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Prose Poetry Wife Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Wife

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Red Hot Snapper

When a relationship is based
on a red hot snapper
with a knockout wrapper
that builds a fire in your jeans.

This kind of marriage is for
the movie screen.

In time the snapper cools down.
The knockout wrapper isn't
quite the knockout it used to be
and the fire in your jeans is on it's way out.

This is now the beginning of the end.
You don't really know each other
your not even friends
and now the fights begin.

If you had picked your wife for life
with the head on your shoulders
instead of the one between your knees,
you might have found a wife for life
instead of a high maintenance money pit
that you can't please.

Copyright © Terry L. Allen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |


If only you could see the vision
Now deeply living inside my mind
Feeling the peace which now stays
Knowing your love is only mine.

If only you could feel the passion
Which each new day is on the rise,
Then you would never worry at all
For you will never face lonely times

I truly love you deep within my heart
With a pure power that never ends
And every time I awaken to your smile
Its life essence selflessly begins

For I feel what you have given me
With the love you allow me to seize
Binds me tightly to a fervent need
To have your love always next to me.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Another man's wife

In love I was lost
I plunged headlong
Oblivious of the consequences
For she was fair to behold
E’en fairer than the lily of the garden

She took me by my hand
And together we strolled
We explored the new frontiers of love
My company she greatly adored
Until she couldn’t break free 
From the spell of love
Cast on her by fate
Uhm! It’s amazing what love can do

Damning the consequences
I forged ahead with my newfound love
Paradise was unraveled before me
An adventure of some sort it seemed
“Give it a try,” I urged myself
Shutting my mind deliberately to the odds

For if she had known
Then she wouldn’t have allowed me
Entry into her life
But her actions defies all explanation
Void envelopes her being in my absence
What had suddenly come over her?
In so short a while

When she laughed, I laughed
When I cried, she cried as well
The blissful times we shared were dear
Held close to my heart like a testament
“Could anything be this cherished?” I thought
Life definitely seemed very good

She withdrew at certain times
Not because she was through with me, nay!
But she remembers her Man-the Man
“You cannot understand,” she tells me
“You cannot understand,” she affirms
I am another Man’s wife

Like a thief in the night 
Her man came
The show he stole
For he had cut short his journey
Unannounced he strolled into the scene
After all he owned the show
He assumes his manly duties once again
Giving her love and succor as it were
He was the man, I was a villain

I was soon relegated to the rear
Despondency and dejection became my theme song
Jealousy I spat out like bile
No one would empathize my shattered heart
For I was warned before hand
Not to fall in love with
Another Man’s wife.

Copyright © Funshio The Poet | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Controlling Men: Physically, Mentally, and Verbally Abusive Men

All men (the loser boyfriends/husbands) think that it's their right to be physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward their female companions (girlfriends/wives), well they're wrong. Most guys are always beating their girlfriends/wives up every single day just because they didn't make their men dinner, do chores around the house, or whatever. It seems that these womanizing losers are way better than their women. Actually, they're not; they're idiots. Controlling these women and being physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward them don't make these Neanderthals men; they're like childish cowards. All guys think that they're the only breadwinners in their families and the women aren't. But guess what--they're not; some of them don't have jobs. And does anyone knows what gets on my nerves? Men always cheating on their girlfriends/wives with other women, getting them pregnant, and not taking care of the children they already have. And those controlling, abusive men, they're always telling their female spouses/lovers what to do, what to eat, where to look, and who to talk to. I mean, who are these womanizing losers to judge other men and to boss these women around? I mean, who does that? Everybody doesn't even know why they'd bother spending the rest of their lives with those abusive idiots. This whole saying by these controlling abusive men have been getting on everybody's nerves and my nerves, as well: "You're-not-to-speak-unless-spoken-to," this "You're-not-to-talk-to-your-family" ordeal, this whole "You're-not-to-have-guy-friends," and this whole "You need me! You're nothing without me! You have no money! You have no friends! Everything's in my name: the house, the cars, clothes, everything I own! You're useless! You're worthless! I own you for life! And you will respect me!" Where I come from, the rest of us nicer guys, we treat our women with the respect they rightfully deserve. The last time I checked, the mothers have raised their sons to treat women and other people with respect, but they now know where they've gone wrong with those womanizing clowns. My suggestion for the women is for them to leave their abusive husbands/boyfriends before it's too late because if they don't, they'll end up in the hospital or the morgue. To be honest, these women, they never should've met, let alone dated or married those abusive men to begin with. And if these abusive men think that they can control those women forever, they've got another coming.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Light In Your Eyes

When I saw a diamond
yesterday, I saw the fire
which lives in your eyes

I saw the deep blazing
beauty that often causes
grown men to cry

I felt the pains that
many in life endure,
who suddenly find a
very deep need…

To have that fire alive 
within the diamonds heart 
become the one to satisfy 
their daily needs

For in that tiny window
I saw something precious
which might even compare
to you

Yet when I saw your
smile as the sun rose 
this morning I could no
longer continued with 
this sad ruse

For even though the 
brilliant flame of a 
diamond, will burn so 
very bright…

Even its brilliance alone
can never compare to the 
radiance that daily fills
your eyes with its exquisite

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Have you ever imagined the world we live without women?
It is like a lung without some oxygen, agonizing and inevitably dead,
A face never with a smile, boring and unfriendly.
A cup of tea without some grains of sugar, bitter and foul,
A pool without some water, dry and empty,
A good ride on a bad untilled road, rough and uninteresting,
The earth without some drops of rain, an inescapable famine,

But how come with the great number of women on planet earth?
We still live to cry as a reggae legend sang “no woman no cry”,
It is because they permit evil as much as they permit good,
Gullible and instrumental in the hand of the wicked ones,
Ugly and nice, beautiful and dangerous,
Cunning like serpents, deceitful like chameleon,
Holy but liars, having a form of godliness but highly ungodly,
Lovely like little puppies, sweet like bees honey,
Women, an invincible force in our our world today.

(c) 2010

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Coming home to you everyday

My best friend is just a few yards away
not feeling well she’s had a long day.
Right now in our bedroom watching a cooking show
I don’t under stand it, she knows all there is to know.

As with every thing else she always wants to do better
she gives it her best even when she’s under the weather. 

My best friend is my most loving wife
She has given me the best years of her life.

It’s been thirty nine years since I took her as my bride
That’s thirty nine years with my best friend by my side.	

A lot has happened since our day in September
some things forgotten but the best I still remember.

I remember the warmth and passion of our youth
I still feel it when I think of you and that’s the truth.

I remember worrying that my job would call me away
all I ever wanted was to come home to you everyday.

Copyright © Monty Newman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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, repairable 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...

Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |


This is a rat infested; flea bitten, trash seeking, concrete hardened, Winter frozen, nose closing stench I call life. Poverty my wife: Ash my nourishment; paper my blanket; disorder my order; Sewage my water; concrete my mattress; streets my room No-one is who I am Living to see another day my plan Been all over the place but still the same street Cracked the hardest sole by the greater feet, Which though winter or summer bring the strongest cold? BUT YET SO BOLD To crack a smile of serenity, freeing me, peacefully Un-comprehended but well complemented But can’t dare to share it With my enemies: the rich; the government; the wealthy I salute you poverty, there were not supposed to be Don’t they know the richer they are the poorer I become I know that I’m black but poverty is where I’m from They may get richer in rand but I’ve got more in cent Common and the ones jingling in my pants That’s why I say: “This is a rat infested; flea bitten, trash seeking, concrete hardened, Winter frozen, nose closing stench I call LIFE.” POVERTY MY WIFE

Copyright © siza sibiya | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Softly Sleep

Softly sleep my darling
kindly resting your mind
your heart and eyes

Know as you sleep you
are protected as I will
never leave your side

And dream my dearest
sweet dreams, of the 
way your life should be

And in your dreams
as you rest my darling
please always find a
place for me

Just softly sleep my 
darling, and as you 
do, you will find it
to be

That even in your dreams
at night, you’ll feel
the peace which our love 

For love you are so 
wonderful and the 
Truest pleasure of
life to me

So while you close your
eyes to quietly rest,
know by your side I will
always be.


Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Waking up

I remember thinking to myself, you can get a  good night's sleep even after a bad day.

It was 3 years ago today when I woke up, packed my belongings and left for good.
You were standing there at the bus stop and asked me how my day was.
I wasn't sure if I could respond....But I knew I should. 
Reply to Her that is.... Not many people ever care, but she does I thought.
I knew where I was standing but deep down I felt lost.
You stood there and I felt a little less lost.
A block away from my home....from my old home, I realized.
I felt found standing next to you.
I replied. "Couldn't be better"
But I was never good at lying.
And you were good at poker.
My bluff was called.

I wake up every now and then and think of the moment you lifted me.
With your words. 
You didn't even know my name. You didn't even know what you were doing.
You did it.

Now 4 years later happily married, I still wake up in the middle of the night.
I visualize the shoe's I was wearing, the dirty white laces that seemed to me not to be tied. Like a loose stage of my life. 
But you tied them. I was the left lace, you the right.
And every now and then when I look up in this dream I see my wife's beautiful eyes standing next to me, other time's its an angel. One and the same they are.

My bluff was called.
She said "You have the same look I had not but a few weeks ago. But your tone of voice is a lot more obvious."
"Were still out there" She says and looks up at the clouds.
She meant women you can love. I knew what she meant.
"Are you out there?" I replied.
"No." She says.
"I'm right here".

Copyright © Hani Gholami | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Kill a smile with a kiss
The demise of it will visit you in your dreams
Never will I let you
Drown in a pool of angry thoughts
I will be your unexpected smile
Every time I bring u roses b4 valentine
A wet poem I would recite for you

I would make you my 1st rhyme
your heart-beat will rhyme
Twist my beat box
Into a love song
A cartoon I would paint in your heart to keep you smiling
Your twin smiles I would define in vernacular
Though I speak no language from Peninsula
My parents will define your beauty as African splendor
Black mother nation
Smile please smile

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My love

My love is more than 
just the tiny words,
that find a welcome
place within your heart

My love is more than
the feelings felt, when
you allow my love in
 your heart to start

For my love is more
than what your eyes
see,  as you lovingly
gaze my way

For my love is the 
same as the love you
feel deep in your 
gentle heart each day.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I can’t wait to have a love match

With you in a love nest 

Surrounded by love-lies-bleeding

Sitting on the love seat 

Where we hold a love knot together

And with love beads around your neck

After which we’ll travel down to Love-land 

Where we will be joined in a love-in

(c) 2010

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Kis

A Kis



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


Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wash Away My Tears

I see the sail disappearing 
Upon the horizon blue.
Waves crashing on the shore 
As mind thinks back to you.

You are like the sail
That no longer do I see.
Seems that a waft of wind
Has taken you from me.

Was it not so long ago 
We sat upon this shore?
Words whisper of tomorrow. 
We'd be one forever more.

How we laughed and giggled,
 Waves washed between our toes
Words of I love you 
From our lips so easily flowed.

Our bodies so entangled
On the blanket we did share.
Made love under moonbeams
As waves threw mist up in the air.

That was forty years ago
We made love upon this shore.
Still have that blanket 
I will keep for ever more.

You are no longer with me 
The tide has taken you away.
But in my mind and heart
There you will never stray.

So come sit here beside me
Whisper I love you in my ear.
Hold me close and kiss me
And wash away my tears.

Copyright © Donald Eissler | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Best Part

Love help me go to sleep last night
She made my dreams peaceful and sweet
She caused laughter in my heart to rise
Leaving memories for my heart to keep

Her love awoken me this morning
With a smile that's one of a kind
It embraced me with such a warmth
I was proud that her love is mine

And love sent me on my way today
Off into this world’s daily grind
In her heart her eyes were on me
As she thought of me all the time

At the end of the day while tired
Love found the time to lift my heart
For she kissed me twice upon my lips
For this time of day is her best part.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Faithful to thee

Nearly six years ago you came into my life, 
just as my treasure chest was running out of light.

You accepted me while I was at my lowest, 
Gave me a bed to lay in and our love began to flourish.

Through bumpy roads we have gone yet held on with a stronger bond, 
Together we shall tackle these hurdles for our love shall not be overrun.

Never should you worry about me venturing to find another, 
WE were meant to be for you are my future Wife, Best friend, and my Lover.

Without you there would be no me, 
God forbid I lose you for my life would be incomplete.

My soul always yearns for your Kisses, Love and tender Embrace,
Let's make our Love glow even brighter for God himself would need to wear shades.

My heart lays in you hands which is secured by the strongest locket, 
You are the sole holder of the key that is needed to unlock it.

You rescued me while I was crumbling and found it hard to breathe, 
I am grateful to have you forever I shall be Faithful to thee. ©

By : Shawn Munoz

Copyright © Shawn Munoz | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |


No one really knows 
The True Mr. Right or the true Mr. Wrong
They all come singing, the same sad song
Her dad once told her Mr. Right
Will choose the right path to God
Mr. Wrong would lie, cheat
Make your head go round and round
Mr. Right would have dignity and pride
Mr. Wrong, false promises then hide
Ever hear Trini Mr. right or a Trini Mr. Wrong?
Full ah ma-ma-guy, fake be gone
Remember, be careful choosing Mr. Right
Be fearful of Mr. Wrong
And analyze all, their sad songs...

©Copyright November 1, 2011 by Brian Pierre-Alexander 
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Brian Pierre-Alexander | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I'm The Phoenix

I'm The Phoenix
  *     *    *
Perhaps I'm meant to carry
these burdens alone; 
to struggle to a new level
of achievement
only to find it's all been an illusion; 
to have my load 
come crashing in around me, 
only to have it lifted again. 
If that’s so let it be. 
For I only lose to those who 
not enjoy my labor, 
perhaps I'm the Phoenix 
that's meant to have many love’s 
within me as this world go 
though it’s cycles as 
I grow more common then 
to self-destruct with 
flames of slow desires and excess, 
if this is true so be it. 
For then how I can still lose 
when I fail to rise again, 
when I'm meant to have you 
put before me to gaze and crave upon and to share 
even but for a fraction before having you wrenched 
away without even a smile 
when I reach out touching you?
If that's truth so be it. for I only lose when 
I fail trying to stretch out for you 
at the end of my life! 
Steven L. Siegel
December 6, 2009

Copyright © Steven Siegel | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Final Wishes of a Poet

Final Wishes of a Poet 
Arabic poem By: Rukn-al-Din Yunus
Translated into English By: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
(Part 1 of 3)

Lend me a handful of earth
So that I may make you a statue 
You have not seen the like before
In your dreams.
Lend me a breath of spring
I’ll paint you cities, seashores 
And passionate rendezvous.
Lend me some of your crazy letters 
And I will dispatch couriers
To deliver them to gardens
And send elegantly dressed devotees
With a touch of sadness 
To receive them from the gardens
And read them to the river.
Lend me some of the words
Escaping from under your hat, 
Which has no resemblance to Pablo Neruda’s,
To write you an epic 
Spelled out by tyrants
Every night 
To cry their own fates in the morning.
Lend me an evening you could spare
To romp through virtual streets 
Named after living poets 
From different generations
Wherein a river of music goes over the heads of passersby
Drowning all in ageless glamour. 
Lend me the rest of the golden letters
In your pocket
To disperse them over the outskirts of my words
And the lanterns of my dreams
To light up what’s left of the opaque sentences 
In the imagination of the painter
And the wisdom of the poet 
Who is crazed about the clay
On the banks of the Hilla River.

(Part 2 of 3)

I'll die tonight...
O my dear wife!
I’ve never liked farewell ceremonies
In my life
So let things be normal and quiet.
Forgive me! I will not kiss you tonight
Just lie down beside me on the bed
For now.
Don’t tell the boys about my no-return journey 
Don’t let the girls cry with you
Especially the married one
And the little one
The middle one as well.
Let everything be as ordained for me
By those I don’t know
All I know for sure
I will die tonight.
How? ..... I do not know!
How? ..... I do not know!
At what time? …. The mind of the poet is unable to tell.
I will die my dear wife
Don’t forget to feed the dog “Yoyo” early in the morning.
Don’t neglect spraying the garden 
First in the morning
Even if it was time for the funeral.
And don’t forget the seven o'clock news
Listen to it for the sake of your love for me
They always mention news of the lost homeland.
Don’t forget ever....
The chicken feed
I’d like to hear 
The cock’s crow every morning in my grave.
And hide the empty wine bottles
Out of the sight of mourners...
I don’t want them to accuse poets of infidelity.
And if they ask you 
What was with him before he died?
Just tell them:
He forgot to live!

(Part 3 of 3)

Before I died
My wife made me a clay statue 
And cried at it
She and her five daughters did.
But my two sons took no notice
Of their mother crying
Nor of their sisters wearing black 
But, rather,  
They seized the opportunity
And went out to join their peers
In a football game!

Before I died
My friends vied 
And jostled in front of  
Mercenary and non-mercenary newspapers’ buildings
Led by “Riyadh Alghareeb”
To provide their elegies for my immortal soul
Which reminds them of their own
As they greet death.

And since that day
I am holding on to my soul
Lest it slips away 
In a moment 
Of inattention
From me
The poet
Rukn al-Din Yunus
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
November 2013

* Rukn-al-Din Yunus is a poet from Iraq

Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Myth Uncovered

To love another more than life itself...

Is sweet bereavement...Sealed within
loves kiss...

...A love so deep...fathomed in oceans...
only truth can find...

A myth uncovered - discovered over time...

...To relish in this beauty...way beyond compare...

...To look into the eyes of an angel...
...Mornings first light...

...We feel with hearts despair...

...For we nurture this...

...This love we believe has found its way here...

...We cherish everyday...
...this love beyond compare...

...Immortal wish bestow...

....For we love in tomorrows tomorrow...

...This life this love we celebrate...

these two souls love has found...

...this life - this love...

...this love itself creates...

Copyright © Eileen R. Kelly | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

For Them For Me Written in the Loss of My Wife and Children

~ (~) ~ . .. ... .. . . . ......... ........ ....... ............... ............... .............. ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ....... ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If I were to have my way; the welcome of-those bygone days, then I'd be sure they would know. My hopes the fairest dreams of all; were all I wanted to share - the ones held so dear that I couldn't let go of for anyone - but them. As plane rides come to mind jet setting daily qualms God's buried grace the quiet suicides, was all that came of those-days, and because I have come to find, parachutes are an option-not only for those that are living... but are expressly offered for the worn walking alone and weary within themselves already reeling from their regrets - and so it is I believe God being the catalyst for my life, a show- of His greater eminence and Sovereignty - mercy - because I too exist myself in a free fall over this valley of the- dead - and-so it has become for me my own personal, peculiar- quirk of twisted providence, the evidence of my fate that all circles are not the same or brand entirely, nor an entity- within themselves... completely whole - because my- experience has shown that they too, given the-proper-vexing, like me - can be broken... . ................... ................. ;;;;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;; ............. ;;;;;;;;;;;;;; .................. ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; ........................................................ ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A poem in Labor

Fingers crossed spread wide open 
my brain is in pain/ a gift so pure 
baby rhymes crawl backwards in 
stains/ wrapped repertoires come in 
venomous rap pains/ chemical 
messengers ship signals from one 
cell to mythical metaphoric chains / 
It’s the birth of new chapters/ 
Hormones walk tall through walls 
when summer reveals winter’s 
offspring lyrical babies captured/ 
Guilty are biters cheaters pledging 
the word spread of poetic 
descendents/ dippers snap when dirt
is packed overflowing flows the 
nation is watching the sexiest figures 
of speech/ push push push harder 
the rupture of the membrane 
dropped long before the poem 
started/ push push push harder with 
no worries sleepy awesome tongues 
lay low on Africa’s bosom/ little 
cough drop poems the bladder 
carries only few graceful mothers/ 
the birth of my poems

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fable Five

 Fable Five 
Fable Five 
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. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |


A Dialog Fabel 
 Mrs. Smithster: BOSS let me help you clean up your computor today the new 
auto program disc is arrived in my snail mail box. 
BOSS: OK just don't lose any of my contacts on the list the accounts are way too 
JUNE: to her self: an aside: GET HIM who does he THINK he is giving me that 
guff so early in the mourning. 
BOSS: Poor June is my secretary and eye love her like my sister but she is so 
dense the bullits bounce off her like she is Superman, or wait no Supergirl 

Narrator Ed.Note: This is the twilight zoned for the next five minutiae you can not 
understand anything but this fable you have been transported to the twilight 
zone.   This Lady Bosses Secretary one Mrs. June Smithster has been the 
receiver of a program sent to her inside her snail mail marked as a FIXIT 
program disc the entire story is now centered around what comes next let's 
watch what happens… 

Charlax the Narrator: June reached into the envelope slowly and opened the disc 
cover reluctantly she was wondering now just where it had come from it was 
compelling her to use it she could feel its message somewhere near her left toe 
and the eye her left eye was twitching like a nervous wrecked her whole face was 
letting go she had to she had to over and over like a ROBOT compulsion she 
HAD to place the disc in the BOSSES computor NOW. 
June: something is almost forcing me to use this new hardware it's an alien tech 
rippoff of an image of the MOON it makes me want to dress up and wear my 
cape out. 
Charlax the Narrator: The Bosses Computor is slowly being eaten up by the disc 
all the contacts on the every list are gone the moral of the CharlaXFabel number 
9904 poor gentle reader ewe is never use a disc program to enable accounts not 
meant to be edited by ewe. The computor is now gone the disc dropped to the 
floor lets go back and see what happens now… 
BOSS: walking in to his office to check on his computor and June Smithster: well 
that is not funny did the android charlock pick up my computor for cleaning 
Charlax the Narrator:  but there is only silence from the corner of the room where 
June is laying down curled up in a ball of Supergirl costume her cape lay furled 
around her like a hobo blanket cover… 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |

That Kind Of Person

There are people who are simply dazzling
What they do to you, you can’t explain.
With just a single instant you can know;
Know that I can live with this person and all their troubles.

That kind of person you know I can marry.
That kind of person whose picture you can zoom into from all angles.
That kind of a person whom when you think of, inspires your whole day.
That kind of a person whose smile you would want to see each morning.

How much I wish she knew.
She is that kind of person I want write my only vows for.
That kind of person I want to be my first and my last.
That kind person I want to laugh, cry, jubilate and spend every day with.
She is that kind of person I dig.

Her presence creates an aura that mesmerizes my heart, and furnishes my soul
In her presence my heart is buoyant, in a serene atmosphere, which she only can create.
She is that kind of person.
I hope, I am that kind of a person that makes her blush,
That kind of person that makes butterflies rejoice in her belly.
I want to be that kind of person.
I want to marry you 

Copyright © Walter T Rambwi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Though Long and dreadful, the darkness has now become Light

Her clothes soaks in a sea of sweat, her skin wet, brown and muddy, as though floating in a Lake with debris. Notorious in her screams and dangerous in her gaze Making her the worst villain of the neighborhood been greatly antagonistic to Manhood as agony and frustration befell her, comparative to experiencing a difficult means of Livelihood. Medication may be an immediate remedy but will not stop her hatred towards the brotherhood. In difficulty, she curses and swears, her sexuality, been the target and victim. Increase severity of her present situation, makes her casualty to moral decadence and deterring her ability to be sane. Her thinking faculty, substituted with rage, and naughty questions flooding her mind like the spring as she wondered why Humanity is propagated through such pain The Balloon of Life gone so flaccid, her pains, like the infiltrating effect of an Acid. Just one last push to proceed, knowing fully well, she will succeed and finally, the glorious result of a seed. She has been in a Barren Land so dry, the feeling of darkness, she is ready to fry the transition to light, she gives a try which becomes accomplished with a Newborn's cry.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mom's Death

I will always recall the day
my mom died.

She was in recovery for 
congestive heart surgery.
The work itself had gone well 
but brought on massive clots 
to the lungs.

I was an hour and a half away
and when I arrived, 
Mom was talking to the doctor.
He had tears in his eyes,
apologizing for getting hopes up 
where there was no hope now.
She looked him straight in the eye
and told him that she didn’t want to die.
But, if the Lord was ready 
the doctor didn’t need to cry.
“I know you did everything in your power 
to make me well”, she said. “So don’t you feel bad, 
don’t apologize for trying to help me.  
God is the one to have the final say.
I will resist going until my absolutely final breath. 
Because, I think that is what he expects of me.  
When I know it’s time I will be with him.”
The doctor left, I don’t know if he felt better. 
Probably not. He had promised her five more years.

I stayed and talked to mom for a while, 
before my brother came back in.
“Now Bunky, you know your brothers
are not as strong as you.  
You will have to help them through this.  
That is what I know you will do.”  
I said “yes Momma,” 
no longer fighting the wetness profusely rolling down my cheeks.
“Where’s Carolyn” she said of my wife. 
“I called her and she is on the way shortly. 
She will get here as soon as she can.” 
My brother came back in 
and I went out to the doctor again.

He said her lungs were completely clogged 
and she would slowly suffocate.  
But, it would be painless because she could breathe.  
She just couldn’t process the air.
She would simply go to sleep.
And that is the way the next four hours went,
with Mom going little by little.  
She napped, 
and woke up once in a while 
to ask about my younger brother 
and his wife and my wife. 
Telling all how much she loved them. 
She slept a little longer each
time she closed her eyes
and finally the only one not 
there was my wife.  
We thought a couple of times she had passed.  
But the nurse said she just wouldn’t give up. 
She sunk so low they couldn't find a pulse
or read blood pressure. 
I don’t remember how they knew she was not gone.  
Finally just before my wife
came in they actually didn’t know 
if she was still alive.
My wife came in and Mom spoke.
“Carolyn, Carolyn", very weakly and 
they talked softly for a while and Mom died. 
She had held on beyond a readable pulse.  
Beyond blood pressure. 
To tell my wife good bye. 

Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Pursuit Of Chastity

The Pursuit Of Chastity-g&g
By Curtis Johnson

Though not a right, may I seek a fading, but yet worthy pursuit?
For the many who’s pursuit of chastity in marriage grinds to a halt,
Could it not be due in part to being pulled toward illusions of grandeur?

Am I listening to the sound of music never designed for winners?
Do I look with glee through glasses neither half full nor half empty?
Am I salivating  over portraits created by mirages in the desert?

The continuous grind of interpersonal conflicts
The  verbal, emotional, and physical abuse
And the devastating effects of  ‘an affair’
Are they endurable or survivable?

The rights of life and liberty
And the pursuit of happiness too
So deeply rooted in the fiber of my being

But why do I not turn my eyes, and slowly walk away?
Why do I allow such noble dreams to become nightmares?

With two ears, I pursue chastity
In one ear I hear a voice, saying,
“With just one secluded night of infidelity,
You could be infused with adventure and pleasure”
That voice, so crystal clear, so pleasing and promising
It’s the sound of charm and enchantment, a costly voice

So I close the other ear that’s projecting a voice of caution and reason,
It says to me, “Please don’t, because you would lose a lasting bond of trust”.

Is it just me, or do I see a dying breed  of the trusted and the faithful?
Is it just me, or are we growing indifferent to the tried and the true?
Is there anybody trying to be reliable, like the rising and setting sun? cj04282015

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015