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Prose Poetry Name Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Name

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Kis

A Kis

RICHsTgPOOR



CharlaXFabels

1one7three3
 Do eye need a kis. Eye need a girl to kis. Eye have a girl that eye can kis. 
Eye have kis her in the rain. Eye have kis her in mye heart. Eye have kis her in 
mye start of every day for years of love. Eye have only to the kis to go to read more 
into kis to find the place she dwells in this old mortal frame of yearning 
dwelling place. The kis is purple bliss of alarm blazing love waking me from 
death like a Snow White Charmed young man a captive smith to Pocahontas 
fame. A dandelion flower lost in the caverns of the depths Ianthe drowning mee 
in sea ward tufts of left and right bouts of beating on the air to keep from sliding 
to the depths of drowning in her arms of love. A leap at faith a death reprieved 
from Grounded Grave a leaping portent making waves of Gragon wings. An 
attitude of love refrained in every tuft of wind again the sound of love the beating 
of the water on the roof of tin the sound of kis inside the wind and rain. A younger 
man and woman would have hardware in the way the nose and yes the nose gay 
and the corners of the vampyrific fangs. The center of the tongue is one the belly 
button too. The snooker table has a cue it’s called the ball extender bridge it's a 
cheater it’s made to let the basest man to reach her in the wind. There is so 
many problems with people the gas is oughta sight at the pumps this country is 
no longer prominent but a third world country going south. The end of time has 
come and arrived the ruthless and worthless rule in the name of god money and 
time. Take a number wait in line what’s your name please fill this out and wait. 
The number of his namme. Have you got a credit card or payment of any kind iff 
you can give me seven dollars for an office visit eye will help you the doctor is inn. 
The man was lighting a candle in front of the computer and the lieberrian asked 
him what do you think you are doing he said eye cannot see the screen. There is 
not very many rich people in all those cars on the highway whizzing by the most of 
them is middle class or less the plastic hose on the back seat is a siphon they 
use it to get gas. Eye had too many problems at home growing up to ever be a 
father. The age factor plus the drug indicator keeps me from trying to further my 
benefactor with fodder or with mudder. The morality of this hurried fable of 
dividing documents is this a kis. 

 
  
  


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Man Who Loved Gimewanookwe

He searches her face, scarcely remembering a time
He did not know her; seeing now her dark eyes
Surrounded by age and closed against the pain.

He searches her face, remembering the first time he saw her
Stepping lightly across the river carrying the basket filled with berries.

He searches her face, remembering for a moment the sparkling defiance
Brought about by the choice she made for love.

He searches her face, scarcely daring to hope her eyes will clear
And she will know him again, know him as once she did when their love was new.

He searches her face, willing her to come back,
To lose the demons that return again and again to steal her power
And shut her away from him.

He searches her face, not wanting to look away,
He softly speaks her name, Gimewanookwe, remembering the first time
He whispered her name in love.

He searches her face, smoothing back the graying hair, stroking the lines of pain,
Feeling the faint, weak pulse of her courageous heart.

He searches her face, he speaks her name again, Gimewanookwe, she whom I love,
Gimewanookwe, Rain Woman.

He searches her face, willing her to open her eyes, willing her to remember
And rise up from this bed, rise up and be healed of this crippling fever.

He searches her face, praying for a sign, praying she will return to him
As she was before the white man’s illness.

He searches her face, wondering where she will go when she passes from him,
For he knows she is nearly gone; he takes her gently in his arms.

He searches her face and hears the first drops of rain falling softly upon the quiet land;
He knows what he must do.

He searches her face as he gently lifts her from the bed; she weighs no more than a child.
He wraps the blanket tightly around his only love and carries her out into the night rain.

He searches her face as he lays her down on the grass beside the garden.
Rain falls softly on her face; the quiet touch of God

He watches her face; her eyes widen and brighten.
Once again he searches for life, then softly whispers her name, Gimewanookwe,
Before he gently closes her eyes.


{In Honor of Constance, the Rambling Poet, 
in gratitude for inspiring this poem with her contest ‘Rain’.}


Details | Prose Poetry | |

her name is love

her name is love

i am so pregnant with love
when she's born, call her love
by the winds and treasures of love
i (will) wrap her in comfort of love
and grow her a culture of love
in tears and joy for love
to love and share love
cuddle with her in love
seduce to stand by her with love
stick besides her like love
with pure love 
without denial by love
carry me as you dry me, 
a tear of love
as i am caught between love
to tease me for love
and brand me a love
to call her love
....let me call her love

opn13082012/0954
extracted from 'her name is love' an except from 'hands of hope' book no.9 of 2012 (august) .
ntema's unique poetry (nup) 

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-name-is-love-3/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Northern Sky is Drenching Us and I Fear I've Forgotten My Name.

My name has been forgotten since last September, it's falling, decorating doorways and
digging splinters into the soles of my feet....


His skin crawls, I want to know where he thinks he's going, I wonder if he thinks he's
taking me...

I wonder if he thinks I'll follow.



There's no icing on the cake and the bed's not made yet, it's mid-morning, 

(it's raining again, Dear)

and blankets are mumbling dreams to wrinkled sheets as the mattress constantly gets my

name wrong.



God, he's soaking wet and my towels are somewhere missing, wrapped around my head, I can
muffle this, his voice doesn't resonate so loudly through

last week

(it never rained then, Dear, never a drop on Wednesday)

it's still September, it's twenty months past knowledge and intelligence is simply thirty
days away, I know he's familiar with doing this again and I'm not crazy

yet

but I'm well aware of the way to get there, I've been following him since

before

the August that dusted across my smile when he finally learned how to kiss me.



I whisper this as Autumn falls, I'm catching leaves on my tongue, pretending snowflakes
will save me, sometimes death is the shade of the seventeen strands of my hair that
captured summer and I wonder 

how that feels

when he runs his fingers through my curls.



I sleep next to him, his scent erases my name but his lips mumble me, his arms hold me
behind the doors that went missing last January, and I think that maybe there might be
snowflakes in the shadows that are created by candlelight as he tries to be different,
when he makes an attempt to breathe me in, I don't exhale, I don't ever

close my eyes, I only taste regret on the tip of my tongue as 

yesterday

rolls off my lips

and follows him straight out of the dreams that will be argued in the morning

when I'm stuck in the doorways that remember winter

as September forgets my name.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

jane doe ll

she  beckoned my soul i sat in fear 
nothing to focus on except writing a tear 
she busted through the window to her surprise
sitting with me was  st john paull 11

suddenly this opened her eyes
it was my identity she was after 
her name was jane i was yolanda
but very plain not vain 

this thief was after my thoughts 
plagerist jane whispered threats 
she wanted my song
i expressed to her 
id been writing too long

she was from tampa and i chicago 
living in tampa and fort myers
 jane was vile climbing through 
my townhome window ripping pages 

from my night stand exposing herself 
to my diary quickly she grew obssessed 
with  my culture in chicago my heritage
 with mayor daley cicely tyson 1971

joseph medill school finally lincolns tomb
i studied in springfield illinois 1969
jane was enraged with my identity
for every page i wrote classified who i was
8000 munchen 90 touring of germany 

she threatened my life
from guns to poison i sat with my pope
a feeling of purity a since of hope 
she would join corruption 

fraudulently  using my name 
threatening me daily
all the same i continued 
to write pant and cry
i gather i shall till the day i die


Details | Prose Poetry | |

~ (~) ~ (Four Part-s-Part #2) Dedicated in Love to My Little Sister ~ Tina Marie Haynes ~ (~) ~

She reminded me of my Sister Tina... She had been adopted by a Christian Minister and her family, as we all eventually were, each separately adopted... who lived life to the fullest of faith. As they adopted so many children that had their own particular needs for love, and had had their struggle themselves with their own desire for it... Tina had a rare lung disorder, a form of Emphysema, and passed away at 6 1/2 years of age... But was as grateful for life as I feel a person could aspire to be... Every time she was asked "Tina" How are you feeling today?" She would fight, and I mean with all of her love for life to say... "I am just fine today, and how are you yourself today?" And she would talk with them for a time. She could barely even speak most of the time, and was in a wheel chair and on oxygen for the majority of her life, but she wanted people to know still that her life was wonderful... and was still concerned about another's day... She new that with God, she was well taken care of, and wanted the world to know this too... "I have always found this to be the most precious and endearing thing, among the very many things about her... and so the kitten that my daughter brought home for us could barely meow, and welcomed life and struggled to embrace it even though hers was distraught at the time... We kept her, and loved her greatly, and intently for this one reason... and every time someone was not feeling well, she would lay by their side or on there chest, upon their heart, and would stay there purring until they were well... A peculiar side note about her... My wife read the bible every day, and left it on our bed... and every time Precious was in labor, she would lay on that bible, and "I believe" Be praying to God for us and her new kittens that were on the way... That their life would bring a new life of this kind to another's, and so I find that she reminded me of my Sister Tina... in so many ways... because she was always grateful for life, and another's life, loved God, and moved to show it in all her ways, and I always found that the name that we gave her "Precious". Was the most fitting and adoring and endearing name that we could have given her... Because this is what she, like my little Sister, was to all of us, and to everyone she came in contact with, and who came in contact with her... . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28yTkaR-q3Q&feature=related


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Alone and Love

My name is Alone, come walk with me in a world that very few have seen. A world you may
have seen only in dreams. A world I rule and a world I made. A world untrue and a place
that fades. but it's a blissful world that only what I want will happen. It's a place that
people that talk to themselves walk and vampires burn in sunlight and werewolves are
selfish and demons roam across the country side. And I sit on my throne and watch the
land. I always knew something was missing. My thirst of knowlegde? No. but it was my
thirst for Love. Love is this beautiful girl that I wanted to rule with but alas I feel
into though of my flaws. I sought out Love but I was afraid she would reject my company.
So I waited and waited. and I left my world soon after. I then learned she had wanted my
company too. Now I have her as I have wanted for so long. It is great. but something is
wrong. I have yet to see her. I now hope my changed looks and my more romantic and wussy
attitude. My heart can bare the thought of that. I only have one word to say to here. of
which I will say soon. Meet me in this bliss- cause I just want her kiss. I guess you
wouldn't understand because my name is Alone and her's is Love. Why would ever be
together? Because we can.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Masters Hand

My creditors surround me like a sea, the wave’s crash upon me so fierce I can hardly 
breathe. I feel so a lone, I know that it is my flesh that speaks. For I know in God alone that 
he supplies all my needs. He becomes all things to me.  No matter how rough the path may 
be, my strength is in the Master‘s hand that He has lent to me. 
 For as it was once said so long ago…. The Lord is my shepherd; my provider and strength. I 
shall not want; nor lack for need. He maketh me to lie in green pastures; He gives a pleasant 
place to call my home. He leadeth me beside still waters, as He guides me peacefully, 
through this journey of life alone. He restoreth my soul; as He brings me back each day 
renew. He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name sake; as He drives me forth 
in the right path, His name becomes engraved in the every essence of my being. Though I 
walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I will fear no evil, even though my life may 
be carry to the brink of death, For you Oh God, is with me. Thy rod and thy staff they 
comfort me; Your scepter is my authority; your staff is my support, my peace in you I find. 
Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You Oh Lord places a 
strong hold over the attacks that come against me You spreads it out on a table arrayed in 
Victories.  You oh Lord anointest my head with oil as my cup runneth over; as you place me 
in time and satisfy my soul with a rich fragrance and beauty unknown. Surely goodness and 
mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; from the mountain top to the valley through the 
good times and bad, My path will He light, with His favor and kindness of His love.  I will dwell 
in the house of the Lord forever, and, forever in the Masters hands.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

the wisdom of the ages

THE WISDOM OF THE AGES
gently, the breeze wafted, past the me
as i stood sentinal to the grass
empty now i lay so silently
as the world swirls, and whirls on past

the birds flitter about 'pon my head
leaving marks of white and grey
i've no indignation, now, being dead
i find i'm much more unflappable today

a headstone, a marker, a name in stone
memories live on in others, oh so finite, lives
but for me i'm quite bored, and all alone
only my name in stone survives

gently , the breeze wafts past me
as i wait, for eternity

to pass.

sometimes, i wish, i had accomplished something
like, something that would have made me immortal, then
what would riches, and honor, and glory bring
that i should ever hear my name again?

to conquer, invent, to carve in stone?
to found an empire, a nation, company, or state
what, after all, would laws and society condone?
after all, the New World wouldn't forever wait

the Incas, the Mayas, the Dakotahs, too
just couldn't wait
for folks like me, or probably you
is it much to late?

namer of nations, up to me, what would i say?
statues in honor, what would i be?
still, i'm here, i found no earthly way
to live on, eternally

as me

and , if there was a way to found some earthly dynasty
i think that it wouldn't have been free
my world would have been burdened with my me
and wouldn't have been quite so free

gently, the breeze wafts past my me
and goes on and on, wild and free

of me

they say with age comes wisdom
now i'm so smart
if i could found a kingdom
i wouldn't start

i'd plant a field, raise a daughter, and a son
and try to ignore
everyone.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

soap-song

if the sinking-of-boat …ice-cream by name 
be deducted from the swept-off-in-flood … by name roll no 31 
then would the wings of the comics 
cease to exist 

what says the uninterrupted sound of water-falling 
from the stomach of the moon
 
what writes the pus and blood 
what writes the fuming-hot rice 

the creepers and the herbs grow continuously 
in the insomniac bath-tub 

the sounds of the horse-hoof floated by the river 
used to change the velocity of its clothes 
both in the morning and evening 

the birds from the cornice go to school 
by dip-swimming 

it may come one day when the fishes 
become very angry and in the tale of the sweet-meat 
the potter will destroy the jointly-built bee-hive 

then all hurricane would be habituated to dinner 
sans saliva 

then there would be no such morning-walk 
in the body of the trees
from which such a bore could be found out
through which an elderly saral may fly 
into the blue translation of a squirrel
 
the magnetic field of the orange-pulp 
and the productivity of the open window
reside in the same locality 

if their frequency be touched   

then the the antenna of the mermaids 
speared with sleeping-oil 
may be injured

by burnings their eyes 
the crow-birds knocks at
in the soap-foams 
produced by the afternoon 
 
the pond with a jumping deer 
wants to make bite  

it is not known by this way
when a white hyphen 
sticks to the palate of the shirt 

now put off all the whispers 
and let it be talked on the will-paper of the bees 

why the pages from the honourable ash-trays 
be excluded 

those bunch of waters 
that come out from the churning of the anises 
and the jumps born of their semen
also make friends with the group-photos 

now let this other night sends its best wishes 
to the future candles 
through a cell-phone 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

"Colored" women called Bertha

Why do people associate the name Bertha with a "colored" woman?
Is it the strut,
or the way she carries herself?
Or is it just the mischief of demonic elves?
Caucasioan women are confident with their well
endowed selves,
Many would try to augment their shape,
Yet, they never get labeled with words like "ape",
or rarely get called Bertha,
So why is it that colored women are always associated
with the name "Bertha"......?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

20FabelSEVEN

20FabelSEVEN
Charlexes Fabels
Gardenor
A Mexican sweat is just a teepee with a fire made hotter and a rock placed where 
you can pour the water on the hot rock to make some steam come up and they 
add some pine to make a smell so sweet to tired alcoholic lidded eye eye did my 
time cold TURKEY and never needed one. One man who works in landscaping 
as the gardenor becomes too busy to notice the other man escaping on the 
sidewalk it is the thief the gardenor is using both his hands in his effort for 
release the other man in shadow land appearance coinciding with the worker 
there just thinking while he is walking hands in pocket just holding on to nothing 
as he sort of Saunders bye? Saunders
For over 60 years Saunders Manufacturing in Readfield, Maine has made top 
quality Form Holders and Clipboards for millions of customers worldwide. Now 
our new Portable Desktop line continues the tradition. Just a coincidence please 
Gentile reader ewe must understand the non commercial usage of this poem 
business. A Random act of kindness to your senses.
Charles (surname) 
Charles is a given name for males, and has its origins in Common Germanic 
where it originally was used to indicate a free man, but not one belonging to the 
nobility.
While eye was typing this the contact email on the link opened up into a brand 
new page and never made connected to the name? please people if you put the 
actual name of your email address then we the customers can copy and then 
past the thing and then you could have read my fable and had a much better day 
oh Mr. and the Mrs. Saunders. The Gardenor may read this missive iff eye bother 
to make the translation into Spanish for the bulk males of the working force is 
Mexicans.
GARDINER: From the Danish for "garden keeper." A noble profession and a vivid 
name. Relatives: Gardener, Gardenor, Gardner, Gardnard, Garden, Gar. 
Namesakes: Erle Stanley Gardner, John Gardner. Eye am just a Charles 
derivative a CHARLAX iff ewe will of some great import a relic not a derelict of 
duty a lover never a fighter a want to be husband to the ewe oh ewe please smile 
as ewe aer reading this one and be sure.
Jealousy is never meant to make us harm but only to make love come back so 
strong to make the other one in love return a little stronger than she was before 
the Jealousy.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Name

My first name is ‘Disconnected’
Middle name is ‘Lazy’
Last name ‘Daydreamer’

I live in the state of ‘Constant Want’
Near the city of ‘Desperation’
My house is located on ‘Barely Making it Avenue’

My main desire has been ‘Living my own Life’
Yet my actions in obtaining it are ‘Freddy the Freeloader’
Please Lord, change me!  Make me who You meant for me to be

Give me the strength to stand up, courage to take a chance 
Fill me with Your love and Spirit that I not fear failure
That I may be a blessing to others and glorify You

Forgive me for living as my name states
I know they are not the name that You gave me
Yet they are the ones I took upon myself

Now with You, Lord … My first name is ‘Joyful Singing’
Middle name ‘Thankful Spirit’,  last name ‘Saved by Grace’.
I am a child of God, living in Your Care!