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Moon Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Moon

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

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.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

"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 | |

The moon, a golden doubloon buried in the midnight sky

The moon, a golden doubloon buried in the midnight sky, amongst a billion diamond 
speckles, shimmers in the warm summer night’s air, as it slowly climbs to its zenith. The 
lake reflects the scene back a thousands times on a thousand different ripples as oars 
silently part the dark waters leaving star trails in their wake. In the small boat a girl lies 
on the bottom, her long dark tresses hidden beneath a dark woolen cloak. Her sparkling 
green eyes squeezed closed tight. Her full lips hold no emotion in them only lay still, 
betraying nothing. Her delicate hands clasped behind her back bound there by a coarse 
rope which winds its way around her small soft breasts and makes its way down to her 
bare tender feet, trussing her up as neatly as a pig on its way to market. Yet there is no 
fear in her eyes. No tears running down her smooth pale cheeks. No breath quickening in 
her chest. Yet when she opens her bright green eyes, out emits what can only be called 
faith and hope, like sunbeams through holes in the clouds, as if she knows someone is 
waiting for her just on the other side of this moment, waiting to rescue her from a peril 
she knows not what. Yet no one does. She is now laying on a cold gray beach. The girl 
turns away. Not caring about the pain that tears through her hands and feet. Tears run 
down her cheeks in torrents. Her body convulses silently. And there in the first of the 
morning light, lying on the pale white sand, she fills utterly alone for the first time in her 
life. And as the waves crash on the shore, the suns rays burst forth filling the world, she 
lets herself go. Her hair is plastered to her face, she doesn’t notice. Someone has undone 
her bound legs. She didn’t even feel it. Slowly a strong calloused hand pulls her to her 
feet. She lets it. Empty now she lets them gently push her along a narrow trail that leads  
farther away from the place that use to be her home. She sags to the ground. Let them 
kill her. She would welcome it. She would beg for it if she could only find her voice, but 
she lost that when she lost her heart. Her heart, somewhere back on the sands, at the 
edge of the lake. Somewhere where the waves are crashing down on top of it, crushing it, 
slowly dragging it out to a dark watery grave, where it wont have to bare the light of day 
again, where it can dwell in the darkness that it so desperately wants to consume it.


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 | |

The Moon Walker

A great man with a powerful voice – died mute-

Sold over a quarter of a million albums – died with records of debts-

Performed before millions and made them all happy- never had the chance to be happy himself-

Crown with dignity and prestige – buried with clay and dust. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Let us Not Lose Sight of the Moon, While Counting Stars

Let us Not Lose Sight of the Moon, While Counting Stars
 
Sometimes we are so busy in our life with some unimportant things that we forget to give enough attention to our core and to the most important person for us.
The moon will never disappear while we counting the number of stars, and it will still remain more important than the star for our existence.
So moon represent those we dearly love and beloved, because we can always count on them when we need any support.
Deep in their heart, they will always be there for us in our daily life or whenever we have problem.
Therefore it is very important for them to be always involve in our life as a bridge between the stars and moon.
Received attention from others or give it back to them is a privileged in a relationship and it can give good feeling, so do not let the most important people in our life to suffer.
It may give a wrong impression which can cause jealousy or attention came out from deficiency and that brings us into trouble.
Because there may be disagreements come from the wrong flow and causing an unpleasant situation with mixed feeling.
That would turn our entire standard of living to be unbalanced which can give a different meaning for our life and we do not feel at ease.
If we really can think good about it and read into other’s people mind then we should have absolutely taken into account with it.
Because we ourselves were probably also not accepted it so we have to try avoid bad things from being happened.
But things done is done,  just let go but take it as a good lesson for next time.
As the proverb say “Don’t lose the moon while counting the stars”.
 
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen
http://poems.easybranches.com/


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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Under the Moon and Stars

Camping in a beautiful green glade on a warm June night the darkness was total,
Every place and scene on this still and thoughtful night unlocked it's essence,
Every spot has its own sentiment and each one with a rich and peculiar perfume,
The leafy scent of trees the smell of forest turf an earthy odor  deep and rich.

Caught on a light breeze was the fragrant breath of sweetbrier natures perfume,
We had the delicious effusion from a clover or bean-field a lingering fragrance, 
At our canvas tent we had the warm rich smell of peat on a red glowing wood fire,
A smell that tells you that it is the end of the day so just rest, talk and enjoy,

We could hear crickets that singing in the hedge surrounding the dark leafy glade,
A night thrush in an old elm that over canopies our tent, silhouetted by the moon,
There is a balmy softness in the air and the other trees stand in shadowy masses,
These shadowy masses seem to listen to the still and musing black skies above them.

Near is a soft gloom beneath umbrageous hedges, how soft, beautiful is a June night,
What can equal this pleasant feeling in this dark camp the smell of burning meths's,
The moon beams down like a celestial creature the evening stars burns with radiance,
As I lay in my sleeping bag and shut my weary old eyes this moment will last forever.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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@ 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

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 | |

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 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 | |

The Moon Shiniest Bright


The full moon shiniest bright inside its double ringed circle as I hoped to see the blood moon meteorologist talked about all week. 
Sad to say I missed the moment so many gazed with their telescopes and cameras. 

I pulled back the white sheer curtain to see the full moon shining its soft shine into my dark room. 
A brown curtain is all that keeps prying eyes from peeping in the sliding glass door at midnight. 

The wooded area so close behind my house hides much. 
No animals roaming, vertical or upright, can see me sitting, watching TV or on my iPad late into the wee hours of the morning. 

October 8 2014 sees another blood moon, but I missed it all. 
Maybe the next one will grace my eyes with its beauty. 


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


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.