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Prose Poetry Sympathy Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Sympathy

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabel24

 Fabel24 
Fabel24 
 
 
CHARLAX 
 
CHARLEXES FABELS 
 
CONVERTED 
SAVED CONVERTED INVERTED CRUCIFIED DEAD BUT NOT YET BURIED 
Kiss the ewe she never cries she never sighs she stays happy all the times we 
try. The eye was stopped by a patrolman in the middle of my walk to the church to 
lay my layman down to rest a night a bite of something not so sweet in bag to 
help me live. He said ADDRESS what is your ADDRESS like it's the most 
important thing to have NO eye said NO eye do not have a TUCSON address just 
one in Flagstaff. HOMELESS he said. NO eye said eye have the ADDRESS in 
FLAGSTAFF the one on my ID card. NO he said you are just HOMELESS in 
TUCSON. He noticed that eye cared nothing for any of that. WHY did yew not say 
that to begin WITH he said to me and eye just tried to ignore a man who has the 
world to shrug upon his Atlast Shoulders? PHONE he said ??? No phone what's 
your cell phone??? 
EEYE do not have a PHONE NO CELL PHONE eye almost cried. 
NO NUMBER NO PLACE IN THIS WORLD TO CALL MY HOME. 
The Indian has no feather he is saved now he is in Heaven beside the MEE. Live 
in life wrap the world outside live the life of love and learn to live and love. Eat a 
LOT of CHARLAX eat a lot of poems eat a lot of Fabels now. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Somebody's Baby

Somebody’s Baby, lie still 
Embalmed in pure white cotton, 
Cocooned securely, like the babe in arms 
within the shroud. 
Seraphim cavort no more upon a form  
once touched with shades of youthful innocence.

Somebody’s Baby, be sure.
Your time for dreams now spent,
No future beckons only time captured frame by frame,
Frozen in vulgar technicolor;
Close Up; Explicit, depicting genre yet unclassified;
The epic over exposed.
 
Somebody's Baby, be silent.
Grey and gnarled  imposter in the cot
Metamorphosis contrives a landscape dry and gnarled.
No more seductress of tender ministry;
Solitary, silently; endures the travesty
Of human demise.


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A Super Man

The rise and fall of a broken soul; the pressure was too much to bear
The letter S was too brave to wear. He was a symbol, a pure form of admiration. Yet his life was 
not his own; full grown; denied the freedom of one’s true life journey
He could never fathom an opportunity of free will for he lived to will free others who hide in his 
silhouette
The darkest shadow brought an abundance of light to the needy. And greedy.
An unadorned model of self-less love dug him an early grave being a slave to aiding. Although 
help was never offered to a man that had a sense of direction. Every step forward followed 
echoing steps behind.
His feet became a carrier. The load was heavy
Regret was constant. Where was kryptonite when he needed it?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Grandad's Missing

There's a void, now
Where once a steadfast heart beat time
The soul in perfect harmony with life's uncertain pulse
With those who clambered eagerly in solace or in joy
To scale that mighty pinnacle
The Rock, within the bosom of the family

There's a void, now
But marvel at the structure, the firmness of the ground beneath
The strata richly layered with wisdom of generations past
A fault free seam constructing firm foundations
Binding those within the bosom of the family

There's a void, now
A hollow cavern 
echoing the anger and the pain
Trust time; it has no fear of finite elements
The source of unremitting pain
Within the bosom of the family

There's a void, now
So fill the emptiness and catalogue the memories
Harvesting the richness of their meaning
The fullness of the seed sown long ago
To bloom forever within the bosom of the family


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DAMAGED MY TRUE LOVE

written 17th Sept 2013



When it comes to love, I AM poisonous
 don't let me curse another, leave me loveless

For the first time in my life, I felt your pain and cried for your heart
 my heart finally hurts, knowing I passed this pain from the start

Please find help to set your heart free
 trust me, it's not a life you recover from easily 

Damaged goods I told you, unrepairable
 but some how, you managed the impossible

Unlovable for my entire life
 yet you had no problem, getting me to become your wife

Yes, it's been more than both of us should have ever had to bear
 at this moment, every cell in my body is overwhelmed, so I really do care

Please don't enter my life's pain and despair  
 you don't deserve it, you are so patient and filled with such love

I'm sorry I let myself fall in love knowing it would poison you
 soul mates forever and eternity, my love belongs only to you...




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stolen Hearts

Cold, callus, crying, shivering,
and covered in sweat.
Wondering what has happened.
Not yet understanding this fate I’ve met.

What of a guy that stumbled around,
just trying his hardest to show he’d been found,
after all he had just been purchased
from the human pound.


That promise to you.
Man I broke it.
I told you Id stop,
and for a time I did,
but that stuff two blocks away,
my will power just wasn't work-n.
My wrist watch again broken.
Always from the look on my face,
you could tell Id been smoke-n.


You tried.
You tried so hard,
but the mind wasn’t mine.
only a shell of what used to be,
all of me you were trying to find,
and I didn’t get this till my alone time.


I was pushing.
You were pulling.
Then it all pushed you away.
It was all down hill from here,
so naturally you couldn’t stay.


I sit here so sad
for the way you must of felt.
Let alone how you dealt.
Ill never understand how I could do this to you.
You're so prefect,
even your aura dances in ambient light.
You’re the best friend I could of had,
and that leaves me really mad,
that the rest of the world
may never know what we had.

The thing is I know now,
that you loving me.
This really was Much more,
than I loving you.

~Ha,Turned around this insecurity was always mine.~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

River Jordan

Everyday I wake, I bathe in the river Jordan: taking with me the dirtiness from the yesterdays. Repeating the same sins, that were never washed clean. Reenacting the past and all its ways.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Poor's Penchant

For what am I born?
Born to consume myself?
Born to get plucked off my leaves and get torn?

Born to walk on ice and feel the numb
Born to be criticized, cursed and yet stay dumb?

A loaf of bread,
A bed on road often pitted and tread.

An earthy dust laden skinny cloth,
is what I bear, for that further makes me an entity to loath.

For who shall open his heart and speak few words of love and compassion?
For who shall disguise himself to turn meek, for a poor beggar who even can’t 
afford his own cremation?


Oh! Almighty, you owe me life of kings!
To balance thou judgment and demolish those dominant devils
Oh! Almighty you owe me royal raiment’s and ravishing rings
And make those boisterous heads droop down, as if hollow glasses 
bespattered after fallen from hills.






Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fable Five

 Fable Five 
Fable Five 
 
IN THREE PARTS 
 
Part One: The DOVE 

eye picked up the dove now dead creature clasped him to my bosom brest 
no sorrow feeling only life within my chest 
eye enabled faith eye tossed the dove 
upward into tree for landscaping seems to me a more decent burial rest 
one word escaped my lipps eye just said JESUS 
eye wish that eye could tell ewe that the dove it flew away 
eye did not tempt the LORD this day 
the bird went further on my throw 
eye expected just to here the branches crashing at his fall 
eye expected him to make a lot of noises there was none 
no it did not fall 
there is hope inside of mee still and yet that yes it flew 
this dove to Heaven when it left. 

Part Two: Dandylion 
 
when the gardeners of the palace make the grass a certain size 
they run the mowers side by side 
to make the power gasses cut the grasses 
every one of the now chopped to pieces dandelions gone 
except mye one 
in a state of childlike fate eye ran to edge of lawn and placed some of my 
baggage down long enough to kick the dandelion down 
a man my age just having certain fun 
and smile remembering a childhood never found 

Part Three: New Blue Jeans 
 
the shortest part of fable five is this the three part not contrived 
the jeans are long on legs so short and waisted wide to hide the layers eye 
needed to survive a cold and cheerless night 
eye tore the tags from pockets soon to hold my treasures of a man long old and 
finding love in one dear place mye ewe she loves the way eye dress she loves 
my look upon my face when eye just smile embrace 
she must be smiling now at FABLE FIVE. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untouchable Hearts

Lustful hearts are too hot to hold And depressed ones are just too cold, These dear old hearts can't be touched Even if they find someone they love too much, It'll never be propper... it'll never be right Even if they find pleasure in physical delight, No but these hearts must change if they hope to be held and find the illusion that they could be held... dispelled.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

lead my hand o' dear life

lead my hand o' dear life

lead my hand
on this land
o' dear life, 
until the end

o' dear thought
of comfort

seed my life
feed me not in strife
bleed me joy from nine to five

lead me a journey of phases
a journey of ages
to face this

germinate in me a corn
of survival 
a history of possibilities
a record of living to afford
a source to live

for this life 
is a choreographer of life
a propeller of existence
an economy of spiritual commodities

a tear drop of opportunities
yet not so many does see its commonalities
an event of anomalies and regularities

lead me a way o' dear life
carry me a sledge on a journey of life 
a terrain of survival and life

a gemstone for many
a pentagon of any
a model of penny

an artwork of joy

a string of life on a journey
a script of many
a stanza of any

opn08022012/0106

from: 'journey of life' and 'on a journey', 
february 2012 

>> ntema's unique poetry (nup) 
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lead-my-hand-o-dear-life/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Chounds like

 Chounds like 
100hundred58 
 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
Chounds like 

 Eye chased mye deer into the rough the golf was tough and leathery the ball 
wound up in the gulf near the coarse leather coat the top coated layer of infinity. 
When every internet address is placed into the category suited to it best and 
every number has been named and everyone is best at what they do not just 
where they are could it be hard to let them off to la la land to make them just to 
understand the slot the slotted place therein. The lob lolly cained there was two 
of them they rub and shudder expectantly in exctasy like twine boarding a fence 
posting to the dead letter offices in all the land. The firmimentnation of the united 
stations was attacked with hate the rabbit tripped over the log anon and said 
quite frankly my dear eye don't give a darn who who is. They drugged the maiden 
dragged her screaming from the bed the water stain will set in the rug don't ewe 
understand it was to be this afternoon not later in the day not tomorrow anyway it 
has to be soon after noon. The goon dropped a cup and he grumbled and he 
gripped it in one hand and it slide like the banana peeling from the tree shaded 
oasis banana vines green black men picking them forking bales of hey what was 
that noise a student in the background just redialing all his porn so sure that all 
those girls are doing time to make him worn. Egads the Chounds are about us 
they have been released on Edgar come Allen forward POE. They foxed the 
kittens and sometimes the medical officer gets some extra hush money to look 
the other way is danger danger warning warning the alien is coming. When you 
must explain anything a joke or silent laughter a penny for your thoughts the 
hidden manna best sometimes to leave unsaid the thing so evident for iff she 
has not gotten it a lenghty explainnation will not further it along the windsome 
parapet the jester faking it has lost the thread the limits of the outer kind 
surpassed in unbelief. Nothing is perfect in scrabble blast eye have noticed 
sometimes there is only one tile left over but it still gives ewe the option of 
scrambling the letters and it even tosses the tile up in a vain attempt to move the 
thing in semblance of the shuffeling required by law in this game. Survival 
dictates like a witch brewing portents in the ditch poor and sinful man disgraced 
walking to the human race the chounds to chase. 


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Your mesmerizing memories

Oh love do you really exist?
I cried when your call came to me 
and left me sleepless in the twilight.

Your mesmerizing memories did fly as a crow
going away from home, spreading pity
of pathetic loneliness in ghastly forests
that glow in pallid colors,and a vapor cloud
devoured the gray trunks,the desiccated stems,
the rotting roots, and the lifeless land.
The pale plains did drive them insane.
This lifeless land did harbour many
ghosts in its hollows, who haunted
many travelers. Nightmares did rule
the day.Who are you to be happy?
Only sadness is allowed to be happy,
not you. A reaper stalks this realm
in search of victims. Try not to
hide for he shall find you quicker
if you try, for he senses your desperation
dripping from your temple.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Doorway

I’ve cut my hands on the broken screen door
of dreams meant to be deserted;
I can feel the rush of inclusion in a state of decay
as it gasps open against tucked in eyelids.
Smiles caught in dim headlights,
before the empty sway of drunken iron
drips from my palms as
inertia drives it all to fruition,
abstract revelations come to life.
My eyes stutter, fighting to 
keep them alive. 
I press reddened palms against 
the dusty doorway, count in
cadence meant for a heartbeat,
and breath in harmonic patience 
with something I wish I could understand,
but my sort of muscles are too weak to make an 
impact, my palms have become imprinted with the wake 
of trembling foundation’s sorrow.
               ….I look at them
pruned by the sour chaste of possibility;
rivers of emptiness run through my 
own imperfections. 
I’ve mended nothing.
they’re still…
cold. 
These dreams are stone,
and I am only flesh;
Pounding my fists against a doorway
that has long forgotten I am here. 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

1one2two9nine

 1one2two9nine 
1one2two9nine 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
 
WiseorFoolish 

 DOING WHAT THE JESUS SAID 
Eye am risking the loss of some merits to at least prove to some of you that to do 
the works of JESUS is the right and lawful thing to do the man was just like me 
he seems to be a homeless and eye asked him to share my food he said no he 
was taken care of a food card from the service. Eye wound up giving nothing but 
a courtesy yet my blessing is unending the words that JESUS speaks are meant 
to be the life we breathe and giving is so certainly the thing to do. Not bragging 
unnecessarily just letting people knoe to do the works he says to do. Offer 
someone food if they can take it it will help you if they refuse it you can eat it 
seems to me there is nothing there to lose. Now the food eye have to eat is better 
for the act of sharing even the man is not eating with me the food it's doubly 
better in proportions. Show me the house that's built on stilts that's built on sand. 
There is a temporary church that meets inside the main church building they 
usually start the service at nine thirty today they went out on a run away there was 
no church service even eye usually go just to knell down near the table and thank 
Jesus for the offering there there is Coffee and some coffee cake and other 
things as well but today eye am on mye own attempting more than one thing at a 
time it seems beyond the eye trying to stay hooked into the wonder of this life for 
it seems like GOD is just like Santa Clause to me when we have it in our heart to 
do he sees it just the same. 
Eye still carry my raincoat my umbrella even though it has not rained for many 
weeks I'm ready. The place eye like to visit has been pulled out from under me 
the preacher needs to visit his own prayer room just to see how dark his heart is 
to become without his love. He warned me not to trespass and so far eye have 
not been back but the wonder of it all is that the place still seems to stand a 
monument to decadence a monument to disgrace. They knoe that eye am 
homeless eye still walk the street without a place. The blankets in the dump 
seem so nice when eye am cold. Foolishness or wisdom tell me preacher what 
would you do when the sky was falling would you stick your turkey neck up to the 
rain and then just drown or would you find a church with a poor doorway to get 
dry. The path is narrow the climb is steep and harrow the preacher fast asleep. 
Eye cry a homeless to the end of time. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wingless Bird

Oh! Wingless Bird,
Say a word
What painful life
Have you suffered with your wife!
She led you there..
Oh! Beware!
Oh Wingless Bird,
She brought a sword!!
With just one swing,
She cut your wing!
She had posed as your dearest,
Your only nearest!
Selfishness grew
You never knew!
Blind were you in love,
Pray to God above..
With just one wing now,
Try to manage somehow..
Hurt to the body is not mattered,
But the heart is now shattered..
Cut your wing,she flew away,
You thought she was with you to stay..
Eyes filled with tears,
Had seen ahead beautiful years..
Oh wingless dear..
Please come here..
Have no fear..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

LOVE ON DEATH LINE

I have not eaten today,
But my heart is filled
Not hungry of affection.
I had a fill of you last night
A fill of you for a life time

All around us are walking corpses
Corpses of political disregard
Humans of no nations
Even when they are bona-fide citizens
Your blood and mine flows in them

The government abhors the poor
Feeds them with empty promises
Shoves them through the door
They pay the bills
For social amenities they can’t find
Pay taxes for their castles 
Government built in the air
But we know their ancestors
Filthy dogs eating from the king’s crumbs
No; Lets not unknot the knot
Soon a messiah might heed us

In heaven’s book of life,
I heard the poor names are there
In here’s book of life
It is deleted.
Thus, in your head,
Lays your kingdom and glory 
Get rich or die trying
Or; be their poor and keep sulking.

Well, like them I saw… 
I have not eaten
Flesh gone weak to skeleton
Nevertheless, 
The solitude of love within
Keeps me living; I am breathing
But I am moving,
Towards your direction
I see your beam

I feel new
When I see you
From my heart 
Seeps through the rays of the sun
Its fun; this love on death line
We survived the genocide
We survived the war
We survived love
We survived us
I love you too.

This poem is dedicated to the abused tribes of Rwanda and Nigeria during their respective civil wars resulting in near human annihilation. Though time has passed, we still feel your pains chilling our bones. The survivors.


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11009

11009
CharlaXFabels
HOW ROOD
PARTTWO
The decadence of Society, RUDE, has finally sickened me; the only thing to do is 
pray to GOD to quicken me when he bumped me and all eye did was make the 
references to his ancestory his intentions were just nominal he wanted to survive 
and they think that they are GOD the man was nice until eye started to converse 
with him it rally hurts there feelings when eye have a less terse verse the Mexican 
bumped my bag and actually hit it with his arm in an effort to move it out of his 
way HOW ROOD is that he was in my way and no where for me to go the traffic 
was thick and the curb was near my foot 
 then the boy looked super surprised wiping the glaze out of his eyes Oh, he had 
surmised it He said this to the Driver “I am not even listening to you I am talking 
to someone on my Rude Cell Phone
and he pointed to the window with his cup so carefully held up to keep from 
spilling and he gestured at the man to sit somewhere else just go away eye am 
so rude eye am the rudest man alive today the man was trying to dominate 
someone that will not be ruled over by another man and so he lost his battle plan 
his rude was wasted then eye almost let it go but had the last word out the door 
One thing was certain they never even noticed me 
never saw me as a person they just played out their ruminations
just giving me the benifit of their public conversation the girls talked non plussed 
non pulsed and non stopped they never cared for anyone but them they kept the 
confab going even into coffee time THAT stuff that you are wanting me to have 
just keep it with you and take it with you please just SHUT your mouth like that 
and then she left another string of profanity pointed back in my direction and the 
damage had been done now here's this poem. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tater Sack Annie

On a raft in the river tied to a tree, lived in an old woman of whom most folks made fun. She didn't talk much, most thought she was dumb. Kids being curious, and the summer being hot, the cool of the river drew our disobedient lot. We kids soon discovered the crude raft and the tent. We oddly made friends with its strange occupant. Tried as we might to find out her name. All we got was a smile from the toothless old dame. One thing for certain we kids soon found out. Social graces she lacked, but her kindness made up for that fact. Times being tough and money being tight, often we kids confided our plight. She didn't care if we were dirty or poor. She loved her little friends all the more. We didn't mind her fashion was lack. She wore a dress made from and old "tater sack." What troubled us was she didn't have a name. We didn't care from where she came. One day as we sat on the bank, a thought came to mind. We were disgusted with folks being unkind. "Everybody's got a name," said one. "Let's call her 'Tater Sack Annie'", said another, so it was done. Annie smiled at us. She liked her new name. She didn't say much, just smiled again. She motioned for us kids to her camp for lunch. She always fed our whole bunch. Fried taters, catfish and greens. All of us believed she was a woman of means. Several summers went by. One year the fall came. A saturday night, folks out for a lark. Didn't see Annie walking home in the dark. Somebody sent, and a somber Sherriff came, "Anybody her know her name?" He spoke to the group. Two boys stepped forward, both knelt to a stoop. "That's our 'Tater Sack Annie'", they spoke in a low tone. Both their faces ashen and as white as bone. Today in a churchyard no monument gleams. Only a simple stone reads, "Annie a lady of means."

Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch


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11009

11009
CharlaXFabels
HOW ROOD
They took a cart with four wheels scootered by me just to almost hit my foot they 
tried to run between the bus stop and the bench where eye was standing waiting 
for the bus just missing one that left me almost got the dust she flipped at me 
with her middle finger she had to knoe that eye was there she meant to make me 
feel bad so what she said he was not there at the stop yet  this old man found 
and scrounge is better than a gang and take this poem is for FOUND things 
sarcasm is lost inside a deep dark hole I don’t want to take it with me overheard 
and listened to the conversation all anew again in my imprinted memory as I 
pen,  this; ODE to rudeness,  eye have been told there is NO LAW against cell 
phones or decent public conversations Its hard to see he is my poor brother eye 
keep my own needs simple and eye travel light, 
And keep all of Egypt on my back, but some people need the even more security 
a four wheeled   
Shopping –cart can afford them the demonic teachings of the classroom just 
made me realize that eye would leave my education in the great wastebasket of 
the sky eye would learn some other thing eye would leave the classroom without 
thinking never embracing death and the mark of the rejection of the lord the 
millennium mark the 666 mark of the beast called SATAN.
Rood        rud - Show Spelled Pronunciation [rood] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA 
Pronunciation, 
–noun 
1.	a crucifix, esp. a large one at the entrance to the choir or chancel of a 
medieval church, often supported on a rood beam or rood screen. 
2.	a cross as used in crucifixion. 
3.	a unit of length varying locally from 51/2 to 8 yards (5 to 7 m). 
4.	a unit of land measure equal to 40 square rods or 1/4 acre (0.10117 
hectare). 
5.	a unit of 1 square rod (25.29 sq. m). 
6.	Archaic. the cross on which Christ died. 
________________________________________
[Origin: bef. 900; ME; OE rōd pole, crucifix; c. G Rute rod, twig ] 
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 
2006.


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My pain

blood drips down
locked the door
the stinging starts to fade
everything becomes a blur
i know lay in the tub
in the cold water
my my arms stings
then the pain fades
i go under hopping not to come back up for air
and i feel my body going numb
i open my mouth to get a water in and blood
i tell myself to stay under
and then everything fads away
no more pain
my heart stops
the pain leaves me
my dead body is in the tub
TO NEVER BE FOUND AGAIN
untill someone starts looking for me
when they find my body
it will be to late


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Reality

perfection, who would have thought him perfect?
without his words, i know no other truth
reality,
the mother of my existence, you gave birth to twins
euphoria and agony,
oh agony!
reality,
i ask for only a moment to bury myself inside
his soul, his mind, I want to be with it, of it
i need to breathe him, fill my lungs with love,
with life,
why can't I?
REALITY!
oh to cast you back to the depths of hell, demon!
to come into a life, just to taunt...
there is no hatred so pure, as the one i hold for you
for you today,
reality,
you have taken away my heart,
that was your wicked plan all along
was it not?
well,
reality,
without him,  I have nothing left to lose,
no sanity left to keep me afloat
so,
reality,
today you have been defeated
i have always held the key
it's almost tragic, oh
reality,
do you realize you cannot exist
without me?
so say your prayers,
as this war comes to a bloody end
we were both martyrs for the same cause-
reality.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How I Will Remember You

Every time I think of you
I’ll see your smiling face
In your hands you kept my heart
And within my arms your embrace. 

We had our share of ups and downs
We didn’t always see eye to eye
Remembering the times you made me laugh
Made it easy to forget each time I cried.

We always stood up for the good in each other
And with God’s help got rid of the bad
What better a family could one man have asked for
Than the one I’ve had.

I thank you for all you’ve done
I was blessed to have you at my side
Your job as my guardian angels is done
Now God’s angels will be my guide.

When I needed you most you were there for me
Now there’s nothing more to worry about
Although God’s always had it
He’s got it from here on out.


This is how I will remember you.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE SONG OF RIO HONDO

Beneath the fuschia painted sky of the setting sun,
war torn houses still burning,
razed into rubbles along the river banks of rio hondo,
with walls devastated by bombs' explosions,
and one by one the ceilings began to fly.

The river's shallow but crystal clear water,
with green sea weeds,mussels and oysters,
once our childhoods' undisturbed playground,
instantly became the unholy graveyard of the
slain MNLF fighters,
decaying cadavers scattered everywhere
like worthless pieces of garbages,
worst than dead animals,
arms detached and eaten by the dogs displaced
by the war they had created,
brains splattered by bullets on mangrooves' roots,
and face swollen with worms appeared beyond recognition.

While the river that once flowed with
the rhythm of neo-gothicism,
singing with the sweet harmonies from the
birds under the falling rain,
but the chords suddenly went out of tune,
disturbed by the torrential beat of a
violent human upheaval,
the orchestra of war bombs,cannons, and guns raised
the flags of war concerts,
and the water ran wild with the musical
note of destruction,
hysterically dancing along the melodies of blood,
a tragic symphony of death.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thoughtless Explosions of Verbiage

In times of joy and in times of pain 
words are the only elusive attempt at portrayal 
Daunting Contraptions Contracted in a few fleshy pounds 
hidden in a bloody swirling cesspool hiding in our skulls 
Thoughtless explosions of verbiage fill the pages of 
time & space in this place, feeble attempts at nothing 
merely interjections of uselessness. We canter down 
these halls of life opening doors & closing others, 
doors hard to shut are better left open. To breath the 
breath of life through these pounding heads of humanity. 
Beating its burden of confusion & false hope straight to 
the source ... producing order? What a concept in this place 
as to say a controlled explosion our existence is 
the oxymoron that is all. We live the days like 
the pun of some joke that's been forgotten. 
We soothe our souls with others expressions, broadcasting 
feeling to the masses. Ideas thought for someone else 
helpless sheep in this hillside pasture we're spinning on. 
Songs of hope & joy inspire & drive others to the end. Confident 
that more words will help in the future. Addicted to 
others feelings & ideas to produce our own. Mindless bites 
gurgle out real life for ratings while we all watch 
ourselves and turn back to the box. The box should 
falsify our existence but then the black emptiness that 
has become our hard existence. Tired lonely 
followers dancing till the end .... 
Ah the end 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

9Ninety0

 9Ninety0 
9Ninety0 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
 
On SUNDAY 
 
ADAYOFOURLORD 
 
 When judgement come what will you say can you tell the JESUS 
what you done in just one day eye left some fish upon the way then left my bed to 
gather more than eye can eat for eye am blessed my heart is full of love for 
people eye have never met and strangers yell at me from van and make me cuss 
and curse and hate yet the things eye found was blessed a cake a homemade 
cake remember LORD when we ate the cake eye found it in the city park on that 
SUNDAY when the man in the van rolled his window down he yelled screamed 
growled at me so cartoon of a character so rubber legged he would not stop near 
me for eye was mad at THEE for letting evil men get near me they rob me of my 
grace more needed now on SUNDAY as eye sit and feed my face eye will not go 
further with embellishments and lies intended just to sell a story to the men who 
drive the van and bother men with hate for eye found some extra clothing and 
added it to mind for there was no one there in the park today just laying on the 
ground eye passed the beggars sides with full larder laid as eye did not even lay 
it down eye hope they have an empty cup of alcoholic stop eye began this day 
without a fish but now my bags is hard to carry a brand new hooded shirt upon 
my belly my jacket getting heavy my cake and coffee is so nice please KISS mye 
lambea wherever she is at a smile upon her face for eye and love and grace on 
SUNDAY. This is CharlaXFabel number NINTEY. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Jehovah Witness

 Jehovah Witness 
Jehovah Witness 
 
this is a picture of an actual Kingdom Hall 
Fighting Jesus 
 
Fable Fourteenth 
 
 Judgment Call 
Ode to Edgar A Poe 
Ode to be remembered with three red roses and a half a blanc of wine the 
certainty of summer in Ravenswood combines with sultry summer pines and 
odors of the firmament decay to play a mournful tune of odious deliverance. How 
can such playful creatures of this life become so dark at night time coming to the 
Earth to preach a GOD of everyone of Earth to say this world is pleasant when 
poor Edgar knoes it's not? He never seems to want for sympathy a poor man's 
plot is seldom visited the visitor is not out a lot the roses at three p the half a 
magnum drank he stank he must say some words at grave like Quote the Raven 
Eleanor never more have a drink old plank would anyone come and leave a half 
of soda and three small purple flowers on my grave? But reminisce about the 
meeting done they grabbed me by both arms but not before my head was 
pressed against the glass of double doors and tossed hurriedly away outside 
don't listen to the homeless one he stinks he sleeps in clothes unwashed how 
can anyone like that can knoe his GOD? Then eye turned a swollen eye upon the 
meeting place and did a little dance a little prancing just in place and cried Jesus 
hallelujah yes they threw me out of judgment hall please bless the place eye 
dance. Poor Edgar cannot prance. CharlaX loves his stance. Half a soda and 
three purple flowers every Easter on a poor place to stay someone reading this 
may do so to remember me this poet needs to be. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Invitation

I had a talk with God
Just the other day
He invited me to his kingdom
And then asked me to stay.
He said the time had come
For me to leave my earthly home
To come to live with him
And be seated by his throne.
All my troubles, pains and worries
Were to very soon subside
He said my new life begins today
So I went ahead and complied.
I know it doesn't seem fair
But everything's gonna be alright
God is taking care of me now
As I rejoice in His light.
When He saw what was happening
He didn't want to see me suffer
He came down to protect me
His love became my buffer.
My friends, my family those
Who were with me my last days
I'm sorry to have broken your hearts
But this was the only way.
I know it's hard to understand
Why it had to be this way
Even more why it was me
I truly can not say.
All I know is I did
What God asked of me to do
As for which I was rewarded
When He said "I love you."
So don't be discouraged
Our day will soon come again
Keep me in your hearts and memories
We'll be together in the end.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Brother

You left my brother
Came back a man
Should hear our proud father
Speak of you
How you’ve done him
And momma proud
Sister Jane and Katherine
Down the block
Never seem to have anything
But you to talk about
Oh if you only knew the loving
All the girls around here
Say you’ve missed
It’s a good bet
You’d never have left
But leave you did
Nothing can change that now
In a way it’s good to know
Exactly where you are
We need never again worry
If that old truck of yours broke down
Leaving you to walk home in the rain
It’s a good thing really
Now we can all get some sleep
Granted, not as much as you
But we will in our due time
Just want you to know
These tags of yours
Will never leave my neck
You, will never leave my heart
For no matter why you left
Or how you came back
You still are
And will always be
My brother


Details | Prose Poetry | |

To All My of Children

The time has come
For me to say goodbye,
I'm going home to Jesus
Please don't cry.
I love you all unconditionally
Without a doubt,
From the oldest to the youngest
There's nothing to be sad about.
I know this won't be easy
Because it's hard for me too,
Knowing I'll see you all again
Keeps me constantly thinking of you.
To all my sons and daughters
Instill in your children all that is good,
So they'll learn to seek to understand
Before being understood.
Grandchildren, continue to do well
As you have always done,
Extend your hand to one another
Until you all become as one.
To all of my other family and friends
I truly do love you all,
But do understand my phone is ringing
And I must answer this call.
Keep me in your hearts
Know I've always loved you,
I have lived a full, complete and content life
And it's because of all of you.

Forever Yours With Love,
Mom


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Blind Man's Tale

All  dimensions  are  hidden  from  me;
I  fail  to  envision  the  mystic  beauties  of  nature,
My  world  is  packed  with  dense  fog  all  around  me.

I  was  born  to  see  a  never-ending  darkness,
A  darkness  so  profound  that  it  conceals everything  from  me.

For  40  years  now  my  vision  has  betrayed  me  and ,
I  continue  to  walk  along  a  dark  tunnel  hoping  to  see  light  at 
the  end  of  it  someday.

I  have  not  seen  my  mother’s  face. I  know  not  how  the  lady
who  gave  me  my  existence  looks.

But  the  immense  shadow   that  covers  me  also  raises  my 
consciousness  to  the  highest  level.

I  know  that

“  Within  me  I  have  an  enlightened  soul  that  radiates  light
more  influencial  than  the  sun  and  it  traverses  the  whole  
of  universe  to  reach  the  heavens.

At  this  moment  I  feel  the  prescence  of  God.
 A  God  that  pervades  my  entire  existence. 
I  can  feel  that  He  uncondiotionally  loves  me.
It  is  now  that  I  see  the  Light  of  Truth.” 



Ronak Sanjay Bhavana Muchhala

G-601, Satellite Gardens CHS,
Film city road, Goregaon [east],
Mumbai 400063.  INDIA


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Shadow

Walking with me, it moves along,
Contorting with me, to me it belong.
It’s tied to me as a chain,
I know it’s with me, it would never wane.

There lies poise between it and me,
Grasping me, never allows to flee.
Together we go, without any tiff,
Casting my image, it stays stiff.

It survives in bright, perishes when it’s dark,
It does exist on a spark.
Following always, it never goes astray,
Stuck with me, can’t think of betray, it always stay.

Gives me sense to be stronger, as I walk,
I halt on the way, admire it, if it could talk.
God knows, why it is made so conventional,
Unceasingly it swings parallel.

At a certain time, everything departs, saying farewell,
Except for my shadow, the one will always dwell.
It certainly is the symbol of faith and duty,
It is the only companion, who has eternity.

A dark image staying in me,
Forever as one could see.
As long as I will be,
I desire to see, no ‘you’ and ‘me’, but a ‘we’.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Without The Box

So, there you are
Returned from fighting another mans war
Heard you’re quite the hero
Good for you my friend
Twenty years young
Couldn’t wait
To kick some terrorist ass
And so you did
So very well indeed I hear
Now you’re back
Nothing more to kick
What are you to do with yourself
Lying there as you are
Look at all of us here
To welcome you back
Can you not hear the joy
Can you not see the happiness
Or is it all hidden behind the tears
So here you are returned
In a flawless uniform
Lying there all smug and confident
With a peaceful look
Here you are returned
Fresh off the plane
In a nice tight package
Here you are returned
To never leave again
Good to have you back my friend
Only wish it could have been
Without the box


Details | Prose Poetry | |

GOT GO YOU GOT GO

i was on the dance floor
couldn't hold it no more
try to fine RESTROOM
i ran like a goon
you know
when you   or me too
GOT GO YOU GOT GO


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A sound of orient

A sound of orient 
-
He looks like a fragranced oasis in this city; 
a lean, yet muscular man in a dhoti, 
sweaty; playing flute, a plateful of bland food 
in front of him, his humble surrounding, the hut.
A village man, who has once come in chasing dream, 
is now a part of this city, a part of speed, 
all except his flute and customary dhoti. 

The dizzy sound travels up, to the fifth floor terrace, 
to the sad man and sadder woman, to the sadists, 
to the dying and to the dead. It climbs up like veins. 
His is a life, with its own brands of pain and love, 
not demanding, the way sometimes this city extracts. 
The days and nights extract a man. 
He hauls out others or vise versa. 

A sound disappears in sleep, 
becomes a village in the vale, 
where dreams move like sheep.
~© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CRY SOME TIME

don't hold it in
its not a sin
if its pain 
then let the tears rain
kept this in mine
CRY SOME TIME


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Speaking of Suicide

When folks get angry they rant and rave,
Some scream epitaphs,
others misbehave,

The really high strung
spew words of self hatred,
the drama occupies their minds,
venting is a way of chastising themselves,
or asking for help,

Words come out from their inner elves,
chanting tirades of ending one's life,
brings soberness and sheds light,

People who are serious don't talk about it
at all,
They may write a note and say "Goodbye Y'all"
Then one day they wake-up  and decide it
is their time......
Ending it all with no reason or rhyme.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thief thy name is human

I met a hand with eyes but no vision
He touched me but only to fill his hunger
And I with a heart floated with anger
I wish I were a human 
But not of this hand
I just asked one day but only within

The muscular hand was no less than a muddle head
In life it was panting for death
And I In death panting for the former
He knew he could free me
But his knowledge is destined ignorance
Alas! His heart pumps only blood, no care.
To my one day

I croaked to his deaf ears for years 
But for one day
Neither a day is left nor a drop of hope 
My heart pounced on request 
And his on the lust to have me
I swam in his desire not in his concern
To my one day

I croak now to the world
Enchained in all this ego
Is there a hero out to rescue me
Oh I know the world is all a dark mirror of life
I know this just in one day 
That my day has come


Details | Prose Poetry | |

HURTING FEET

my feets sore
i say no more
hard for me to go
thats why i walk slow
form under neat
i got
HURTING FEET


Details | Prose Poetry | |

But For A Short While

They were with us but for a short while
Their good works now live on in memory to make us smile-
Their joys, their tears, their hopes, their dreams and yes, even their sorrows and 
pains still linger on; they still remain in the portals of the minds of all whose lives 
they have touched-whether little or whether much-

And as they have now gone and left us in body, gone back to dust-
In spirit, it's only but for a short while.

For they who die in the Lord, one day they must:

       At the sound of the trump, as the clouds roll back, meet us in the presence of  
         the Redeemer, Christ, when He returns to gather His Father's children      
          home to the Kingdom of God where we will all prepare together to return 
           to the New Earth from the New  Heaven  to dwell in Eternal Righteousness-
Where joy and peace will be forever and ever, for our eternal home will be 
restored to a place where we can join together to live, worship in praise  to our 
Lord, receiving our crown and  reward of Eternal Life.

So, sleep on sister, brothers, friends, and loved ones; it is but for a short while,   
 for the  Day will come when we shall meet together once again, and all of us will 
be at Rest

In the Presence of God's Glorious Eternal Bliss!