you a happy birthday in my heart - mine and yours being only two days apart.
A chance meeting, an acquaintance not seen since school, tossed me a casual remark - had I heard? Scant details barely registering. No? Really? I mimicked their casual tone.
Walked away angry, reeling, such tragic news imparted with such lack of feeling. 
No tears were shed for you. How could they, it wasn’t real, couldn’t be true. Just malicious gossip that had somehow filtered through.
Twenty years on, another chance encounter, this one moss edged and worn. 
No longer able to deny the truth there etched in stone. Finally the tears flow. 
I’ll never know what truly unimaginable pain caused you to take your own life nor, selfishly, do I want to. I only know that the torture of vicious bullies led to a young life being snatched away.
Forever dear Victor. I’ll treasure always my sweet memories of you.


In memory of 
Victor Wladysiuk
9th October 1975 - 10th October 1991

 

Copyright © Fiona Callaghan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Farewell

                      If I forget you, would you remember me?
                       If I still love you, would you still love me?
                      
                      If I fall when old, would you lift me up?
                       If I sleep, would you sleep by me?
                      
                          If I run away, would you follow me?
                       But If I stay, would you stay with me?
                     
                        If I see you, would you recognize me?
                               I know you would Not.
                        
                           That is why, I wish I would whisper 
                               And not hear myself. 
                         
                                   I wish I could cry 
                                   not feel my tears
                                    nor feel my fears.
                               Tonight, my final Farewell.
                  
                                     Therese Bacha
                                     24 August 2014

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Loss of Innocence

I remember…

Shimmering gold ribbons
Draped over the 
Glassy surface of the bay of Fundy
On a black see through
Summer night


I was new to love
Shy beneath your penetrating gaze
At a loss for words

And you…
Telling me my eyes spoke volumes
And the tears that welled up in them 
Against my will
Eventually falling over the edge of innocence
Into adolescence 
As your whispers
And my sighs
Melted on the rippling crest 
Of  those waves
That came softly 
To break upon the shore
As the pale moon looked down 
In utter silence

Author:  Elaine George
Written: June, 2014

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Look At Me

                             ~Look At Me~
Look at me,I will wait until you can overcome your shyness,
I will wait until you become positive.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your touchiness,
I will wait until you become fearless.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your stiffness,
I will wait until you become loving.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your emptiness,
I will wait until you become blameless.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your nervousness,
I will wait until you become indispensable for me.
                               ~I Will Not Wait~
Look at me,I will not wait because I felt you have a captivating 
charm hidden under what you show as your authority.
I will not wait,because I am eager to become part of your life, 
you gave me the impression that you have a gift of making me 
feel imperishable.
I will not wait,because you are generous with your time and friendship,
you are generous with your love so it becomes durable and loyal.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression that your enormous 
sensitivity becomes your enormous strength to achieve your goals,and 
help your partner during a lifetime.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression that you bring
strength and intensity to your surroundings,you encourage your spirit
& soul to remain persistent and ambitious.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression you are so powerful 
and tenacious,nothing will stand in your way until you reach your
goals, as you do not like to be a failure.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression that you can love me,
I will wait no more to manifest my love towards you beyond belief,
its unavoidable,its powerful,it needs no introduction anymore as my love
is instantaneous,endless,may I become your lover tonight. WOW,Yes. 

Therese Bacha
9/4/2013                                                               

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Jealous Woman In Love

                               

                                   ~ A Jealous Woman In Love~

             Since I barely slept I felt ill as tears blinded my vision 
                     heart broken burning with desire to see him 
        to hold him to kiss him love him more and show him that strong will 
                     through my eyes to make him understand 
            I am a woman and should not be judged because I am jealous
                  I am a woman deeply in love how can I not be jealous 
          I am jealous of his sheets caressing his body when we share our bed 
         I am jealous of his hair being part of him all day when I am not with him 
                  even his eyes when he sees the moon instead of me 
      I am jealous of his phone feeling his breath or using a knife and fork to eat                    
              as I only wish at the time to feed him and caress his lips
            Oh! I love him so much that I became jealous of his shadow 
         so jealous I drowned in my thoughts like a fish thrown on the shore 
          by the raging waves trying to breath to survive without the oceans 
                                               salty water.
                          

For the contest of Andrea Dietrich
a poem For The Honor Of My FAVE Poetry.
                                                
Therese Bacha  ( Win No.1)
9/4/2013

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Best Friend

I had nowhere to turn, had nowhere to go, this is just something ,I think you need to know! I don't know what made me trust you, I still remember the day, when I told what I had been through! I thought, I should jump off, or go hide in a hole, but then I followed whatever you told!
As each day grew longer, my trust became stronger! Each time I wanted to cry, you stayed there right by my side!
Then I moved to the twelfth grade, I was really afraid, that my trust would slowly fade, But I was very wrong, the bond is still strong!
Even Though you don't have time, you at least ask me if I am fine! You are just seen for a while,with your contagious smile! And then you walk away and you are out of sight, I smile and then things are alright!
I am so glad,that you were there when I was sad! You are the one on whom I can always depend, And this is what makes you...MY BEST FRIEND

Copyright © sakshi sitoot | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Think of Me

Think of me and smile
Our time was shortly spent
Think for just a while
Of all the things we meant………
To each other we were Love, 
Laughter, Smiles and Joy
Think of all those things
Then think of us once more

Remember our first kiss
Remember our first time
Remember I was yours, 
Remember you were mine
The things that we would say
The things we use to do 
I heard you sing a song
I wrote a poem for you
Didn’t think we’d be together
Didn’t seek, but we did find
A precious hidden treasure
A love so true and kind


Now when the Angels come for me
My home now in the sky
Don’t hang your head in sorrow
For me don’t even cry
I will send a signal
And you will know the sign
The Sun will shine its brightest
The humming birds will sing
Midnight will be the darkest
Think of all those things

The wind will blow so gently
I’ll Whisper in your ear
You will smell the roses 
And feel my presence near
For you have known my spirit
For you have only seen
The beam of light now shinning
A dream that came to be
So just in case you’re wondering
It’s not because I’m free
But that I caught you smiling
And I knew, you had thought of me.


Patricia Templeton


"Women Only"

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell-Nunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My True Love

  I Love Him.

I will dream of him
lighting up my darkness,
covering me with his perfume
go crazy with love, 
and make our life sufficient
gentle and persevering.

It is time to look outside
and feel fearless,
face what I fear the most,
and when the fog's lights will
move in through my window,
its time for me to move on,
to make choices that I can
live with.

I am the reason why my shadows
are awake, I must find a new way
not to look backwards.
I am only human, I need to recover
from going to one extreme
 to the other.

I will look like a fierce 
passionate woman;
away, away I'll fly towards him,
hold him so tight,
together, we hear each other's groan, 
watch our lustrous eyes
 until dawn.
Allow our secret impulses,
urge our desire to land 
in each other's trembling
 arms.

I'll tell him, "Listen to me. This night 
will be different." 
With the sigh of our breathing
echoing melodies will be sweet,
but those unheard will be sweeter.
Love me, the very word will sound
like a bell tolling me back towards you, 
you, my sole lover.

How I wish to feel the infinite love 
while settling together in my garden,
watch his divine face as an illusion
beneath that joyous veil.
Forbid the roses to miss the spring 
as their harmonious values,
lives in our souls.

Forbid our garden not to agonize
without the light of love, 
prevent the branches on the 
trees from suffocating,
without the light of love.
Prevent our clouds from separating
before taking with them, 
our light of love.
We will take the stand
to forbid the darkness,
and proclaim the 
light of love.

That's where the key is, 
if the light of love opens 
a door to our tranquility,
feeling safe, our love will 
become our strength.
Still together for,
forty five years. 

Written By
Therese Bacha
August 18 2014

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love Is My Heaven

~“Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here
Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her,
But Romeo may not."
- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, 3.3



~Blind am I to be of love? Here be mortal eyes, seeing with mine heart. Whereupon earth, I behold her at all times. There in deep pools, from pebble tossed, the rippling flow of her hair. There, where lies the dew upon the buds. Her moist red lips awaiting my favor. In the courtyard fountain's purl, tis the beauty of her laughter. All about me is her visage, from waking morn, to deep twilight. Even the moon does look upon me. Gently caressing my face and does kiss me with her light. Blind to love I cannot be. Not when her love is my world, my eyes, my heart, my very being.~
For the contest, Romeo And Juliet; How Tragic Love Is

Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mother Teresa and I

Mother Teresa
She is the mother of every poor people, injured people, ordinary people...

Always we remember the great news
'Mother Teresa will get the Nobel Peace Prize.'
It was one of the best moment in our life...

She lived in our city Kolkata (Calcutta) .
She ate our Bengali foods.
She loved us so much...

One day, I was twelve years old
I met  her at Mother House along with my parents.
I looked at her heavenly eyes.
I touched her sacred feet and hands.
I heard her divine speeches.
I love her innocent smile.

I told her only the sentences, 
'You are the mother of the world, 
Mother of my parents.
So you are my grandmother.'

My father hesitated. My mother was silent.

Mother Teresa said to me with smile, 
'GOD BLESS YOU MY SON'

Today my eyes are full of tears
Mother, I miss you. 
I love you so much....


SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA



(Mother Teresa founded the Missionaries of Charity, a Roman Catholic religious congregation, which in 2012 consisted of over 4,500 sisters and is active in 133 countries. They run hospices and homes for people with HIV/AIDS, leprosy and tuberculosis; soup kitchens; dispensaries and mobile clinics; children's and family counselling programmes; orphanages; and schools. Members of the institute must adhere to the vows of chastity, poverty and obedience, and the fourth vow, to give "wholehearted free service to the poorest of the poor".

Mother Teresa was the recipient of numerous honours including the 1979 Nobel Peace Prize. In 2003, she was beatified as "Blessed Teresa of Calcutta". A second miracle credited to her intercession is required before she can be recognised as a saint by the Catholic Church.)

Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A MESSAGE OF LOVE FROM WHITNEY

Every time you listen to my songs
I will be sending you a great big kiss
And though I moved beyond your sight
Know all of you I will surely miss

Always remember the joy and laughter
That always found a home within my face
Always think about all the wonderful times
I took your mind and heart to another place

Please try never to shed unhappy tears
Each day my love ones while I am away
For there will be a time in the near future
When again in each others arms we'll stay

And tomorrow morning when you think of me
About the love you always saw in my eyes
Remember wherever you might be in your life
My spirit will never again leave your side

My family I miss all your hugs and kisses
Which I will always treasure, and I am sure
One day soon again we will laugh and sing
Together in heaven with our precious Lord.

A poem i was moved to write for Whitney, a beautiful
spirit, while listening to Stevie Wonder sing 'Love is in need
of love at here funeral!

Wendell A. Brown
Copyright  February 18, 2012,
All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

SPEECHLESS SPOKEN WORD ARTISTE

SPEECHLESS SPOKEN WORD ARTISTE

So if my vocal folds can’t collaborate to produce sounds to communicate loudly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can’t there be any mere articulation in my vocal tract to do that? What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate and velum doing? I never knew that emotions could shut my speech tract. How I wish my speech tract could connect to my heart, so that I can give you a cord of love inserted into my heart, for you to put it into your ears and listen to the words my heart says because I am speechless. I had it in my mind to tell you that you are beautiful, eloquent, and charming. When I drew nigh, I decided to start with the word ‘lady’ to show some decorousness. But I realized my lungs couldn’t even initiate the airstream for my glottis to either widen or narrow to cause my vocal tract to produce the voiceless and voiced sounds in the two syllable word, let alone the nine. Should I comply with those who say action speaks louder than words, so that I can gesture for you to get the feelings better? I thought I was one who could speak like a parrot, but I am now slides before you like carrots. But what could make a spoken word artiste speechless apart from the abnormal? OK! Let’s try establishing causality. The moment I saw you, you blinked your eyes, so probably that muted me. So if you could do that again, it may set me free. Don’t wait for me to tell you that you can cause distraction. Don’t go near a podium mounted by a performer, lest, you will cause distraction. Because that image you carry isn’t what you think. Not even a mermaid, more than strange. Please set me free because you are gradually becoming ‘head of Medusa ‘ , rays from your eyes are communicating with mine and making me motionless like lot’s wife is Sodom and Gomorrah. I came out of volition but it is now at your discretion to let me go, so please take off your eyes and set me free.

Tension within me had converted into electrical energy and burnt my speech tract. So what I am going through is beyond dumb. From a distance, I was in haste to meet you, but the moment I set my eyes on you, as though there were a speed rump- I started moving like a tortoise. What broke the camel’s back was when your eyelids became a canon camera and gave me flash, I became static. I wonder why I am speechless. I wonder why I am speechless. Because I am this man who can stand before a lady and produce lyrics more than ‘sarkology’ album, so I wonder why I am speechless. I could make a lady swim deeper in the pool of sweet words, so I wonder why I am speechless. Movement of my negative lips could attract positive ladies, so I wonder why I am speechless. Perhaps we are both negatives, so we repel. How I wish my vocal folds will touch along their edges from my thyroid and open slightly at my arytenoids to create a creaky sound like ‘huuh’ for you at least get the air of love, but none is working. I have thin vocal folds that can produce nice sounds like the lead guitar, so I wonder why I can’t even stammer. My phonetics is not working, let alone deploy my syntax for you to use your morphology in breaking down the words to achieve semantics.  How unfortunate it is that my speech tract couldn’t let out the words my mind has been saying since the beginning of this piece.

 

Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Enjoying Love So Undeserving

What sustains Life like water? What is as fresh and welcoming like the countryside? And as sweet as a newly made confectionery baked with honey? I just found one well placed in all corners of your heart. A feeling encompassing the goodness of life. Is it the blissful visitation to the tenants of the deep blue sea? Or a radiant rainbow floating in the moist skies? Is it red roses, milk Sunflowers and other colorful plants in pink, green and yellow? Or the site of a happy set of little quintuplet siblings? Is it the baby chicks peeping out from their nest to spy on the first morning rising sun? They all are no where near the unbelievable goodness of your love. Sweetheart! You are a majestic glamor full of gracious providence. Not even the magneting beauty of the Queen Cleopatra can be compared to the pillars of your virtues which prove to overcome time's curfew eclipsing my heart totally as I soak in the foam of your passions. A natural habitat have I found in the gardens of your affection and a new existence from the deep baptism of your unequaled care. I never believed a star could be as near but here I am; with a being who outshines a galaxy. My soul has lost records of its bountiful happiness from this train of love with the wish its rails are never ending and its journey, everlasting.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ghosts of South Dakota part 4

	Of course on this night we are supposed to be asleep so Santa 
could come, but we hadn't been home from Midnight Mass very long, and the 
invigorating cold was not conducive to sleep.  Even the hot chocolate did not do 
much to help sedate the excitement.
	We were hoping for sleds that year.  The snow was perfect for 
sledding especially like we did it.  We tied out sleds on behind the car or pick up 
and were pulled through the hills.  We got our sleds.  My dad and my uncle made 
them for us.
	No television and only in the late years were we allowed to use the 
radio.  Batteries were to expensive for frivolous use.  We spent many hours 
playing cards or games.
	I took time out and went to high school and college and got my 
teaching certificate.
	My aunt taught there only one year after the Federal Government 
turned the schools over to the local government.
	The last time I was back there the out buildings had been moved and 
Indian families were living in them.  The school was dirty and unkept.
	Now the school is gone.  The ancestors who once walked these 
dusty plains are gone.  The Indians who were there when I was a child are gone.
	They are Ghosts.  Ghosts whose faces can be seen in the clouds.  
Ghosts  who still chop wood on those sub zero nights.  And the drums we heard 
in the middle of the nights are still beating.  They beat as strongly as the heart 
beats in a healthy body.  The laughter of the children still echoes under the 
bridge.
	The life blood of a culture, of a nation grows thin.  The Battle of 
Wounded Knee was the last battle to be fought  between the white man and the 
Indian on the northern plains.  It's cries still echo across the land.
	My foot prints in the creek did not last any longer than those they left 
in the dust.  But in my memories, this mile and a half by three quarter mile haven 
still lives.  And will live forever as a piece of unrecorded history.

Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In the mood for love


Radiant beams of Aubade,
Basking brilliant aura,
Sun is in the mood......

Ramifying fragrance of florets 
And aroma of plants,
Wind is in the mood.....

Nurturing spirit into seedlings,
Blooming  plants and all mortals
Water is in the mood........

Blessing us with soulmates, pals
And little ones,
Toning the ambiance and climate,
The creator is in the mood......

Bestow upon us thy commendation
Oh lord !
Glorify us with divine crotchet !!


Written on 17/5/13
Contrast - on nature #3
Sponsor- PD A


Featured poem of the week- Dec 13th, 2015

Copyright © Dr. Upma A. Sharma | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A beautiful Story

Here it is...a beautiful story about us....
 
The theme of us has been
written about for ages.
Love missed us,
Personal tragedies,
Shared but not shared,
shaped us.
 
We did our best
To live,
To survive,
Different kinds of battles
But battles none the less.
 
Bloodied, battered,
Life taught us how
To survive and we have.
Our worlds were so much the same
But different.
 
You have always been in my heart,
That's simple to say.
Men can be so transparent
And I am not so different.
 
Early on I knew 
I was a romantic,
A sensitive,
A poet,
An Actor and Singer.
But war changed that for me.
 
At fifteen I saw your beauty
And innocence.
That is what I've had in my heart
to this very moment.
 
This is so fun....
Your have seen so meny
Coastlines from yaughts
and Mohitos.
while I have driven through the jungles
and marches of Honduras
to see the same sunset.
And yes....
You there with me...
 
Something like Hemingway
I am to you you've said to me..
I like the comparison.
Battle tested.
Well traveled
And read.
Yep, that's me.
And I can cook too.
 
Baby, your life is the stuff
of million dollar movies.
The glamor of Hollywood,
The Red Carpet
Doesn't care about last
Nights fight.
 
But you are a fighter.
Your Father taught you lessons
In his own way as did mine.
We share that.
 
Baby,
My love.
We aren't from 
different social worlds.
Our values are the same,
We complement each other
If you can get past my long hair.
 
I love you.
 
My love,
You have given to me 
a most precious gift
these past few days
 
Love...me

Copyright © Randall Smith | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Goodbye My Love

After the snowfall but before the lily blossoms, you were this woman who left by choice. All natural decisions made from a place of despair. Darkness consumed you as you fell into an addiction with expressions of deep sorrow and remorse... Step by step by step... Taking steps... Foot by foot by foot... Slower than a run, yet faster than a turtle, closer and closer towards your oblivion... Into mysterious unconsciousness, I whispered... "Goodbye, my love"...as you walked away. After the spring but before the leaves, I found you drained of energy. Completely exhausted into nothingness, and through it all, you still loved me. Seems like yesterday we walked side by side, you..me...the gentle breeze... You need not ask for forgiveness, sweetheart, it has been granted long ago, and before you were gone I already whispered... “Goodbye, my love"...as you walked away. After the sun but before the rain, You tore out the pages from your favorite book. You wrote it at such a tender age. Too young to understand, yet too old to make believe. Big brown eyes, wearing a ball cap on your head. Smiling while hiding and running while crying... I couldn't handle this defeated hopelessness you wore on your sleeves with patches sewn on to cover up the burn holes... I sit at your grave once again. No tears, no laughter, no guilt, I stood up and whispered... “Good bye, my love" as I walked away. ~Date Written: December 2015~

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Taste of a Wish

Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Estaba lleno el Verano /Der Sommer war voll/The Summer Was Full

Estaba lleno el verano,
Estaba lleno el verano
de flores, de deseos
como un espejo de cristáles azules,
reflejando los sueños 
y el suave color del cielo,
estaba lleno el verano
con nuestro amor.

El color de las casas 
antiguas de Oxford,
limpias como después
de una lluvia de leche,
blancas y maravillosas.

Estaba lleno el verano,
lleno de nuestro amor
y de canciones.
Estaba lleno el verano
de calles angustas y cerradas.

Estaba lleno el verano
de espuma, de murallas antiguas,
de música abandonada y olvida.

Estaba lleno el verano
y nuestro amor hize brillar
los sitios como la nieve
hace blanquear las estrellas
en noches de invierno.

Estaba lleno el verano,
lleno de nuestros deseos,
lleno de flores frescas 
de un paraiso extraño.

Estaba lleno éste verano,
lleno de abrazos y besos de nuestros corazónes.

----------------------------------------------------------

Der Sommer war voll,
der Sommer war voll
mit Blumen, mit Wünschen
wie ein Spiegel aus blauen Kristallen,
der Wünsche wiederspiegelt,
der Sommer war voll mit unserer Liebe.

Die Farben der alten
Häuser Oxfords,
sauber, wie nach einem Regen
aus Milch,
weiß und herrlich.

Der Sommer war voll,
voll von unserer Liebe
und von Gesang.
Der Sommer war voll
von engen, verschlossenen Gassen.

Der Sommer war voll
von Schaum, altem Gemäuer,
von vergessener, verlorener Musik.

Der Sommer war voll
und unsere Liebe ließ die Plätze erstrahlen
wie der Schnee 
die Sterne erstrahlen lässt
in Winternächten.

Der Sommer war voll,
voll von unseren Sehnsüchten,
von frischen Blumen 
eines fremden Paradieses,
voller Umarmungen und voll der Küsse unserer Herzen.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The summer was full with
flowers and dreams
like a mirror of  blue crystals,
reflecting dreams
and the soft colour of  the sky.
The summer was full with our love.
The colour of the ancient houses of Oxford,
neat as after a rain of milk,
white and wonderful.
The summer was full 
With our love and songs.
The summer was full with 
narrow, crowded streets.
The summer was full with
the foam of old walls,
full of forgotten and old tunes.
Our love threw light over the sites,
like snow let shine the stars 
in winter nights.
The summer was full with our desires
and fresh flowers 
of an unknown paradise.
The summer was full 
with our kisses
and with our hearts.

Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In the Meadow

Two travelers with different destinations, we met before our paths diverged, and in that span between our first encounter and subsequent farewell, we read in one another’s eyes a wanderlust that took us off our track. We found ourselves in a meadow of grass seemingly never trodden on before, where we became as two breezy joyous children, frolicking dizzily around the wildflowers that became our world. Racing each other up a knoll, we finally and breathlessly tumbled into one another’s arms, growing silent as we gazed into each other’s eyes beneath a sky of blue. Rapture soon discovered us that glorious day in the meadow. . . Later, a nearby river enticed us with its rushing sound, so we followed it. Coming to its end, we saw the sky grow black and tried to find our way back to our first spot of discovery and enchantment. Instead we wound up back on the common path where we’d first met, parting ways as a sudden rain’s downpour veiled my view of your departure. Every now and then I stop and wonder if you ever came across a place again that could compare to the rapture of our time in the meadow.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Want To Invent You

I'd do anything To gaze at a Full moon in the sky Studded with the stars At night. I'd do anything For all the beautiful Things in the world Which make me Smile and happy. Even a rainbow, a butterfly. But I know, I'm with the Gods Most beautiful and Precious creation, That's you My rose of dawn, My beloved. I love you babe. Your company is soothing, Calming and reassuring inside. You are like the bubbles Of the fountain I moisten. Your enchanting smile Makes an illusion. An angelic presentation In your appearance Which captivate me, Makes me more attentive. Bit by bit I begin to recognize you. My princess, my angel I carefully watch your Billowing, beautiful creature Like my poetry. My love, the fantasy I want to invent you.

Copyright © Chittaranjan Dey | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE RAIN by Anna Lo P

"As I watch the blue skies
 Suddenly turned into gray
 Darkness easily surrounds 
 Their clouds, covered in haze.

 The rain will fall again, I say
 A nature's moment I dismay
 Raindrops will soon touch the ground
 The sad feeling, again I'll be hound.

 Splattering rain, the sound that haunts
 Sweet and sad memories of the man
 Taunting me to remember once again
 The love once lost, never be back again

 Every drop of rain that falls, I pain
 Each drop it falls, my heart is in vain
 "Try to listen" to the rain, he once said
 'Tis like a last goodbye, could not hear I said. 

 The sound of the crying heart, I still hear
 The sound of a weeping soul, I can hear
 The silent tears that they weep,
 The silent scream that echos so deep.

 Listen to every drop of rain
 To it's agony, vain, pain, 
 Listen to the rain as it falls, maybe
 There is your love, every drop after all...xoxo

Copyright © Anna Lo | Year Posted 2012