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Prose Poetry Moon Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Moon

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

ben reine ny hoie

Supermoon picture: Manila, Philippines, on March 19, 2011 (biggest full moon of the year) The wind laughs softly The full moon with the stars In the sky, As I lie near the fountain Gazing at the Exquisite beauty Of the nature. It's the charm of the moon Opens so many thoughts And dreams. The moon Looks like a beautiful Ballerina Dancing with the troop of The professional stars. Twisting carelessly with the Elegance of a swan Through the lilac beauty Of the spring time. The sky seems a bandanna. A dewy freshness Fills my heart and soul. How beautiful is the night, I captivated, enchanted. Oh! Gealach, ben reine ny hoie. _________________________ "Gealach" means......Brightness, "ben reine ny hoie" means.....Queen of the night. The language of the Isle of Man. _________________________ The moon and the moon poetry in general seems to dispel the human centredness that we all suffer from. Thank you for reading. Chitta.


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"Fearing The End With Broken Trusts"

I have died to see my life grow from this dark holes of endless torture, nothing is here to 
stay, I do not want the nights to fall upon dead eyes, sober the ecstasy the devil put on your lips, behold the end with embraced cold, this night will kill us all, fear the dead for been the ones to judge tonight, the clouds walk straight to grave, the moon shines bright in red, the sun dances under endless fire, we the child's have failed to acknowledge wrong, we have fought the war by ourselves, we don't feel the sun warm our face at morning shine by our behaviors, we don’t die for free, either vane, fear this hell to rise upon your shoulders, I fear the end with shattered dreams of desperation, cant scream either punch, walls are too strong, sweat blinds my eyes, sweat cleans my filthy soul, take down the moon tonight dear, I shall pay you with my blood, devils stealing souls, we cant sleep to lose it all, loosing my eyes to see beyond the horizon burning, the smoke makes the day die fast, I don’t want to live if all I feel is pain, either do many, my name is not of importance, but the feeling is the one to make the night, dancing upon the chest of the earth, tonight we shine with the moon dressed in red, tomorrow we rule the sky, for yesterday we ruled the grounds, underworlds are dying to see me arrive, I am welcome to this dinner, deals are broken tonight, we have sold what we don’t have to give the better plan, oh green threes, they still live inside a cruel dead state end, bring me the horizon, bring me the hells, that I know this will decay, that I know this will perish, oh my heart will stop the night of the red dance... Prayers are heard yester night, the song is loud, making the clouds tremble and dance, darken eyes, you see the sky full of darken eyes, you lay at night to line the clouds and you make pitiful devils out of the big galaxy above you, this is not the end, I am the man who writes down your prayers, who writes down each tear numbered by deceitful plague, bring my eyes to see the skies, please break me free from this night, from this cell, cold and chained, far away, we keep on trying, breaking the trust of our friends, no one will save us now, is not now, I don't need the time, I am dead to you and I refuse to be your slave, engrave my eyes in this decayed kingdom of fallen messiah’s, please give me time to fear your wrath, please give me the signs of victory, I want and need to know how much you feel for me, I feed you with my blood, now repay


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 | |

Changing Seasons

Changing Seasons

In a burst of color and animal choruses 
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom 
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the 
driveway on Grandpa’s farm 

I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops 
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the 
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn

Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood 
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses 
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets  
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves, 
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now

Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented 
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking 
their melodious summer anthem of  ‘All is well with the world’ 
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life

Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and 
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change

The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along 
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye 
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a  heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of  hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path 
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.

Brenda V Northeast


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Wolf Within Me

As I look up at the sky I see the moon is high

I feel the wolf deep inside he is trying to come alive

As the pain begins to start It feels as through I am being ripped apart

My joints start to bend and break 

Soon the wolf will be fully awake.....



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreamer

Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!

“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!


* If you enjoyed this piece, follow the link and share your thoughts
http://echoes19.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/dreamer-2/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Planets of the Universe

Plant Earth, full of crystal clear waters
Blue as far as the sky can see
Land masses to hold intriguing life forms
Not knowing of its true power
Maybe its just innocence or ignorance
Greens poke their heads out of the ground to say 'hello'
Your not alone
Look up and you'll see the sun (king)
Hot temperament
The suns been worshipped and feared
A super powerful light source
But don't get to near or it'll burn you for life
The sun was bullied by all the other planets
When it was just a star starting out
Got ostracized for being a nosense
(To big and to damn bright)
None of the other planets wanted it around
Until Earth shook hands and exchanged conversation
Meteorites are just gossips
Flying to each destination on a full tank of gas
Not caring who it hits
Shooting stars are the ballerinas of the universe
They give off a mysterious flare
Make a wish and it'll come true
Just keep that image in your mind
The moon wanted to quit years ago
Felt that it had no purpose
Just a grey boulder that gets in the way


Details | Prose Poetry | |

It's Great To Be Alive!

Tamera liked to run in the cold, on a whim she stopped by Woolworth and bought a package 
of hot tamale candies to eat after her run.  She loved having a reward for everything.  
Wearing her golden sweatpants Tamera decided to run laps, which she loved to do on the 
track alone late at night as the moon tipped his head and winked at her. She started this 
shortly after her divorce.   It was cathartic for her to watch her warm breath rise in the cold 
air.  Running in the winter made her feel alive to be so cold, to run and beat the elements. 
She loved the feel of the wind in her hair as she ran.

She didn’t notice the man that joined her, until he passed her.  She hadn’t seen him before.  
He had a Florida Gators jersey, orange sweat pants and a blue ski hat on. She liked his 
strides, they seemed fluid.  She had only been running a few years herself.  It was a hobby 
that she enjoyed.  Having company on the track felt good, normally she had the track all to 
herself.  She usually left after running three miles.  Tonight she felt like running more laps 
than usual.  She kept running.  Her new friend kept running too. Tamera was always 
competitive. Who knew maybe she could outrun him.

She found her rhythm and felt the adrenaline rush of the endorphins finally kick in. That's 
what she like about jogging, the endorphines. It felt freaking out of this world!  
Her heart was beating fast, her breathing was steady.  Her strides were growing wider and 
longer.  It felt so good to Tamera to be alive and one with the track.  She almost felt like 
she was flying over the Grand Canyon.

She kept running and running, until she could hardly feel her legs.  They felt numb, she heard 
the crowd as they cheered for her.  She saw every handsome man that she had ever known 
standing on the sidelines naked as they were cheering for her.  She smiled at them as she 
passed them by like a blur, for she was so fast.  She imagined her ex-husband lying on the 
ground rolling around in sheer pain as she ran all over him to win the race.  She saw herself 
jumping over the highest hurdles with the grace of an agile deer.  She was in her runner’s 
paradise. 

After a while, she noticed she had the track all to herself once again and her handsome 
gentleman, Mr. Moon had also moved along.  When she checked her mileage counter, Tamera 
had run eleven miles.  It was a great run, the best she had ever had. It was a great night to 
be alive!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Shall Wait For You My Beloved

I shall wait for you to come my beloved
For you are my white star of twilight
The moon in the sky’s far end

I shall rise up with thee
Lie down with thee
For in my dreams thou art always with me

Oh Great Spirit
When our time has come
Join us together as one in the wilderness of your sacred home
When you look upon us give us your peace and refreshing sleep

For you and I my beloved, are two halves joined together
Each others distant shore
The left and right wings of the bird
Two halves of a seashell

We are apart, yet connected by a greater love
I shall wait for you my love 

The sun and moon bless the union of our spirits
Designed by our Creator for life’s endless journey
Joined like a tree to earth, a cloud in the sky
You are a part of me, as I am of you
Bonded by the Great White Spirit

You are my love, my heart’s best  friend
Our love will never cease, never end
I know it is thou who moves within my heart
Now and forever my beloved - I shall wait for you to come
Ayor’ Anosh’ ni’ my love
_______________________________________________________________________

"Ayor’ Anosh’ ni’ means I love you in Navajo"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Slick Chick

There is an old saying....
keep your friends near, but keep your enemies even closer...

This is a poem about a very smart Chick...
Who was very resourceful and very slick...
Rumor had it there was a Wolf, and he had a way...
Of taking advantage of everyone on any given day...
He had terrorized the neighborhood for the very last time...
They had a town meeting , and all agreed...
That the only choice was a dastardly deed... 
Chick volunteered to take on the challenge...
And majority stated, he had to explunge...
“I’d love to have you over for dinner on Friday “ said Chick...
To which Wolf stated quite arrogantly, but quick...
It would be my pleasure...see you at eight...
There was a beautiful shining Harvest Moon, when Wolf arrived at the gate...
Come sit in my hot tub, said Chick turning on some tunes...
Dinner should be ready very soon...
The water is hot , said the Wolf...
Ahh , but your body will feel so much better...
Just relax and drink this wine, dinner will have much more flavor... 
Hours went by...then the doorbell rang...
It was the Pigs,  from town known as the “ gang “...
Quick grab a chair and please be aware ...
That I have slaved all day for this affair...
One which will change your perception of me...
I might be a Chick, but as you will see...
I have accepted the challenge, and done my best...
So do me a favor and please honor my request ... 
Use your best table manners, and please do not squeal...
And for everyone’s sake, try not to “ Wolf “ down this  meal...





Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Moon

Yesterday I woke up on the Moon. It was a complete surprise. I seemed able to breathe, 
although everything was dry. The light was unbearably sharp. I wished I had my 
sunglasses. My dog, Zelda, was with me. She was rolling around in the dust. I started to 
walk. My steps were more bounds. Zelda popped up from her bath and sailed into the air. 
She gave a yelp of surprise. When she landed she went tearing off toward some hills. Earth 
hung in the sky. It was big and colorful. The moon was glaring white and black. The black 
areas didn’t glare, but they were cold. After an hour or so we went home and had 
breakfast. When Sue woke up she asked where we walked. I told her the moon. She told 
me to shut-up and she turned on the TV.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Souvenir

Every night, we take the moon home. 
Split it in half,
and tuck it away beneath our ribs
for safe keeping. I always wince,
because of bruises that never 
heal but her smile kills that pain,
and when we get home
we get to dance under the same
light that led us to each other,
fashioning our love to the 
ceiling above, so it’s shine
can light the only world that
matters to us anymore. 
When we get home,
the rest goes dark,
and Earth’s rotation
adapts, forced to synchronize
with the steps of our feet
across the only real living room.
She says she’ll give it back 
when I decide the pain is
no longer worth walks in the
shade of rain.
t  e a s 
             ing   me with 
the zap of lightning’s charm.
But you see, 
this burdened cage of love’s misery
is a metronome’s swing to the 
beat of infinity. 
And so I press play on the 
heart of this, my favorite song
and once again, hold out my 
hand..and wait for her to
take my pain away.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


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9904 the ending

Narrator Ed.Note: CharlaXAndroidoneseven is now flying to the moon to save 
Supergirl he has to disable the program that sent the disc… 
Stay tuned to find out more about the MOON in the new twilighted zoned series 
on CharlaXFabels@ 


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So Much To Live For

SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR…

Night has fallen on us again
The light of the sun has faded for the stars
Against the dark sky
The moon now in its glory
Reflecting through the trees
And every picture tells a story
Depending on who sees

I gaze into infinity
Never reaching an end on the horizon
What goes around will come around
We carry the circle with us through time
Never knowing where to start or to finish
I carry on getting lost in the rhyme
Waiting for the idea to grow or diminish
I’m so in love with life
So deeply in love with you, Adrianne
Sometimes I’m lost, not knowing what to do
Because I want so much for us that up until now
I wasn’t sure we could have
But now, after fulfilling this sacrifice to each other
I know, I truly believe
Everything that seemed out of reach is now within our grasp

You; Adrianne are my strength when I’m weak
And I yours…
You are my anchor when I need stability
And I yours…
You; above all are my life and my love
And with you I can finally begin to live this dream
A dream that begins and ends with you by my side
And I by yours...
Now we can truly live, to make the most of life
The most of ourselves, for each other and our future
That on this night looks so bright and full of promise
Like the moon this night reflecting on the water
My eyes are focused on us, on our tomorrow
There is so much to live for…



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your Face Eclipsed

Bad news eclipses sun
Like the moon orbits your face
As we grow together, rooted
This garden displays variety, its fruits
So don’t overrun simply because you can
Robbing future diversity defrauds us all
And you don’t have to love me – no
Just accept mine as encompassing
To protect from blinding madness


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled 4

I think he’s possessed by the moon- all rock and darkness.
I can’t be certain, his eyes rarely show it, but in the right light-
that moment when the night has caught the fading sun,
when it's engulfed at sunset- I’m sure I can see him fully.
For that second, I see him, and I see nothing.
He’s all frosted to bone, there’s nothing behind those grey eyes.
As desolate as the moon’s surface, as void as its insides,
he is barely filled, there is nothing in there- a drained silhouette.
His face might shimmer like polished crystal but he is empty,
that iced expression just reflects; there’s madness in those 
silver-white eyes; they have no substance, only shine.
And it’s in that moment that I realise that in his eyes,
I am nothing. I have no purpose to him, a flower growing 
in the warmest summer that's stitched shut, unable to bloom.
The second passes and I think I'm able to bury that feeling,
but it forms again, and rises every-so-often, leeching
my mind dry, his translucence haunting me with every look.
I think I’m certain he’s owned by the moon; it’s clear, 
just like the vacuum behind his eyes that continues to grow.
I’m not afraid of these emerging realisations, it’s only the edges, 
the dark parts that crawl beneath the surface, refusing to be seen, 
that trouble me. It’s the unborn thoughts, the premature 
reflections, the developing machinations that terrify me. 
I’m sure he’s empty, but sometimes I think there’s something in there, 
lurking beneath the surface, waiting in its lair. What does he think, 
when he doesn’t think at all? What breeds in the darkness, in that 
hollow cave, that light refuses to exist in? It’s these questions that 
disturb me at night, and I wonder whether I can live with the shadow-man.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled 6

She isn’t dormant, she moves through the dark in this new phase, 
as exact as a silver snowflake.  Despite her voicelessness, she speaks to me.
Her swollen body is idolized in the black that she unstains; she owns the shadows.

                I live for the night, it rejuvenates my scars; it’s my only pleasure.

But she soon becomes entangled in his net of branches, in his
labyrinth of wires. The moon-bruise aches in these hands that grasp 
her too tightly, the constant stroking; her whole existence is fingered blackly.

                I crackle with his razor touches that hook on to my skin.

Each vein sticks to her, emptying her white cup, eating her souring flesh;
to you the moon is just a stone, her presence doesn’t haunt you,
she is more than my reflection; and I feel myself becoming cold.

                This struggle makes me scab but the yellow puss still leaks from me.

And I am numb with fear. She peeks through the branches like bone 
in a deep cut, only she never stops bleeding. Her bleached corpse-body 
aches for freedom, but she is truly caught; her ends fray and we unravel.

                I wear her scabbing scars too, she is my sister after all.

This new phase is exhausting, he wants to lick my skin off. 
My white body is caustic; it bites me back; I scratch and feel myself flake
beneath the nails. I touch the tree and feel its poison enter me.

                You are my immunity. But I don’t think I can go on.

We are septicly whole. She is draining, pouring herself out, as animated as 
the old skull with its thin layer of skin: its veins pulsating with the starved 
appearance of Death. I don’t think I’m here anymore either. I am in her bone casket.

                You know this crippling well; we have both lived with these deformities.

I am now in the tree with her. She is now all of my eye, we touch and 
I am frosted. We are one to the wet core, that stuff that white is made from,
and we are each swallowed by his trunk, living inside his chest of ill health.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled 1

The moon can withdraw; she will crawl
into her colourless body and stitch together her new skin;
she is reborn and basks in her costume of cadavers.
The heart is not that evolved; once broken, she is dead forever.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your Beauty

Your smile is like the new moon of Eid
Your face is like the full moon of spring
Your eyes are like the eclipse of the sun
Your hair is like the cloud of monsoon
Your eyebrows are like a flying eagle
Your lips are like red strawberry.
Your voice is like sweet music
Your style of walk is like rhythm of poem.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled 14

Moving in and out of shadows, his moon love has scarred me.
As he grows whole again, I think I can feel him forgetting me, 
but I’m left with all the marks. I am cracking in this caustic air 
whereas he continues to go on, changing his mind nightly, owning 
each new confusing shape whilst I unbloom. I want to claw his flesh and 
scratch that serpent visage but he is unscarrable. I loved him yesterday 
and I love him more today, I’ll be dead by tomorrow, drowned in his chalk-sea. 
He gorges on innocence, it’s his only hunger. He doesn’t bleed nor feel pain
nor see mine. His crescent smile sickens me but I want to bathe in his stains.
 I sense him every night, watching him with my silent screech-owl’s eye
and tasting his infection on my lips like arsenic. But I am not alone. 
His presence is marked by many; we all watch him swell with our septic eyes. 
He enlarges like a frosted bud unpeeling. His brassy light reflects on to me 
and I wonder whether I gleamed to him, lingering like bruised flesh; 
he engorges; I blister; and his shadow engulfs me. The cold surface grows 
and it looks like war, full of crippled winter-stripped trees and ice-rock -   
the texture of a twitching eyeball- unlike my overgrown, strangling insides. 
He’s the coldest thing I’ve known. Once full, he is the colour of a jackal’s tooth. 
Glaring down, his nakedness, all silver and bare, yolkless like a purposeless egg, 
brings me to my knees and forces my skeletal face into its final bone blush.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lovers Of a Hundred Decades Ago

They had dreamed. They had gone so far with their dreams. Yet, so deprived they 
lived.
Like them, I have become a denizen of the desert, ever since I laid my eyes on 
you.
Like them, lovers of a hundred decades ago, I was destined to wake up everyday 
in a new shelter, a new tent.
What would my shelter be anyway, that ceases lamentation.
So far from here I have gone. An inhabitant of the moon perhaps have I become, 
ever since your love was seared in me; ever since I started missing you like 
the desert misses the rain, I have been unutterably agonized.
Now, it has been a month, an eternity shall I say.
Now, to believe that you’ll be back, it would take me as many trials as there are 
miles between the moon and us. “Us”.  What a soothing word. As soothing as it 
is for you to realize that a series of flaws have been nothing but a lame 
nightmare, and as queenly as stereotype works.
Like the sand under the misty skies that I have seen from my window, scattered 
grains either cemented or carried away, is my salvation.
Waiting to be held closely, with cuddles and a sweet lullaby, the immutable child 
amid my exhaustions cries in grief…
…and when it rained, I had to believe…at least to recall the hope that I had lost.
Yes, today it rained, amidst the scalding and the warmth, it came; I believe it did, 
yet I still don’t know whether it was sent to heal the pain, or cut the line and cease 
the chain.

Jessica J. Hanna
November 2006


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Untitled 25

Unlike the moon, I can’t change.
His crackle that creams the dark
is ageless, his disposition sort of staining, to some, 
he serpentines, constantly breathing like the sea.
I don’t want to hear his old song
that grows to a piercing shriek
but I can’t let him go.
Drier than an empty womb,
I lay beneath him, the living fossil,
entranced by his chalk dance,
wishing he’d bleach my yellowness white.
He unhatches, stripping from his shell
and opening like a frosted bud.
He thought I was wasting my beauty,
so he took it entirely. His arsenic face haunts me,
his ancient teeth gaping at me in mirrors and lakes
and I let him infect my sight
knowing that I can and will, no must, let him go.


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Untitled 27

The moon loves that old adage
that life exists in black and white
I can see it in his crossword smile

Love doesn’t always  heal
Death doesn’t always kill
Are you my poison or my savior

His passion for the extremes can hurt
thinking that life’s like a negative
that black and white don’t bleed together

And to him the heart is just an organ
but I know it can break and be haunted too
Whilst drowning in all his grey.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Daughter Vs Moon

She told me she lost the luminescence that used to line her silhouette at night--the Moon herself--she was fierce, we met at night--the Moon herself--I followed the intense glow she had left behind for me, with this clear vision, I knew we were meeting on her terms. 
She wants what belongs to her! Her luminescence is now outlining my 3 year-old daughter's frame. I left, knowing that the battle between Daughter and Moon is at its birth and far from its autumn. I am biased. Unbroken from my encounter, I left her---walked back through the same streets accompanied by darkness---we both looked at the luminescence at a distance---and as it grew closer our breathes became more controlled, uncertainty and desperation began to dissolve and our confidence was growing---we knew we were approaching my daughter's eyelids.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

open it's 'heart' to it's touch

 
  
 
  and it's just that you need it today
knowing that today
was no different than yesterday
and yet when i approach it
like you know i will tomorrow
it is not fear that causes you to move
towards it
and when that one enigma meets the other
and you do move closer to the wall
even with each moon in my hand
it trembles as it readies
to open it's heart to it's touch
and though your arms 
try to reach backwards to some thing
that never was there
i must need
as you well know
pull the moon even closer
to meet it's living end. 

Is It Poetry 
 
 


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Murdering Superman

Rescue me, superman
Can it be you, I see
Or is the bird not for me?

You scooped me up
Into the heavens of the sea
Then alone I was in the dim alley

Is the moon forever so washed-out?
Or does this bird’s ex-ray?
Take the moon into daze

The laughs are heeding from near
Perhaps, the joker…
Or is it just the cape, as the choker?

I left you vulnerable
At the crook of your cage
And just you blubber, in such riddle rage

Now superman’s dead
As disastrously, for good
Maybe, my bird, afterall; is Robin Hood


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Night by a Lake

A round bright moon glowed low in the night sky throwing silver pennies onto rippling water,
A nightingale sang a beautiful haunting tune accompanied by a sedge warbler a nighttime bird,
I listened to a song thrush singing from the upper branches of a haggard, horny old oak tree,
Earlier before the light had nearly gone a redbreast bathed in the lake always his last chore.

I sat outside on this warm summer night the twilight showed me shadows of monsters and beasts,
An old lime tree like a thief in the night creeping up on me as the sun sank and the moon rose,
Noises from the forest sounded like madmen that had escaped running in chains I looked around,
Twigs, dry branches snapped then a hurried rustle, was the forest haunted like the locals say.

Popping open a bottle of ginger beer sounded as loud as a hiss of a sidewinder rattlesnake,
Crunching a biscuit was as loud a huge avalanche of snow sliding fast down a huge mountainside,
Eating my peanuts I thought an army of soldiers were marching at the back of my wooden cabin,
I tried to think what creeps about in the dead of night making these noises, I wasn't scared.

A small owl seldom hunts by day except in the spring when he becomes restless and excited,
Little owls normally crepuscular and nocturnal rather than diurnal may sit on telegraph poles,
The creatures of the dark creep out from their hiding places when night time covers the land,
And a badger sits in a silent motionless vigil hiding having dug out an old wasp or bees nest.

Sitting outside my cabin on the lake on a moonlit night you are last person left on this earth,
There is rustling in the hedges and trees it is relaxing yet startling you are being watched,
A gander of geese fly silhouetted past the huge bright moon on their way to warmer countries,
My bottle of ginger beer nearly gone the same way as the biscuits I yawn and make my way to bed.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

God, Dreams, My Feelings

 
I was 15 when I first looked up to the heavens.
My mind was in a dazed as I looked up into the sky.
I thought about taking a trip to the moon in my mind.

Until my Holy Spirit came and changed my mood,
I was feeling mellow now but I was still caught up in my dreams.

So I closed my eyes and then my soul and mind was traveling back
into the heavens where the Lord’s power kept my soul with him.
And there he took my empty body or grounded me and there I saw
my dreams lay before me.

When I saw my future dreams lay before me, I prayed to God and eventually
this bird came back to my soul, and helped me dream about a new and improved dreams.

I kneeled down and started to pray to my Lord about the choices that I will make
When leaving this nasty place. My prayers seemed good and honest but I had a weird
feeling that with the sins I have made, it would be best to pray to myself.
And keep it hidden, to confide in no one, absolutely no one.

While praying and dreaming, I learned to have the last laugh and push pass it, and to be
myself, and have an open mind about what I dream.

“Dear God. Thank you for helping me to push pass my bad sins like you said I will not look
back, I will ask for forgiveness and move on.”

I was 15 when I first looked up to the heavens.
My mind was dazed into the skies, I thought about taking a trip to the moon with God.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CurrantEvent

 CurrantEvent     
 
 
Author Message 
Admin
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Age : 53
Joined : 25 Jun 2007
Posts : 54
Localisation : Tucson

 Subject: CurrantEvent   Today at 11:13      

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
CurrantEvent



CharlaXFabels


MOONbeans

SixtyNINER

The Origin Of Supergirl 

NASA Today upon the moon the beans was strange the taste was off the war 
mongers shot the southpole and scared the cheph 111 times she wept and 
dropped the beans and things when the rockets plowed into the dust at the pole 
the imagining screen went offline on our pocket computer screens the moon 
went dark and left its orbit there is not much time for me to report it the child is 
safe in her spacecraft she lays the mother and the eye will die with our world but 
the young thing we made will have super powers on earth she has a yellow and 
a red and a blue blanket tucked all around her we hope they use the uniform 
wisely a supergirl now she is smiling and ewe gentle reader have discovered the 
origin of supergirl supergirl came not from krypton but came from the full moon to 
earth
Help her please make it all worth the test///////////????????BOOM the rocket left 
the moon with supergirl inside ED.NOTE charlax to be continued 
 
           
 
 CurrantEvent 
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Initiation of the Werewolf

The pale moon shone brightly through the naked branches of Briarwood Cemetery. It, being 
an odd time to go in and pay respects, due to work and other obligations, this became the 
only available time. Thank goodness for that moon and the light it cast, as I could actually 
see better, almost clearer in the moonlight. The only thing I didn’t see was that dog that 
greeted me fiercely when I approached the gate. It took a bite, but ran off before I could 
even swat at it. Funny, the blood seems to have stopped flowing and my hearing, too, has 
become more acute. I remembered where her headstone was and what turns needed to be 
made to get there, but for some reason I didn’t make it there with the flowers and prayers. 
In fact, what had happened next can not be remembered, but there was this smell. It’s hard 
to describe, but this smell was putrid yet so tempting. I remember feeling like I had to find 
the source of the smell, but it seemed to be moving. Wait, there was a face and there, too, 
was screaming, but the smell, I can’t place. Wait! Blood. That’s it, the smell was blood and it 
was fresh. Then after that all became hazy as I watched the moon transform into sharpened 
focus. Now, I’ve just awakened near to my car. There’s dry blood on my face, but I do not 
feel hurt or injured and my clothes, well they’re tattered and torn. I hear sirens in the 
distance and can’t figure out if I should run or stay, but my gut feeling, almost like an animal 
instinct tells me to run and hide, perhaps to return later.