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Prose Poetry Lyric Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Lyric

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Stiff Upper Lip

It was with immense fortitude that he endured the pain.
His back was arched and head rose as he strode down the thoroughfare.
No one need know what lurked behind his eyes. 
Although in all honesty he wanted someone to know what lay behind his eyes. 
He composed his mind determined to ride this one out,
“Ok…I’m fine…I’m fine…there’s nothing wrong” he kept saying as if it were a mantra.

A few minutes passed. Finally, the steely gaze was drawn across his face. 
His lip no longer quivered. 
His heart no longer tightened. 
For now, he was a detached dispassionate walking skeleton, nothing to call human here!
Even the sight of a mangled kitten wouldn’t render a response.

My manners are now controlling my passion; they are forever in my debt.
Like Wellington, I’m going to have to grin and bear it!   
Throw my deepest love into a raging, scorching inferno, as it will only get in the way of my duty!
I shall never succumb to societies miss giving’s. Never shall I spew forth my sensibilities to the stranger in the street. My convictions are too honest to cheapen that.

A friend, however, has the misfortune or privilege to walk among my thoughts. 
I know that we will walk hand in hand into Daedalus’ Labyrinth, a Minotaur at every corner. Never knowing if we shall return. Nonetheless we do it together.
Judgement is never passed. A grimace expression will never rise from your face.

Only in your presence can I remove the mask. 
Only in your presence can I let my lip tremble.
Only in your presence can I let my heart feel the despair. 
…

Be that as it may, once I leave the comforts of your abode I shall once again display the stiff upper lip. 


By Michael Mearns




Copyright ©Michael Mearns


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hot Liquid Love

hot liquid love, 
pouring down from the skies,
splashing into your gorgeous, star speckled eyes,
my heart blows wide open,
and cries out in delight, 
the light of you blinding, 
so warm and so bright,
I'm a heavenly feather, 
floating high, and so free,
drowning deep in your heart, 
love's sweet ecstasy.

http://lovestruehome.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Everywhere You Are

God, all the time You are,
everywhere You,
You suffice all…
But I, with my wild stubbornness,
with hunter’s old scent,
look, in myself, for the lack-of-You:
I’d like to see –
in this body, this soul – 
where You are not and what just does lack You,
as I am so sad 
that, like a path of a cloudy pass,
am untrustworthy for my own folks…
I feel how,
from the moss-grown nothingness of the lack-of-You,
there radiates 
the dead insect of my daydream
with its dusty wings…
From the threshold of the nonexistence 
there glitter my great lacks-of-You…
Again, again, from thawed-out snow,
fresh grass covers greenly fields and mountains;
Again, again, from summertime,
white winter dwellings 
are filled with yellow-breasted chicken…
O God, in vain You’re searched in skies –
You are my Earth,
my old Country Seat…
Countless times I have stepped on You 
to cleanse myself…


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Trolling for Love

I'm floatin in a boat,
in the middle of the sea,
and I've got my trusty fishing rod with me.
I'm trolling for love, 
sweet, soft and demure,
so I cast our my line, 
and my heart is the lure.
come on precious mermaid, 
come hither sweet girl,
hop into my boat, 
and lets give it a whirl,
with our wing tips igniting, 
and our eyes brightly glowing,
deep passion pulsating, 
sweet liquid love flowing.

http://lovestruehome.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love and ice

When I sit alone in my ice block 
And I sing by hunger or cold 
I think,it’s paintfull the process, 
That without you I’m melting 
Buckets of hot blood are licking 
Thoughts as birds fly to you… 
I’m the prisoner of my own love, 
It fetters me and it’s flocking me 
Tramelled in fer of pollar fox 
I sit with my eyes on fire,so they can get 
Something of the hotness of a night in an igloo 
In frosted nord and solitary 
I have no body,what should I look in the mirror? 
Either a mirror I have.i don’t need. 
I mirror and I siwm in your look 
In nights with cold winds 
That blow the ice in your eyes. 
We hug at the end of world 
And your tear,from the pain of the crock of the ice 
Born,it makes a river at our feet. 
The aureole is then a rainbow 
We sit on the edge of the river and we fish: 
Dreams,then we divide them brotherly… 
In cold nights we hunt pollar foxs 
We run on the horses of dreams.Star dust 
Rises in the back the hoofs of horses of fire and wind 
We have no words in our mouths. 
We only have mouths that chew and fire 
Which melt the suplimentar ices. 
When we hold our hands 
The lava flows on snow 
And the fire slowly melts into water 
The rain washes the face of the sun 
The day comes hurried and when leaves 
The night,with small stars 
The fire starts in us. 
You burn slowly in the bed which has no wood in it 
When you show up in the sill of the door 
Un warm smile and the eyes become 
Blue ice,almost white. 
The whole darkness enters to us 
And turns off the vision about time. 
The dawn comes more difficult 
I found myself in your arms, 
In sleep and in dream…


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sweet River Man

Let's wait for the sunset one summer's day
down by the river where I always liked to play
we can kick off our shoes and bury our feet in the sand
come on please be my sweet river man
We can call the wild geese up with a little dab of feed
or jump in the water a little too deep
in that old Red River we can laugh and sing
take me by the hand, make that leap

Write our names in a heart in the sand
you can be my sweet river man
and I'll be your sweet lady river friend
we can hold on for life and scare the catfish twice
anything’s possible that time of day
my white sundress is a little bit dirty
from that red water that always stays so murky

I wouldn't want to be any other place
than down by the river where I always liked to play
and when the moon comes out tonight
and the stars shine bright
your sweet river lady
is going to sing to her sweet river man under the moonlight

watch those stars shooting in the dark as you hold me tight
until we see the sun start to rise
yeah down on the river where I always liked to play
nothing’s changed much since I was just a babe
but now I share with my sweet river man, my favorite place to play


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Romantic Feelings

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A poem in Labor

Fingers crossed spread wide open 
my brain is in pain/ a gift so pure 
baby rhymes crawl backwards in 
stains/ wrapped repertoires come in 
venomous rap pains/ chemical 
messengers ship signals from one 
cell to mythical metaphoric chains / 
It’s the birth of new chapters/ 
Hormones walk tall through walls 
when summer reveals winter’s 
offspring lyrical babies captured/ 
Guilty are biters cheaters pledging 
the word spread of poetic 
descendents/ dippers snap when dirt
is packed overflowing flows the 
nation is watching the sexiest figures 
of speech/ push push push harder 
the rupture of the membrane 
dropped long before the poem 
started/ push push push harder with 
no worries sleepy awesome tongues 
lay low on Africa’s bosom/ little 
cough drop poems the bladder 
carries only few graceful mothers/ 
the birth of my poems


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Life

I smiled, I tried,
I rose,I learned,
I planned, I worked,
I dreamed, I achieved,
Life seems wonderful.

I lost, I fell,
I cried,I broke
I have everything , but i got nothing
Still life seems so wonderful :)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Words Linger

You speak in a circus of symbols.
Perfection's presentation, alluring with the fact.
Mystery of minds, riddles set to toil in rhythm...
Yes, that's what you are.

You bare diversity, and lustful lore within your smile.
The sincerity of the captured moment adorns you when you laugh,
crinkle up your nose, and proclaim~ you're stoned.

Your quizzical genius is worn upon your brow.
The type that has to season to exist,
yet has been painted on your sculptured face since the age of innocents.
You are my timeless prodigy...
Yes, that's what you are.

You are clothed in sleeves of music above your most sacred instruments, my most sacred 
intruments~ your hands.
Your hands, O' how I could spend eternity kissing them without compromise.
For they create your love-craft, feeding the paper in verse and also creating my pleasures 
so precise.

Ah, your wine scented kisses.
Ever so softly they call to explore my wanton lips.
Tracing, tasting, devouring in feathered licks.
They too create lyric, lyric which sketches your script upon my skin.

The lyric which whispers through the trees and dances on the highest summit of open 
pastures.
The lyric which sways on the reflection of untamed waters.
The lyric which engulfs the illumination of a full phased moon,
and plays in the honey warmth of the sun.
Yes, this is the lyrics written within your kiss...
Yes, that's what you are.

The echo of your voice entwines the patterns of my thoughts,
weaving an eminent design when you are absent.
The air of your accent charms my perception when you recite to me.
O' sing me your symbols each eve before I dream, dreams of you in purest colors.

A spiritual child, you hold my hand to pray to the Master.
A peaceful dove whom will not cower, when against the wrath of darkness.
A singer of songs.
A creator of dreams.
The madman of my amorous tale.
You touch and taste me in poetry.
You obey my senses and bathe in my 'churchild' serenity.

You are my lover, of love.
You follow me to only be lost within my sanctuary of solitude.
You are the promise of our spiritual breeze, to gently exhale on summer's last wishing flower, 
together.

You are the gatekeeper of my heart's door, that opens the secrets of my spirit.
The true possessor of the mastered verse.
You are my autumn eyes, which blooms a rose eternal.
Forever, I shall feel the imprinted reason of your breath upon my flesh,
and when you whisper your vows to me~ words linger...
Yes, that's what you are.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Strange philosophy

i've always been so afraid of flying,
is it my fear of heights,is it my fear of falling?
it's a strange philosophy,
a troubled heart,a shooting star,life's a remedy
for who we are.
oftentimes my hope is fleeting,
so engrossed in so believing,
in who i am ,the calling,
it's a strange philosophy,
that up is down and down is up,
no doubt my truth is your lie,
but this is music,hear the heart.
it's a strange philosophy,
i live in you,you live in me,
you're trying hard to make it,
work it!
you lose your soul and hope it's worth it?
we trusted in whoever we believed,
Jesus died for my own fault,
i heard that all things pass away,
but love like this never fades away.
one last thing,
it is what it is,
a seriously strange philosophy,
all that and so much more.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Eleventh Fable

 Eleventh Fable     
 
 
Author Message 
Admin
Admin



Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 719

 Subject: Eleventh Fable   Today at 18:26      

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Eleventh Fable 

Eleventh Fable 

The Millionth Dollar 

Charlaxes Fables 

Some people live in misery afraid to spend a dollar bill is one a friend but he just 
won't let it go. The man walks or rides his bike even in the snow not using public 
transportation anywhere he goes. A Child is young too young to knoe just what 
money's for. She takes the dollar in her hand and keeps it never spending it and 
never letting go. 
Song 1001 
Aern't ewe the one that eye love 
Aern't ewe the love the only love that eye have 
Aern't ewe the one that eye love 
Aern't ewe the reason this man gets up 
Aren't ewe the love that eye have 
Aern't ewe the purple cloud 
Aern't ewe the heart of the rain 
Aren't ewe the name in the sky? 
Aren't you the song 1001? 
Aern't eye the one? 
The millionth dollar has been spent the millionth tear eye cried the millionth time 
eye tried to make a song was this one number one thousand one. Time will wait 
for no one let us rule the time with love. 
 
           
 
 Eleventh Fable 
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

These Salty Waves Pt 1

What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to say? All these lies you bottled up come sweeping, crashing with the tides. My footing's gone, the ocean real, but how am I supposed to feel? And here I am, a drowning mess, a loveless lie, I do protest. And here I am a drowning mess. So all those things you said to me? Where they just lies out of pity? So all those things you said to me? Or am I lost in salty waves? Yes I know my future's grave. Or am I lost in salty waves?And now the panic in my head, when I should be tucked up in your bed, reels and reels right here instead.I'm going down, a sinking ship, funny what name drips off my lips. It is not God, or Angles plenty, or even that I'm just damn ready To let go of the hell and the lies. I'm wishing for your gentle eyes. Or at least the way they always seemed, but perhaps that's just this salty dream. I have no clue what I'm to do! A drowning hopeless mess, for you-- think it's cute, and oh so funny, but here's the bitter truth now honey. I'm going down. There is no help. I can't be saved by God himself. I put my life, my whole world of trust, and you've thrown it away for lust. Well what the hell's a girl to do? I'm just so entranced by you!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

mea culpa

traducere de: Angela Mamier Nache. 

aujourd’hui dieu m’a rappelé à lui
m’a grondé comme un père en me disant
qu’un ange s’est foulé les ailes en volant
parmi mes mots et je jure que je ne l’ai pas voulu
et dieu m’a cru sur parole
après il m’a rendu tous les mots en retour
et il m’a dit gentiment de les préserver
qu’aucun ange ne se brise plus les ailes
dans leur incompris


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Will you be ready?

When theres a knock on the door
will you be ready?
For all the things 
That's outside the
world you live in?

When the telephone rings
will you be ready?
For everything which is being told
At the end of the line?

When they wake you up
will you be ready?
For the stuff tat happens in reality
And not the for the dreams you hope for?

When they open your eyes
will you be ready?
To see things as they are truly are,
Rather than what you've heard?

When you enter the dark tunnel
will you be ready?
To find light at the end of the tunnel?

Be ready...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

behind our eyes


Beauty ,the tormented pain,

hiding deep within.

A web of abandoned emotions,

wasted energies and chaotic dreams.

A dark chastising silence,

engulfed with flames.

murderous contempt, within our hearts,

for our fellow self.

 

Thick black ashes, entangled in a web,

of Stolen time, and memories.

Learning life's lessons,

harshly, without a forgiving word.

 

Leaving us gasping, for the breath of life...

LOVE!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ Cry of the Muse ~

Of-gentle beginning-and tender song ... ! That we would gratify love in its truest affection. Stand stead fast- uphold it yield to no other-duty ... ! To-have our-souls' so-identified-unified coexisting- exclusively-mid-this ... . To-live, would I die to give the measure of my-soul- just-to-have this ... once ... ! So place me within, make me the-essence of-the-art- lay me down carry me off- as I would be a child lost amid the grandeur- of its promise ... ! Allow this ink to consume us be the genuine eminence, what we reach-for through the humble virtue, heart-of this quill ... ! So all may view soar higher, and even higher still. Be captured, taken within deep- far and away beyond- the bitter part of this world, into the true benignity, flourishing and forever evolving, amid themselves ... ! Yes help me build me up, mold me-yes- come find me ... ! Trick me friend by slight of hand bend me- yes break me down shatter me again, and again truly I care-not ... ! Fill this paper in-its preparedness ... innocence ... verity, hope ... with the sweet passion elation of our souls ... ! Yes carry me before this-vision ... ! Restrain me-not ... . Set our-soul-free ... ! Please ... ? That we may gratify love-uphold it. Yes yield-then ... only-beauty ... ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author notes Written to the (Braveheart) theme By: Enya The expression of this poem was written from within the greater depths, of my soul. It was a cry of my muse. The passion beside which I stand and the hope through which I write. The joy we both carry for the other, and peace and faith in each other, in which we abide. Before this writing my muse had taken a vacation. So willing, I am open to suggestion. ~ Thank you for reading this piece of my work ... God bless you ... (The reason that there are Hyphens "so many of them") is because I have a computer that speaks them with a faster and slower and higher and lower pitch of voice, giving a certain kind of ebb-and-flow to the work with a softer more fervent and realistic and consistent tone, when I use the hyphens and other punctuation in the certain places that I do, when in telling it what to do. Allowing it to speak in even a moderate voice if I choose. It sounds very free flowing when I hear it, and I can only hope that you will be able to here it in the same way. Thank you for reading and God bless you ... ~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

believe in the magick

Believe in the magick in the power of each thought. For you are like a lovely 
flower, growing in a pot. You can do it, whatever goals you have ever sought 
and you can grow your roots and widen yourself to a great big plot. And don't 
let yourself be put on the spot. And whatever effort goes out is the same as 
you have brought. Takes time sometimes, don't get distraught. It'll be turned 
toward you every deed or need you've ever bought. Smile,you'll be happier, 
that's what I've learned and I've taught.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

c est comme ca qu il m a dit

c'est comme ça qu'il m'a dit

écris exactement 
comme je te conseille
haut et fort
clairement
que même le vent le comprenne
souffleur fou
qui dit la parole
quand il la dit
et laisse la terre livrée à elle-même
qu’elle tremble
en entendant tes paroles
c’est bon signe
que tu t’es fait obéir 



traducere de: Angela Mamier Nache.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Soup And Brain Salad

No, Shar, I'd never heard of it, but I will, i looked it up, and it's got a great rating.  
Sounds good!  Thanks!!  My friend John S. is a horror buff of the first ranking.  He 
was even on the peripheral edges of some things.  Was working with Joe Spinell 
when he died (Joe) from a tooth infection complicated with heavy cocaine use.

Freddy, 'Ol boy- for you I'm sure the words would be "I'm just a boy whose 
detentions were good!..... And, when you med Davy Jones, was that at his 
locker?  Do you really like Burdon?  Have his Mickey Most series??  Regards, tom


Details | Prose Poetry | |

OldSockFable

 OldSockFable 
OldSockFable 
 
 
3Fabel4 
 
 
 One old sock afforded free the one they thought the drier ate the one they 
dropped by accident the basket overflowed in haste of want to escape the rain 
the sock has none no toe jam yet no misery of toe no hole it is white it is in small 
form the top is not so very long but short like a ballerina dancing in a music box 
she wears sox like these 
Could this one be the sock she wore on a foot like mine to keep it warm? 
Iola the dancer the prance the vixen the ballerina the lover the sock loser in the 
drier she it is that loves me and still cares Iola is the other name for ewe. 
The missing pages on the internet the hair nets no one can ever find they need 
them back they must be worn to cover hair in kitchens there the kisses muss the 
hair so coifed and formed with gel the parfume forgotten spilled the baby powder 
added to make the special day. Dancing done in heart if not in deed dancing just 
for me. Jacket is lined and Indian motif fits with my jeans a lighter color blueing 
blending as eye dance as eye prance just for Iola ewe in 
mye sock and nothing else as she appraises mee. Sandals hidden against the 
day eye need them shoes of leather marking time some of them just needing 
dimes to ride ride ride then walk some more in leather uppers made of nothing 
wondering at love and shoes and slipping in the cracks of learning wondering 
again at love slipping sock upon the left foot only making shoe to fit more snug 
BULLETIN Flashing News If MSN acquires YAHOO then none of the games will 
ever work again the Windows will have the YAHOO frames and MSN will be the 
tending frames. Yellow will dominate the blue and everything will be PEA GREEN 
when MSN becomes YAHOO nerves strained beyond belief as headache comes 
again with no relief just perhaps the medicine eye take so much later in the day 
will win me a stay of execution intended not to mend it not to heal it  but just to 
temporarily extend it. When eye was working and eye lost my toe they took it off 
the boot and greasy as it was they tossed it in the trash and smiled Can you save 
my toe eye cried NO was all he said it is too dirty there is no way to use it now.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

OLDSOCKFABLE part two

Later as eye went back to a job that eye could not no longer do there eye was 
given the plastic strap to pull against my toe the one near the big one that is 
somehow still missing the bowl of serpentine fluid kept against the healing skin 
in hopes that it would soon close up again not iodine but the cheeper kind 
Across the Universe was found the Aliens are rocking to the sound the musick 
played against the stars pulsing round. The Charnak one android seven three 
was seen dancing to the Beatles tune. Missing toe is listening to musick in the 
rain on Alpha waves in one old sock inside just the left shoe in 

on my personal website there is a YOU TUBE here unfortunatly eye cant include 
it ici.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Mark T Made His Mark

Money for nothing...
Newmark & Lewis you see
Was where Mark T worked
And was visited,
By a famous rocker
Who likely got the idea from him
I long wondered if true
And have been more than satisfied
With the proof.

I thought this tribute was done,
Then I realized I'd missed
the mark...(and I do miss Mark, believe me)
Mark's mark was really on those 
He shared the earth with.
No one ever influenced me musically
more than Mark.  What he taught me,
I couldn't have learned in Juilliard's.
And not just music.
Mark was way ahead of his time.
Way ahead.
He had his weaknesses, who doesn't?
But he did have a good heart.
He was a good friend.
I am sure he was a good father.

I was in numerous bands with him.
Like I earlier stated, somehow
his presence calmed me, even
when we were facing unscaleable
obstacles.
Once he brought over two albums,
pre- band practice.  I was introduced to
Floyd's "Atom Heart Mother", and the Dead's
Live Dead version of "Dark Star"

To this day, these are my favorite
pieces of music, particularly "Atom Heart".

How I wish we could have spent more time together.
How I grieve, with his family.
Only years later learning of this.
Countlessly trying to reach him prior.
Someday I will.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TwentyFabelTwo

TwentyFabelTwo
CharlexesFabels
JIMBEAN Whiskey
The eye decided on a love sonata or an enchilada of a fable made in love.
Eye have a girl she rocks my world she makes me think of beans and things she 
loves so fine she listens so well she does it all the live in tells me what is means 
to love and eye will answer ewe with this tell me what is means to live with 
someone has a love inside a heart and eye depart for worlds unknown when my 
babay calls me on the internet eye positively moan in some sort of whimper that 
she must never here for she will love too much and mabe even disappear. If she 
could see the purple ecstasy my gragon wings leave upon the scars of a 
forgotten past she could not last another day. Someday we will kiss and help me 
then for let me not get much too elder than eye am now for the old man that eye 
become wants to kisss his love and never stop. Someday comes in the movies 
there is love. Most people show out showing out is fine when one is young but 
there is time when a man gets too old to show out much. The weight begins to 
sag and the hanging gardens of Babylon become the south of Franco buttered in 
rum and left in cold too long. Later comes to me most every night most every time 
eye love. Myopia is a universe of ewe.
AS eye am loving ewe eye am loving myself amid the fantasies of youth the 
vagarities of aged mage as the wonderful heart she it is that loves me gives to 
this myself me and eye and all of mee eye cry if left too long upon the shelf 
please add mee to your mix for love is meant to be taken in self graduated doses 
earning kisses we imagine the hearts so kept in tune.
My love is enchilada and love sonata so hotta for mye ewe.
Ewe oph please drink JIMBEAN whiskey make coffee in a plastic jug and learn to 
drink it cold. Hold both hands and kiss them melt the CharlaX meet the man reap 
the love be mye ewe keep the heart what would life be without the love.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Big Day to Fly To The Sun

Thanks Vince, I can't hold a tune either...I was even banned from singing in the 
shower!
Sean- Been there already (Listen to Floyd's "Set the Controls For the Heart of the 
Sun"- a song my band was doing in 1970)  PS- if you plan to go to the Sun 
anyway, I strongly suggest you go at night!