These Water Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Water. These are the best examples of Water Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
A Journey With The Wind.
I had a dream that felt greater than reality, lost on earth
wearing a gown bare feet bleeding leaving behind traces
for my sons to find me.
My hand was begging reaching out suddenly, a feeling
I held the wind, yes the wind in the palm of my hand a friend,
to join me through that journey toward the ocean, knowing it
will soon fly away, who can hold the wind and make it belong,
Wind Oh wind, meet my sons, whisper my name they are the
ones who care, they will rescue me even blind folded, they will
smell my bodies odor and sense where I am.
Oh wind, you are the only one here on this earth I feel your presence,
fly away now carry a tear place it on their cushion and deliver my
message to them, I will wait even forever, bring them back to me.
My friend my wind, search for them, find them knock, on their window
If they are sleeping they will wake up & run towards me follow my blood
trail find their way to carry me softly & cure my scars wipe away my
tears & fear of drowning alone at the shore.
Suddenly the light faded darkness took over covering the brightness
away I pledged, mother nature I am not yet ready, sun do not burn
and light a fire, Oh sun where are you , don't leave me alone, I started humming my babies melody to be heard
and come to my rescue.
Deprived to see them in the morn for years, deprived to look in their
eyes, deprived to eat with them, drink with them, deprived to smell their
perfume, destiny was against me due to the war in our country, for
years they were always flying away around this earth, to settle.
I felt cold shivering, suddenly the warmth of my children's breath
around gave me the strength I needed, Wind! my friend! you
found them and carried them across the ocean,Oh, the look into
each others eyes cannot be describe, for the first time I felt they
were real we fixed for seconds but a whole book can be created
through the emotions and communications that occurred during
those precious moments,
a language of its own.
The echoing of their voices was heard, what can we say mum except
we love you for being there when we needed you,we love you because
of who you are, we love you because you care, we love you for not sinking
during our absence because we needed you on the shore, together listen
to nature`s beauty, birds twittering, fish whispering,
waves dancing & splashing.
We love you because you find life in everything you touch, and if not,
you blow life into everything, we love you, your breath has kept
us alive, your breath is as strong as the wind that carried us to you.
Come on mum, it was a long journey with the wind on this earth
for all of us, lets go home, together.
Contest,Earth Fire Water Wind for Debbie Guzzi (WIN Honorable Mention) Therese Bacha
These forgotten badlands are arid and parched. It’s felt the blistering, desert hot winds.
Turbulent gritty sand storms have crossed these lands. What was once lively, thriving is
now only a desolate, thirsty terrain. After being drought-ridden for so long, the ground is
hard, unyielding even to the smallest root. Even vultures have stopped flying overhead
for how can something die if everything is already dead?Day after desiccated day, the sun
beams down, relentless. Although the night is somewhat welcoming, it is still so thick and
humid that it doesn’t provide much comfort. But there’s a scent in the air….something
somewhat familiar but from ages ago. There’s a change in the atmosphere…and an eerie
silence that stretches for miles, like time has stood still. Splat! There…a scattered, dark
circle on the ground…disappearing almost instantly. Suddenly, the scorching sky breaks
open. Rain…cool, wet liquid…it does exist. Looking across the horizon, you can see it. Like
a silky veil draping over the lands in a steady, fluid motion. There is no other sound
around…just the sound of this drumming rain landing, making everything it touches glisten
and gleam like diamonds. Giving drink to a once thought unquenchable territory, it opens
up wide and soaks it all in. The water running, dripping into the trenches that were only
once small cracks…..reaching depths unknown to bring forth life of what was once dead. If
there were such a smell as years of dehydration and depravity finally receiving
sustenance, this smell would be it. Such a beauty to behold…so much water that it stands
in pools until this hardened ground can learn what it’s like to soften in order to accept it.
It’s everywhere, can you see it? Abundant, unwavering water. Everything has been so
barren, you can see for miles…but…wait..what’s this? Something so small that you would
almost miss it. Emerald green, a majestic inch…a sprout….a sprout of hope….a sprout of
Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; stretching..you look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . . no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?
Encumbered with the walker
blankets for the wet bench,
sheets of water splashing the cement.
I ventured to my smoking spot
face hidden inside my hooded coat.
I light my fire stick,
letting drops of water
reverberate on my hood.
My angel came walking by
called my name;
gave me her umbrella and kept on walking.
the Guadalupe River,
at least a couple of decades ago...
A bend in any river,
no matter how slowly that river flows,
erodes the outside of that bend,
digs away at the bank,
separating stones from sand,
nudging them into shallow water
across and down the river,
sorting them by size as it goes,
the smaller, rounder ones
in a layer on top.
That’s where I was that summer afternoon,
on my back, half-submerged in the gravel shallows,
the water so warm I couldn’t feel it,
my arms straight out from my body,
interrupting the flow,
causing almost waves
as the water washed over.
My ears were under water;
I could hear only the flow of water around me.
Above me the leaves and branches
of trees overhanging the river
moved gracefully in the hot breeze.
Somehow the leaves and branches and water
moved at the same tempo,
not like music,
but rather a deep humhmmm
I could both see and feel.
I don’t know how long
I hovered in that flow,
but it wasn’t long enough.
In ways I can’t describe
I’m still there,
bathed in that most elemental of mediums,
moving with the leaves,
lost in a very long moment.
I love to water my yard.....and my feet.
My plants love to drink....
The cool water I give them.
Just like I love to water
You with my words.
Passion, lust and misty
Thoughts of love.
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
Soltive pre ordained priest warlike additives initially a Jesus Freak becoming cold
hearted in the winter. Bane has come with hatred of simple minded people. Sexual
orientation is nill. Macabration indentation on the quilt. A welcome matt with a towel
for spills. I have a small fortune tied. Up is not an option now. There is only snow up
there eventually. The water line is nearer the river then the streaming stream of
water near me on the highway catching all the melting riverlets as they run away
from home in WinterBane. Some men still have strength but they abuse it think to
break down boarded ruins tearing down old barns and cornors of old abandoned
houses where homeless and poor people might find shelter from the rain. Where will
they find to dwell. Because of wealth they have a large area to heat in WinterBane
they have a larger of a structure the more expensive in the WinterBane with sleet
coming down in Sheets of Ice looked like a solid wall of water hitting me Frost icing
clothing no thing was DRY ice all over me a few moments after I stepped toe out of
sheltor walking on the SIDE of the road cant walk on the roadway slipping on the ICE
stepped offroad walking in the treelined. I found what looked like a Najavo Hogan
brogaded outside there was clothes hannging on branches a Babylon Garden in the
snow. While the whole city was whited out at degrees zero. The goose has a liver.
Oh Pâté the liver rules the Goose is cooked with too many alcholic incumbents while
the minutes of the meeting Read all old activity reported long ago nothing is new
under the sun. Nothing there is nothing is there nothing in my past has preparred me
for my future education has failed me for the alcholic eye was ruined for functioning
in SOciety degenerate reborne. Nothing smelles worse to a man then sex mixed up
with tobacco and alchohol how can anyone live as porn objects and still survive the
toll booth smells like whiskey before three pee em it takes the heart to control it
takes the lust to want. I feared to die for I was sinnor I feared one day to lay
underneathe the snow ensheathed but then one day has come to eye EYE Fear No
Snow EYE Fear No Snow I am a man. The snow no longer bothers me. I am beneath
it all, My soul is not inside of me. It leaves me when I fall. As I lay here
silently,wating for the trumpet, It will blow!
I do not any longer fear the snow.
Copyright © 2006 charles hice
There she is, rainbow hued, hazy viewed clues.
The whistle chimed waves clear her unspoken throat.
Pardon Lady's wispy tension, a molder of falling sand.
A maker of details form the reality of dreamlife.
It is not man-made, it's spirit.
From one withheld, on a roof full of heating.
It's the heart vision, it's her only heart vision,
The only seer of the whole.
The sea dragon's bucket of snails
make it through the tunnel portal,
and we all gather through.
There Lady then goes,
off to the Wizard's shell. He's cloaked in
red and white, the colors of woman and man.
They're both pleading, seething,
kneeling beside the shelled faces.
Sparks, that near cover her wreathed, flowered, dress of sea flowers.
As iridescent pyramid easter eggs rain down.
Armored in bright lace, the rhythms of twirls and braids shall
claim pertinence to the deep blue whale's song, the whale clothed
in water, salt, and Lady's most hidden dreams.
A Wizard Whale's Lady, protected with beauty.
Zero point with no ego, no confession to claim.
The breathed memory between her salty fingers
lights a candle to rebirth her soul.
Hello my little fellow,
long lost pearly weeping willow,
I've come to find my ocean.
My voice adorned with sight.
I flew to and from her, a maker of undone.
She was veiled in white memory,
a blanket of weight brushed off her.
A flaming moment floating in her watery hoping heart.
Sunk under sun drenched waters,
gazed shackles flew away.
Exceeding through three door frames,
not separate from the grey portrait of a sculpture.
Tightly knit and finely tuned,
with heavy chisels of confirmation.
I will spit if I have to, and then I will cry after.
For I will only listen to my bloody heart.
The emotions are blatant, the tuned in
question that purge's forth,
is more meaningful with an identity gone.
But we are never lost,
we are dreaming in the ocean's Wingdom,
the Angel's castle cloud held tight.
Kerplunk sound of stone dropping down into water Kersplash is man falling overboard a
boat. Whoosh is the wind or someone moving or something moving fast leaving wind behind.
Plop is messy. POP may be too many noises to describe them all. Bang a pistol shot. Boom
thunder or explosives. Crack the lightening bolts or wood breaking SNAP the fingers snap
the buttons closed snap them suspenders once SLAP is too composed. Creak the door open
slowly it comes then stops Creak the door shut on my nerves oh the thrill and excitement in
the Creak that comes. Whap is seldom penned they use wham or whack instead of whap the
hapless foe whap him with the silly stick then let my people go fish; there is a blurble gurgle
noise for fish out of water dry fish seldom heard or used the need not there in movies seen.
Calls whistles barks too many on the listing port to add them whistles hear them barks just
way too many calls from port of call to answer all the calls. Crunch is seldom heard but
candy bars or fresh apples turned on the stem to view. Whale thar she blows kind of splishy
constant throes just like running water hot or cold in a falls away zone the waterfalls away.