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Prose Poetry Song Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Song

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

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I Knew That You Were Waitting

I knew that you were waiting                                                                                                        Somewhere between the last war                                                                                               And the next kiss                                                                                                                               And that you where dreaming of sweet angels and vampires                                                         Because they have always known                                                                                                     In spite of John Cameron Swayze and timex                                                                                        Or the mechanical of Mickey Mouse                                                                                                           That the nights are always longer                                                                                                    I knew that you were waiting                                                                                                                  For the summer to turn to silk again                                                                                              And carry you away before the next big flood arrived                                                                        Before the thunder and after the lightning                                                                                             Before the smoke and after the fire                                                                                                Before the dance and after the song                                                                                                Before the hope and after the the prayer                                                                                       I knew that you where waiting                                                                                                          Like an eagle's wing and a child's song                                                                                               I was waiting too


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A Twist in Time

As I stand here in front of my closet , starring in to the space...
I wonder which black dress to choose, and how I am going to face..
All the guests that will be there , at your final resting place...
I look in the mirror and what do I see ?
But cuts and scratches all over me...
Although I don’t feel any physical pain...
Oh, what’s that I hear ?..could it be rain ?
I miss you already...what went wrong ?..
We were driving along just listening to our favorite song...
I remember the curve on that old mountain road...
And then heard the train crash... and then explode...
Time to go called out my Mother...
It was a cold November morning, and very heavy rain...
And I swear I heard the whistle of a train...
As I looked around I could see...
So many friends and family...
Standing in the crowd was Aunt Sarah and Uncle Fred...
OMG ! I thought they were dead...
And there’s dear old Michael...
I had heard he crashed his motorcycle...
All of a sudden I saw YOU stand...
With a bright red rose, you held in your hand...
What are you doing I wanted to shout...
But then I realized what you were about...
You dropped the rose upon MY grave...
It was then I realized You were the one that was saved...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Somewhere over the rainbow

I had heard this song by an obscure artist, with a twist as it played verses 
of 'Somewhere over the rainbow, with 'What a wonderful' world entwined. 
It's simply melody strummed on a ukalele mesmerized me as I listened on the radio 
in the car.
I remember saying to my wife, "I want this at my funeral." I was morbidly honest 
that way.
Several years later, I was watching an episode of E.R. in which our favorite 
character, Dr. Green discovers he has brain cancer, and a short time to live. He's 
basically given the advice we all wish to avoid. "You don't have long, retire, enjoy 
the time you have left."
 Dr Green, plans a vacation with his daughter, who's relationship has been strained 
since his divorce. For the next three or four episodes Dr. Green and his daughter 
spend his last days surfing in Hawaii. Mending the relationship slowly, to a degree 
of understanding only a father and daughter could know. He's still Dad, and she's a 
teen working on letting go of her resentments.
In the last episode of the story, he's not doing well. He keeps passing out and his 
strength is waning. He knows it's only a matter of days, possibly hours; but doesn't 
share this with his daughter, the scenary is of a bungalo on the beach, white sands 
surround the openness of the primitive bungalo, palm trees speckle the beach, and 
in the distance lies the royal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
A day of surfing is suddenly changed as he suggests that his daughter go ahead of 
him, he'll stay back and watch until his strength returns. So he sits in a hammock, 
and watches out in the water as she strolls off to surf, Background music grows to 
this song I'd so loved, by and artist named Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole and as the 
music is playing softly, the camera pans in on the face of Dr. Green for his death 
scene, and his last breath. The camera pulls back, from the back of his head, above 
the bungalo, above the beach as if we are Dr Green's soul departing this earth.
Yes, I cried like a little school girl as realized that my favorite character had just 
been erased from our show, with no chance to come back for a Cameo... What!? of 
course that's why I cried! OKAY! it was a tear jerker! and the saddest part, was the 
relationship with his daughter was still in repair . Moral of the story i guess-- You 
never know when its your time, so don't hold on to petty resentments, and love 
every minute of life.  

I later learned, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole; had also died






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 | |

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


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Concerto of the Enchanting Night

Concerto of the Enchanting Night
 Arabic Poem by: Fadhil Aziz Farman *
 Translated Into English by:
 Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
 =========================

You suggest the songs
And leave me deep
In the splendor of the rhythm and melody. 
Drag my day out of the dream to wakefulness 
I have not known 
But the philosophy of dreams 
In all my days.

You suggest the songs
And leave me floating in a wave of fragrance 
Showered down By Lynol Ritchie 
With his love songs 
Or by Yanni with his tunes.
 
And dance
Do the tango 
Do the waltz 
Do the ballet or the jerk dance
Dance as you please 
Or spin around the Earth-pole,
O symbol of amazing taste, 
Rouser of lightning in the sky,
And crown of all beauties.
 
Here I am intoxicated
By the melody pulsating in your figure 
And by the bashful roses 
On your cheeks,
O sweet wine in my chalice and my vats.
 
You suggest the songs
And at the end of the round
Put your head on my chest, 
O child of my poems, 
And listen to my heart singing them 
With the virgin tears of joy 
Flowing down the violin’s cheek.
 
You suggest the songs
You suggest the melody 
And hint the sweet words
They’ll come to you 
Then hold me to your chest like a child.
I will need your ear 
To whisper to you 
All that baffles my heart 
And my tongue 

You suggest the songs
And strew them
Such as roses 
On the desert of my life.
What remains for us 
Of all our years, 
But joy
Strewn like roses
And like dew
On the seconds? 
********* 
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 USA
 * Fadhil Aziz Farman is a poet from Iraq
 ---------------
 The original poem in Arabic https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10202962662165969&set=p.10202962662165969&type=1&theater
 


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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/


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Nineteen fable

 Nineteen fable 
Nineteen fable 
 
MUSICK NONnude Review 
 
 
CHarlaxFabels 
 
Grand Funk Railroad was a fave group of mine the best time eye ever had was in 
a house on a rug listening to this song of hard rock and rhinocerous thumps. 
Wait. FOGHAT was the best for sex but lucky mee was never a Catholic. The 
Horns blew for Chicago and there was lots of other groups to make this fable 
bleed there was the Creedence Clearwater Revival so cool so wonderful a thing. 
John Fogarty sure must have been a saint. Eye wish he had not got so mad and 
left the other members of his group. But Creedence Song became a new fave 
thing. 
Daddy had a band 
Played him a little guitar 
Traveled in a van 
Livin' that rock and roll 
Night after night 
People comin' up to the bandstand 
Say you can't go wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 

It was late one night 
Cruisin' on down the interstate 
Stopped into a diner 
To get him some chili and fries 
Heard the waitress tell a guy 
Standin' over by the jukebox 
Hey you can't go wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 

Well daddy took a shine 
To the lil' girl behind the counter 
She movin' her hips to the swamp beat 
Right on time 
Said could he play her somethin' 
Over there on the jukebox 
She said you can't wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 

Daddy had a plan 
He asked that girl to marry 
With a brand new wife 
They're livin' on rock and roll 
Night after night 
She whispers oh so sweetly 
Hey you can't go wrong 
If you play a little bit of that 
Creedence song 




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STRONG WOMAN

Strong woman
That woman 
Who tears behind the mirror? 
Made me who I am 
My hardened heart she took
Tenderized it with love
Took my salty tears 
Turned into joyful tears

That woman 
Who sighs behind the mirror 
Sighs in memory
Memories and feelings
Hardships she went through 
To feed my whole stomach

That woman
The woman pulling back her mucors
Does so in fear
Fear that ill not be what she hoped
That teared woman 
Crys in fast and prayer 
Crys for my dark self 
Cries for my future 

That woman crying 
Tears down her body fluids
Hopefully that her anger and disappointments
May atleast flow out with them
Her body almost running dry by now
That woman calls upon God
GOD atleast make him better
That woman cries for me 
That woman cries for her lineage
That woman cries night and day

How I came to be 
To be what I am 
I don’t know how
A slave of the world
A slave with one work song 
A song entitled failure 
The first stanza of calamity
The last stanza dead man where I am heading





Looking at her cry 
Twists my brains 
Is this what I am?
Is this my purpose to the world? 
Is this the man the world wants? 
Is this what God spent time Molding 
Is this what the bible describes? 
Just for her 
Just for her I take my life back 
Just for her God I stand strong 
Just for her I say no
NO no no this is not me 

Come mummy take this handkerchief 
I don’t wannna see those tears again
I love you mummy


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WORDS FROM MY HEART TO YOU DEAR

MY LOVE - straight from my heart......

My love is not just a name of yours written on sand;
which can be easily washed by watery waves away.
but; it is something that is craved in streaks of my hand;
which can never ever be rubbed by any one away.

My love is not just an aroma that comes with haze;
which will be easily blown away by allied like air.
It is the cluster of your memories to kill my every rage;
which will never ever keep us apart at any reason fair.


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The Song I Heard

When I heard thy beckoning song, my eyes
Saw signs of things to be done. Things your mind's
Eyes made different and sweet, and so I
learned the songs rhythm, letting it come to me
Again and again till I knew each pause
And beat and enjoyed the patterns of an idea
Filled song reminding me of my own dreams

I was a patient dog yet not hungry
For meat. I followed thy path even on 
Sunny days, I watched thy hand master thy
Every tool, I watched some more till I
Was good and they wore me beads and chanted my
Name, yet behind their praise I heard your voice
Saying honour should follow gray hair, and gentle
spirit should never die. I heard thee till 
thou turned to dust and then I began the 
Beckoning song preserving the circle of
Life and your dream since our problems began


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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.


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Accretion

morning brought an arcane song to my ears
i was observing the spilling of light
between the curtain and the wall
the way the light seemed to carry the dust
when my quite moment 
was dispatched
by the sensation of the earth and 
its 30 km/ps rate of motion

by comparison 
i wasn't even a mite 
on an elephants eyelash
i was a microbe 
riding on a rock
on a massive migration through space

my body became filled with avidity-
something was about to happen
the dam was made of mud
and it was monsoon season

looking into the hallway mirror
i was astonished to see the image inside
was not me
this was some type of apparition
a ghost 
that belonged to someone else

the electrons in my brain swirled
forming the loose pattern of wafting smoke
an electrified current

all of this energy
shot past the sleeping dogs
though the house 
pierced the atmosphere
then outward into the deep vastness of the heavens

a remarkable paroxysm and
i was back with myself
yet
i felt subtly metamorphosed

looking around,
all of the stuff
i had worked so diligently
to acquire
took on a look of being frivolous
unnecessary

it was all the programming of someone else
the whims of a schizophrenic
with vainglorious proclivities

a booming voice announces:

if you do not abide to the constructs
of this lovely societal aggregation
you are an outcast
a luddite
a nihilist
a lost soul
a demagogue
a loser
a shoe shiner
a sewage swiller
weak,
pathetic,
unable to assimilate
due to anachronistic tendencies
...

we have viewed into the aperture 
that gives a glimpse
of both dissonnant living and
ways to slough off the insanity
but
we are controlled by dna's unblinking eyes
we make love and war simultaneously
we are the amalgamation of genes we conspire against

dna spirals up my spine
then feathers across my neurons
entrenching its fingers into my convolutions

i am the product of a mad scientist 
who has designed me with used atoms
from distant, dead stars
i breathe oxygen
that have been around since the birth
of the universe

yet,
despite it all,
these animated atomic miracles
have fought to keep us all held together
so that we may witness the splendor
of being alive

the morning song wasn't so veiled after all


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Alabama Snow

The long never ending landscape of southern Alabama never runs cold. Today it decided to. The wind was at 
ease and all the snow flakes were about. The cold ground shuddered beneath me but I could tell it was a good 
kind of shiver. The snow fell down in a hurry yet it still took it's time swaying in the wind. All the snowflakes 
danceing around soon started a low tune far off on the wind. The band played a song that the world has been 
playing for centerys. One of love and peace. One that has no bounds or experation date. The song was cold 
enough to freeze the earth but here I stood warm as I basked in my happieness. The world seemed still as the 
orchestra played it's beautiful tune. The wind swirling and twirling as if it were a finely tuned violin. I couldn't 
bare to close my eyes for it was just to beautiful to look away from. As the wind picked up in it's gusts the 
snow felt ever so heavier and the skys begain to melt the love within the snow as all the snowflakes fell down 
as rain. "What a beautiful conversion" crossed my thaughts. The snowed over feild grew dreadfully quiet as the 
beautiful tune escaped into the wind. This was when I sudenly realized I was soaked and freezing. Almost killed 
me but I steped inside away from the Alabama snow. But I knew she'd come back for me.


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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 
 


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Untitled 16

My sweet tongue is coiled, prepared to pounce,
ready to be free of those three heavy notes.
The major cadence forms in my chest and 
the melody rises: a spectrum of mutinous lyrics, 
a crescendo that’s longed to sing from my throat.

They are released from their cage in a discordant chord,
each tuneless, grey syllable tumbling from my mouth.
The raw words widow me three times over, 
each ponderous sound confronts your puzzled face 
as the tune melts in your silence, dispersing in the pale air.


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for a contest contrasting light -n- dark

SUCCUBUS

kiss my neck,
bite it through.
watch it bleed my love for you.
suck it up,
lick it clean;
i watch from above,
deeply in dream.
and then i think,
and now i scream!!!!!!

(woke up(thank God!))
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE LOVERS

kiss my neck,
i love it when you do.
i long to share, my love with you;
my passion filling you, like a buttercup.
our affections, so erotic, yet sweet and shiny clean.
heaven smiles down on love;
entertwined like water, and the stream.
passions ardour, we share this heady drink;
if love is milk, then this moment is the cream.

(fell asleep(thank you, God.))
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


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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...


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The Desert Edge (part two)

On comes a traveler from lands that I have not wandered only visited
Bringing with him memories of the pains I have borne through my life
Like the desert whose dunes I dared only once to climb when youth held me fast
A fleeting grasp, a tentative hold that was as it must be for us all I have come to see
In those valleys of sand where the sun drank from my body ravenously to crack my skin
I saw only once the whispering vision of life in the distance
Shimmering in the heat of the burning sands stood an oasis many miles deeper
So I set out with that vision hardly in my mind across the desert
Over mountainous dunes and into abyssal valleys with the sun raking my back
I walked and then I crawled when my feet became blistered stumps rubbed raw
I crawled until my hands and knees bled
I crawled until I held my head high no longer
Still I wandered, still I moved despite the sand choking my eyes closed
I crawled my body burned and my eyes blinded by sun and sand
Only to find my way back to this shack on the Desert’s edge
My journey had betrayed me I believed
My journey had twisted me all around I thought
Until today when came a wanderer through the desert forge
To sit down and rest with heavy sigh and cloud of slowly settling sands

On his shoulder sat a grey old owl watching me silently with eyes of tired wisdom
In his arms the man carried his second friend a satyr with ivory pipes to match his horns
I nodded in quiet solitude rocking back and forth in my old wooden chair

So it was that we listened to the gentle creaking of the wood
Listened to thunder rolling in off the great Blue Divide
Listened to wind shushing through the leaves of Heaven’s Gate
Felt the heat wafting over us from the Desert’s edge

Neither of we two speaking, only listening until at long last with the sun beginning to set
The satyr stirred just enough to lift the pipes to his lips and then to play
A hauntingly sweet song of blissful sorrow like age-old memories of lost youth
And we listened to him play his song long into the night
Until the stars failed to shine and the curtain of day touched the veil of dreams

“Time to leave, time to go, time to say farewell
For there are roads still to travel and I have yet much to see
And so long a way to go,” he said with a quiet voice of strength


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Adulteress's missing thread

missing threads
----------------
She looks outside. The pale moonlight has fallen across the tributary, illusory moonshine,
like an intimate emission, now that the urgency is gone, meaningless. 
She looks inside. The sprawled bed sheet of flesh shines in luminous darkness which she
thinks she is. 
Remember the worth and compare with leaving behind the cords, one son and a lethargic
clergy who divides his self between interpreting the God and being her husband. 
She remembers the cats, the weekend cooking classes and small garden of oriental roses.
The pale moon is always hiding behind the clouds when you need it. The clarity is a burnt
out butt of the cigarette learning to jump overboard. She waves away the smoke. She looks,
once more, inside and outside.  
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar


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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!!


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Unless Jesus Is In Christmas...

Why all the hustle and bustle
and dashing through the snow?
Why bother writing greeting cards
or kiss under a mistletoe?

Why chop down a pine tree
and dress it with tinsel and lights?
What is the purpose of gift giving,
or days that are merry and bright?

Unless we keep Jesus in Christmas,
it isn't Christmas at all.
Unless we celebrate The Virgin Birth,
nothing has meaning or worth!

Christmas isn't the Holly and Ivy,
little toy trains or Santa Kissing Mommy.
Christmas isn't packages tied with string,
a red nosed reindeer,
or listening to sleigh bells ring.

Christmas isn't baking pies, turkey, and ham,
or lying awake till midnight,
to see a jolly ol' man.

Unless we keep Jesus in Christmas,
it isn't Christmas at all.
Unless we celebrate The Virgin Birth, 
nothing has meaning or worth?

No nothing has meaning worth!


Milton L. Delgado
December 26, 2006


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THE SWAN

Once my mom told me a story
About a swan singing a song…
She says the swan knew death was coming
And before it happens…
It wanted all birds around listen
A beautiful Love song to sparkle the lake

She told me the swan was enchanted
Because never ever a swan sang a song
As a girl I was listening attentively
Without understanding
The story at all

She continued… and I was delighted
To hear the end of my mom’s tale
But instead, I saw her eyes closing
… As she whispered
A song… I will never forget

Later on I discover the story
Was not even true, was only a fairy- tale
But I keep in my heart her anecdote
As I believe truth… everything she said
As I remember her
In a Love song … through sparkles
As the Swan in the lake…


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Cut a Rug With Daddy

~ Cut a Rug ~ Come On ~ Dance with Daddy ~ (The "As A WRITER I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO INSPIRE, PUBLISH A BOOK YET TO BE WRITTEN... ." ~ Song sung by good old Bob Dylan - it's called - Things Have Changed ~ ~ "Copy and paste in your browser lets dance... ~" "TURN IT UP!" ~ I wasn't being non reverent I believe... talking about us all dancing with JESUS shaking His gracious booty... . Haven't you ever wanted to see one of your parents cut loose... Why do you think He refers to it in the Bible by calling it "Loosing"... ? Yes I wanna see my Daddy dance... . he's gatta just be the best... ! Yes? Boy you are so precious, so so precious... . Cut a rug and chat with me some more won't you... . I needed help man He gave it to me I cursed Him out vigorously and HE still loved me... . Dear-heart can't you see, sure He's THE BIGGEST BADEST ENTITY IN THE ENTIER LIFE EXISTENCE but I and you and all of us are His Babies, He's gonna dance and teach us all to dance with Him... . Bet He'll shake that booty well, real good too, and offer all of us the same... . His kingdom of freedom with Him... . Yes no disrespect I know people THINK that it is, entirely, disrespectful for Him, but friend David danced for the Lord, people said the same thing you are hun... . But goodness, and Grace and mercy, forgiveness compassion, at-it's-very root, love-He came to save them, share it with us all, yes as He is trying to do with all of us... . Shake the booty hun, Put on a good song and cut a rug with Daddy... . He's pure love... . He'll come and you'll feel Him and be whole having fun with Him, it's all he wants... . Because like with me, and you and everyone, you can't do enough to stop it, the only thing you can is to deny Him of this pleasure He wants to share with you... ? I love you dear-heart! Cut a rug with your Daddy... . It's fun... ! Talk with me any time... . ~ Love ~ James ~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9EKqQWPjyoL


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 | |

February

As one waits for the morning and looks for the first flush in the east,
February strains its eyes and ears for the earliest signs of spring,
The signs could be a slight increase of some birds in their passing,
From mere call-notes to twittering and an occasional song and a flower.

February comes in as a month of thaw from a cold winter to wet and dreary,
It is a month of anticipation, and the birds from the continent regard it so,
Expressing their feeling as a carnival by all sorts of merriment's and gaiety's,
It is also the month of the snowdrop, and sap stirring in trees, buds swelling.

Snow birds begin to sing and dance and a song sparrow joins in from a high branch,
As it sings, a beautiful bird, its bright ruddy breast appears, the first robin,
February, just now and again, delivers a faint undercurrent of bubbling life,
Like a mountainous country, before the sunrise, peak after peak, a rosy light.

Delusive days, a whiff of spring today gets buried under a foot of snow tomorrow,
Magical sounds of the early song sparrow, strikes the first blow, of winter fetters,
Flocks of ceder-birds, called cherry birds, and wax wings dressed in their Sunday best,
Wax wing, is named, because on its feathers and tail bits resembling red sealing wax.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

the time that is moving round me now 1 - 3

 1
some are going ahead
some are going back 

having my fingers wielded 
on an old type-writer
i’m thinking what should i do 

a pretty long time passed away
since the village alphabet 
had bade me farewell 

in my recent thinking 
there is a severe harikiri 

the song 
that i have sung in a deep forest 
in front of the wild flowers 

now when i am sitting  
under the ceiling-fan 
of the heaven 

i can see that both 
the lyric and the tune of the song 
have vanished


 2
this morning 
i’ve woke up little earlier 
to observe the dawn 

the flags of my behaviour 
are posted in the grass-land 
around me 

no one should take them 
as the handkerchiefs of 
a demon 

a group of people is harvesting 
the paddy of the spring-season 

i too join them to remember 
the water-game of the ducks 

i’m speaking less 
or keeping mum 

but there remains so many topics 
to be discussed 

the battle of the ballots… 
the global recession… 
the climate-change…
the terrorism…
the joint-force…
 

 3
i’ve made a thorough discussion 
with myself 

so many arguments which lead to 
even so much fighting 

i see that there has been not 
much lamentation or brooding  
not much grief or sorrow 
not much tension or anxiety 
of my own 

all the time 
surrounding me only is a grey 
non-attachment 
and a joy sans any emotion 

then i think 
if the rose can forget its sorrow and distress 
why should I remember them 
with so much pain and pancreatic problems


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tell a Friend!

My life is goin on,
Its a roller-coaster, ups and downs,
so many things to tel,
cant tel it to the walls around,
they dont reciprocate,
need a soul, need a person,
Feeling happy? Feeling sad?
Tell a friend...

met you as a stranger,
took a walk to know you better,
and never turned back,
look back on the path we led,
there were no footsteps,
oh i remember, we flew, n dint walk,
Feeling happy? feeling sad?
Tell a friend..

chose different paths,
yet our lives intertwined,
i dint ask for this, yet it came,
wouldnt have wished for the happiness,
if i knew the pain,
the end is near,
Feeling happy, Feeling sad,
have always shared,
hope we meet again, oh friend,
cuz they say world is a small place,
To embrace again, i hope....


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