Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership




Prose Poetry Water Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Water

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Earth Fire Water Wind

                      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, 
I did.

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
26/4/2013                                                           


Copyright © Therese Bacha

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

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ocean

A gray dawn, a dark twilight.
 Daybreak, dawn, dusk.
A flash of lightening across the horizon.
 Windswept trees, in all bent shape, 
Such is the result due to harsh winds 
 That travel for miles and miles.
And we have no knowledge from where it came from
 Or where it is going.
But that its travel continues across the daunting mass
 Called; Ocean.
Oh how it churns the water.
 I can feel the mist and spray cover my body
And tingle my hands.
 Standing in the shallow the air blows about me
With sandy hair raging like fire, slapping my face.
 A feeling of unknown,
Watching angry waves become violent.
 And a shiver of coldness, trembles my body.
A sense of peace,
 I have one thought;
Where did it come from?                                       

Copyright © Elizabeth Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Drop - Prose

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 
life…

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Drowning

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?

Copyright © Jesson Rata

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Slick Chick

There is an old saying....
keep your friends near, but keep your enemies even closer...

This is a poem about a very smart Chick...
Who was very resourceful and very slick...
Rumor had it there was a Wolf, and he had a way...
Of taking advantage of everyone on any given day...
He had terrorized the neighborhood for the very last time...
They had a town meeting , and all agreed...
That the only choice was a dastardly deed... 
Chick volunteered to take on the challenge...
And majority stated, he had to explunge...
“I’d love to have you over for dinner on Friday “ said Chick...
To which Wolf stated quite arrogantly, but quick...
It would be my pleasure...see you at eight...
There was a beautiful shining Harvest Moon, when Wolf arrived at the gate...
Come sit in my hot tub, said Chick turning on some tunes...
Dinner should be ready very soon...
The water is hot , said the Wolf...
Ahh , but your body will feel so much better...
Just relax and drink this wine, dinner will have much more flavor... 
Hours went by...then the doorbell rang...
It was the Pigs,  from town known as the “ gang “...
Quick grab a chair and please be aware ...
That I have slaved all day for this affair...
One which will change your perception of me...
I might be a Chick, but as you will see...
I have accepted the challenge, and done my best...
So do me a favor and please honor my request ... 
Use your best table manners, and please do not squeal...
And for everyone’s sake, try not to “ Wolf “ down this  meal...




Copyright © kj force

Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE FLOOD

   



THE FLOOD…

		        And it shall come to past, when  I shall bring
                                    a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be
		       seen in the cloud…and the waters shall no 
                                   more become a flood to destroy…
		       

Memories are like tombstones:
Silent epitaphs of life.

We prepared well for the fire next time;
But the thunder came: wailing clouds
Released their sobbing tears

The crescendo passage of the river’s womb
Overflowed her loins; wetness
Saturating the helpless earth.

Stunned by the surge of the water’s fury,
We sandbagged hope; anchored by our faith,
we levied our destinies on the upper banks of time.

What sins had we forgotten to pray forgiveness for? 
How long had we cursed the drought?  Who Could stop the tears of God?

Cringing beneath the cloud, whining… 
We wiped away our tears; waiting on the crest.
In the tears of God; we waited on the dove: soaring

Skies; sailing in the mist of the bow’s rays;
Refracted by the savory tears of God.

Copyright © millard lowe

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Summer and the River


	
		
	Summer, 
	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.

Copyright © Jack Jordan

Details | Prose Poetry | |

ANGEL WITH AN UMBRELLA

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.

Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page

Details | Prose Poetry | |

His eyes are clear as water

his eyes are clear as water
they would seem to me like shallow pools
but I have glimpsed their depths
I have traveled on their currents
and I am as one lost at sea
in his cold, clear eyes

Copyright © Brandi Elizabeth Brown

Details | Prose Poetry | |

WinterBane

WinterBane 
WinterBane 
 
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

Copyright © charles hice

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love Waves

I’ve been watching love lately. Its waves were beckoning me. So I got up and came closer. I liked how it kissed my pale toes. So I tried to swim but time by time, in the middle, it exhausted me. So I tried floating. But then everytime I float, I sank, I felt like I still couldnt put myself into it. Eventually, I got tired, I’d sunk down and so love went away from me because I’m already in the deepest of all deeps and love cant pull me anymore.

Copyright © Diane Tgnn

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gator Bait Series 1st Cold Snapped

The wind was blowing when she left the city...

I believe it was twenty below...

Where she was going she already knew...

But... first she had things she had to do...

Get rid of the body that was clear....

There were no options, it had to disappear....

The heater was broken and blowing cold air...

She could feel the ice, building up in her hair..

She had cleaned up the blood as best she could...

As she had hit him hard with that log of wood...

All she had asked him, was to light a fire...

To take off the chill in the house....

Do it yourself if you are cold...he snapped

And while you’re at it get me a cold beer...from the fridge..




It was early morning when she finally arrived at the bridge..

This was his favourite fishing spot...

She pushed his body off the pier...along with his ice cold beer..

And suddenly began to shiver and sneeze.....

Oh well, she said...this too shall pass..

When I get to the Florida Keys..


PS..this is the first in a series..watch for part 2.."gator bait..the dream "









Copyright © kj force

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Watering

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.

Copyright © Randall Smith

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hand Wash in Cold Water


We may have made our
own beds to lie in
but by helping each other wash the
dirty sheets of our past,
perhaps we can keep the
pillowcases of our dreams
unstained.

Copyright © Kimberly Anderson

Details | Prose Poetry | |

DefinitiveSound

DefinitiveSound
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. 
Definitive sound.

Copyright © charles hice

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Titanic The Unsinkable Ship

What people believed in 1912.
Was a myth in the truth, placed on a shelf.
Was the unthinkable, unsinkable..
The fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
Would never kneel or break its bow.
The ship could never sink or rust.
Was rumor going round, we all could trust.
The crowd showd up to celebrate.
As the ship was Christened to show its fate.
But The White Star Line was cruising fine.
When it hit a berg, under a darkened sky.
There it lie, with many to cry.
At the bottom of the sea she'll die.
They said the Titanic could never sink.
Their opinion a myth, now she's on the brink.
With fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
The voyagers finished their final meal.
To the bottom of the ocean they went.
A many to cry, while she made her descent.
The Titanic was a ship in trouble.
But now a myth, and a pile of rubble.
At the bottom's where she made her grave.
A sigh of relief, for the lives they saved.
To the rescue, and on the double.
Titanic was a ship in trouble..
Her maiden voyage, now turn the page.
Thousand of people, in a fit of rage.
The news it read that we all should mourn.
The Titanic's passengers, their lives were torn.
A myth of truth placed in the news.
The unsinkable ship..Would never lose.

Titanic-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2009,2014..
ALL rights reserved.. 

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Second Fable

 The Second Fable 
The Second Fable 
 
The BusYness 
 
 
The Alcoholic boss: 
       The man was doing inventory when the lady called his namme. 
“Johnny what is wrong with you eye just looked out at the van? 
The tire is almost flat again eye just gave you a hundred dollars yesterday to get 
the tire fixed and eye remember giving you fifty just last week? You must have 
kept the money are you drinking now again?” 
The Alcoholic Worker: 
“Tilly you are mistaken the tire is not that low eye checked the gauge myself less 
than two hours ago. 
The receipt for the tireshop is still inside the till Tilly why do not you still believe 
me tell me Tilly how could eye get a receipt like that unless eye paid the bill?” 
The Alcoholic Worker: 
To Tilly:“Every now and then they do a poor poor job so eye will take the van back 
to the tire shop and have them check that tire again.” 

To ASIDE: The whiskey that eye bought with that old coots money is still in the 
center console eye have to drink it now today and she will knoe I'm drunk unless 
eye leave the van somewhere and say that it got stolen and the bad men beat me 
up. 
Narrator Charlax Android One Seven: 
The Johnny worker got in the van and drove to the center of a bridge he leaped 
from the bridge into the water down below with the whiskey in his hand and left 
the van in the center of the bridge the tire was now so low it was just flat. 
The Alcoholic Worker: 
Johnny to hisself: “The Tilly will believe me why should she doubt so much eye 
have to make this look good a lie is soon found out.” 
Narrator Charlax One Seven: 
Johnny took a rock of largesse size and hit himself more than three times hard 
upon his brow his forehead split wide open he looked like a beaten up man. 
He finished off the whiskey and walked somewhat surprised that his worthwhile 
plan had come to a fruition in his addled whiskey mind back to the sewing 
shoppe. 
 Listen as the woman talks to him. 

                        The Alcoholic Boss: 
“Before you say a word to me my alcoholic Johnny there was a Charlax sitting 
underneath the bridge playing games down in the water he loves a mermaid 
there and kisses all her hair. He saw you leave the van and leap into the water 
my friend MISS Tilly Two is bringing back the van for you.” 
“Now don't you feel so foolish the job was feeding you now you will look for 
someone else to tell your lies to rob them of there wealth to feed your alcoholic 
drive.” 

Copyright © charles hice

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rutland Water

The water, sandy shore, lush hills, swaying trees, the smart lakeside houses and 

boated fishermen in the breeze from the Spit of the largest reservoir in England's 

smallest county completed our beautiful Spring day in the Midlands. 


Copyright © Peter Dorr

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Marriage of Oil and Water

Cups thrust high, A diving umbrella licks at many fingers, 
rose water licks - and seeks our elbows for a plunge and gathering below. 
Now echoes the trumpet prelude, a brilliant flash of praise, 
almost a ritual proclamation. 

It matters none friend whether you're pro or con.
-When has it ever?
Let us climb the high sun groping forest, 
and consume together with glee split faces, 
the sloppy viscous sex of misanthropy and philanthropy.

Copyright © William Green

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Portrait of a Water Lady and I

 
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.
Love, 
Alyssa Couture

Copyright © Alyssa couture

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fourth Fable

 The Fourth Fable 
The Fourth Fable 
 
A Jesus Cowboy Song 
 
Eye am a strong man iff strength is not physical alone, 
but charachter and hope, love become my armour 
 my arm as gates once opened close now new ones open at a glance in poverty 
of riches poor people there in Heaven sing to Jesus as they wave branches from 
the richness of the trees beside the waters running in the trenches freely given 
overflowing when a little lamb just wants a drink of water another drink the water 
bubbles up so no one has to lift her she can reach the water carefully she drinks 
and then she sings…' 
'my holster is empty my life is complete my love is in Heaven 
eye have plenty to eat and to drink ' 
life is not meant to be a shoot em up rodeo 
life is not meant to be a shoot um up movie 
my life is in Heaven my holster is empty 
eye have LOVE' 
 

Copyright © charles hice

Details | Prose Poetry | |

At The Well

Lingering at the well of living water, 
Jesus always meets them there.
He welcomes all with open arms and 
carries all their care.
Looking at a reflection in that well, 
"The Lord God," the crowds plainly see. 
His blood, the cross,  nail scarred hands, 
that has set His people free. 

The living water removes all stains. 
It cleanses  "whosoever" will.
and offers  His great comfort, 
of "Peace, be still."
Lingering at the well of living water,
It's nourishment refreshes the soul. 
Through all seasons it never runs dry, 
His Love has made them whole......



Copyright © Edith D Eutsler

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Day in the Country

Lost in a beautiful garden that stretched far into the perfect turquoise horizon,
Amazed at the smells, the beauty with the breeze singing through blossomy trees
The cherry blossom danced in a light wind lifted it off boughs swirling in the air,
Sun shining through budding branches, shadows of mighty oak trees black on green

A haunting tune from the star in the meadows a nightingale sang to his loved one,
His song filled the air over water mead's nearby, and floated through great woods,
A trickling stream flowed with golden water running and leaping to a noble river,
Last years fallen crisp brown red leaves floated off on a journey to a noble river.

Listening to a nightingales opera warming the hardest heart it floats in the wind,
Then when it does not seem possible to hear a better sound the bird changes pitch,
While it sings sweetly the rest of the grasslands are silent, proud and respectful,
As no other voice can match the wonderful tune that rings through heaths and dales.

In the distance there were some landmarks that were familiar so now I was not lost,
I spotted a butcher-bird, cockchafer in the warm woods as I stood on spongy turf,
Saxifrage in the meadow as I walked out from the wood into brilliant May sunshine,
Far in the distance a horn sounded to tell workers their work was done and go home.

Copyright © Terry Trainor

Details | Prose Poetry | |

water is life

 WATER IS LIFE
People ignore me because of my simple nature
If you ask me, I would not hesitate to say;
When the creator takes, I take, however, every other thing comes after me.
As a liquid, so colorless I am, I don’t deny the fact anyway
But, tell you solemnly I am valuable more than any conceivable liquid that men embrace.
Plant feel prideful enough, men thought they are the greatest
Birds of the air with their glittering nature, this is because;
I get enormous kiss from them every time!
When I become angry for anything, 
I will put shame, disgrace to it
It cease from its normal functioning.
If men boast that they can do without me, notwithstanding the status
Can they withstand my wrath when I cease for three weeks?
Oh no! Even if they can, they will stink, struck them with disease-
Disfigure their physic and they will kiss the mother Earth!
Why should the birds be arrogant?
Is it for; their unique feathers, attractive beaks, and their consequential legs?
Do they not feed in fruits of trees?
Which I nurture tenaciously from incarnation
If I should give them my back side, they will simply add nothing but
 Manure to the mother Earth.
What of the beautiful flamboyant flowers
That produces sweet nectar for insect to live?
What of The plant of the earth that every animal derives its life?
Am I not the one that makes them paramount?
If they decide not to be in speaking terms with me
Oh no! I will make them as thin as an AIDS patient
I will disfigure their out look to resemble such suffering from-
Sickle-cell anemia or perhaps, kwashiorkor
But, am so glad that, inter-alia, they concede that
I should as well be attributed as life!  














Copyright © Nnachetam Stanislaus

Details | Prose Poetry | |

WITH RAIN CAME LOVE

WITH RAIN CAME LOVE
Cool breeze
Cumulus clouds
Breeze solidifies,
Drizzling
Monsoon rain
White threads move to
Heavy shower.
Rain smiles
And with rain came love.
Long journeys
Longing leaning on his back
In the valley
Where meteors shower
Unexpected momentary moments
Eddied life,
Glimpses like water bubbles
Shadows overpowered specks of lights
Specks of laurels
Sudden borders to dreams
Yonder in the sky departing clouds
Swollen rain clouds
Lustre obscure
Renunciation with disinterest
Rain and love spreading over
Love brought silence
Mermaids, water nymphs
Stood guard.
We went close at heels
Along turbulent back waters
We sat, in grief
In rain and mystifying silence
Passion delivered
And kept in store
Spread over us.
Rain peeping through
Birch trees
Rain lashing through
Gulmohar
Geography of silence
Without a speck of dirt
Pious communion
Of love and rain.
Wailing hornbills, compassionate
Invoked rain
She saw us in deep grief
Grief of life-
Love in deep sleep blushed into
Wakefulness.
Longing, sights and rude realities
Cosmic force showers
Moments of eternal bliss.
In steep valley of sterility
Ascetic sun winked
At welcome clouds
Dryness transplanted
Into alluvial softness.
Rude faces, sights and longings
Lost way,
Emerged throbbing passion.
Showers of love,
Showers of mystic bliss.

Copyright © J.KOLADI SAMSON

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Sky of Water

A Sky of Water
Arabic Poem By: Falah Al-Shabender*
Traslate By
 Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
====================

A sky of water
Doesn't blaze in a glance;
It follows us, as we head towards it, 
Fraying its essence, 
And transcending in its mysteries;
Emptiness .. Mooing.. And dizziness swallow us,
Undigested.

Here our faces are prayers, 
The horizon is a hearth of died out ashes
No effort is needed
For faith in the supreme.

A phoenix 
From the far away echo
Drops a shadow painting a sign, 
The road leads to......... 
Only if I had a seeder 
For this bird hovering above us, 
And if I hoped for any good from it! 
But, No; it's there by chance! 
If I set up a trap for it, 
I'd capture it.
But, no,
Not this.. and not that! 
We've defined its sky, 
And I have the seeds for it

-What are your seeds? 
-Words, Sir! 
-I don't think it reads.
-But it could hear! 


In the floating cave, their fourth was the bird,
Landed on the threshold.
- Only if this bird would  write us on land, 
To be our witness!
 
Of wood they carved a ladder, 
And climbed the index of birds;
Their mu'ezzin called: 
The nigt is nibbling at the day, 
Digging its valley, 
Pouring in seepage of the last farewell; 
In the naked night, 
We become more than what we are..! 
And what hangs us to the sudden in the darkness, 
We wait to see what comes out of its abode; 
Because this hour,
Is the hour of mere animal! 
It senses our nakedness, 
Chills with patience
Floating creeps in .. A floating drum 
Over a sky of water 
The voice creeps ... 
Somber chant: 
The opposite triumphed........... The opposite is defeated 
Falling rain  .......... Rising smoke 
Breathing and exhaling 
The opposite triumphed........... The opposite is defeated,
And the foam exhales 
Paper of disgraced thoughts; 
The waves giggle;
We retreat, swinging with bias, 
Turn around, and revolve around "the intoxicated boat;" 
We retreat, 
Our backs meet, 
 And we join;
The tough waits for the tough 
"To be or not to be" ............ That is the guffaw! 

Oh, sovereign power of the sea, 
We are sand;
The bird is belated
And we are picked up by dust. 

*****

Translatedby: 
Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
USA
February 2010


*Falah Al-Shabender is a poet from Iraq
The original text in Arabic: http://www.alnoor.se/article.asp?id=80084


 

Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beneath the Water Drowning

I guess we'll never know
if you found peace
or if the answers came
to you somehow

In the turmoil
of your life' passion
you encountered confusing contradictions
when you needed compassion

Your struggle against the flow
estranged you
to your loved ones 
you thought your
husband was a foe

I'd like to know
what you were thinking
what drove you to the point
of jumping in
after a bout of heavy drinking 

The creative gene you possessed
is in me now and I thank you
for allowing me to have it 
my dream is that in
the afterlife I'll see you

Until then I guess
we'll never know
if beneath the waters
you found what you
were looking for.

Copyright © Uwe Stroh

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Death Calls Out to Us

What does death want with us? Why does it laugh viciously when it takes another? Why do we cry so when we loose yet another? When will we realize that the end an end is near? How can we, be ready, in every moment? How can we, stand, when all around us falls? How can we carry on when everything emits death? How can we continue on, brushing death aside? What gives us that false sense of pride? Oh, that which we try to hide, That, That which we try to hide… How long will it take until the tide washes over??When will it wash over our lines in the sand? Will you and I then run hand in hand? Or, will the waves wash away our names? IS it all these silly games? All the silly things that I call fame. How simple is it, that the sand simply returns? Never the same as it was, but washed away. Like time in a bottle, Dripping away. Dripping, slowly, quickly away. How will I face the entire onslaught of the waves? When the water is rushing in, will I sink or swim? How can I blame the water, When I never learned to swim? How can I blame the air? The air I never learned to breathe. How can I blame the water that drags me down? What does it do? Nothing… Can’t I still breathe? Aren’t my lungs filling with water? How can I blame this feeling, so painful, for how I feel? Don’t I have myself? Myself and only I? Am I truly the reason? The reason why waves crash and pour from my eyes? Am I the reason they fill my lungs? Am I the reason death’s pain still stung?

Copyright © Sam Murrish

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Flowing Water By : Nesar Translated By Hatem

The early morning, the edge of spring And the flowing water 
My Beloved, ask God to grant you me And the flowing water.
She was gazed in her picture, while the picture was gone with water 
The girl stands on her place and the water flows 
When it comes in your poem, it may has the relevance
The interpretation of scared beauty And the flowing water 
The eyes of some are full of tears and lips of some are dry  
O God! Combine that desert and flowing water 
 What an unusual dream, I always dream it 
Nesar , you and she together And the flowing water

Copyright © hatem Khan