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Prose Poetry Animal Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Animal

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Details | Prose Poetry |

In A Perfect World

An idyllic Saturday evening scene-
on our street, little kids play
‘touch and go’.  Excited shrieks
and laughter warm the chilled February air, 
pavement alive with little feet's patter.

My neighbor’s Golden Labrador does it again: 
he slips out just as his owner 
drives through the tall, wide open iron gate.

Marley runs after the laughter-
playful, in his ferocious way.
Neighbor stops, engine idling, 
and looks intently as a frightened child, 
no more than ten, runs screaming in terror.

In hot pursuit, teeth bared, barking
with all his might, Marley obviously
enjoys the chase. I command the dog to stop
as I reach the child, his body trembling. 
I look at my neighbor's eyes - waiting.
He lowers his lashes, shifts the gear, 
tells his help to get Marley, and goes on his way. 

In a perfect world,  a little child would not know 
the meaning of terror and passive cruelty,
all in one breath.  He would not have to feel 
less valued than a pricey, crossbreed dog.

17 February 2016
Catie Lindsey's In a Perfect World Contest

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Scene From A Bike Ride

Like a royal parade,
they waddled across
the well traveled thoroughfare
teeming with autos crawling to a stop;
otherwise road rage reduced to admiration.

The regal drake held his head high—his eyes
piercing straight ahead—oblivious to the traffic.
The obeisance of his trailing brace
reflected a solemn reverence to their chief.

A mother hen shot an evil eye to a baby Donald
who quickly got back in step before exiting onto 
the dew laden emerald grass—Glistering.
With the aura of a spa for creatures
bearing wings or fins or tails, as well as feet,
the pond awaited them—one by one
quacking with pleasure as they entered.

As we mounted our bikes
to continue our ride, auto horns
began to honk and obscene words
abated the serene ambiance.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |



Evening slipped out of the cave
Crossed the rock wall
And buried the city in soft kisses
Sun god‘s dripping soup
Gave her child a sunset glow
She went back to her cave
To sleep, to grow

Night birds on the prowl
Growl of dark panther
Unsteady footfalls of ghosts
Silhouetted trees
Cacophony of fledglings 
Snakes ripe with venoms
Green eyed owl preening feathers
Deep in jungles fairies play
Near a lake moon sneaks in
Embers of childhood
Smoldering in deep.

Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


REFRAINS OF WINTER SONATA When fallen brown leaves brush a sepia picturesque and the bubbly breeze blows a heated winter sonata, the giant roses of clouds are teased, they shed icy petals tumbling, drifting like little ballerinas dropping to rest on branches of trees, grasses, houses and down to window ledges clustering in lily-white hues. Frosty mornings and nights lure the need for warmth from brewed coffee, a kiss or just a minute of touch... Absorbing the air, alone, I wander to the cover-walks, I see children tramping and playing on hills of frost, some couples carelessly sliding, they laugh out loud, yet afar, some robins, deer and beggars frown in despair as they are homeless. No fire nor a person to cuddle with. No adequate food to eat nor a flowing water to drink too... Cold. Wet. All white, frozen snow-tears are in their eyes and so I am one afternoon, a year and six months ago. The winter atmosphere can stir love passions within but how can it all be when the only woman, I love. I wanted to marry and ready to give my all: refused me? She, slowly walking away, leaving me crying-- a snow. ________________________________________________________ ~~SPONSOR: Broken Wings CONTEST: Write ME A Winter Poem~~ __Olive Eloisa Guillermo__ 8:16 pm, November 14, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


Said the fox to the fish:
Come with me fish, I can offer you speed
You never saw before
The red flash of a ride on my back
Beautiful sunsets from atop a mountain
Come with me fish, I can offer you food
Green lush of leaves
Fruit as many and juicy as
You never saw before

Said the fish to the fox:
Oh, my, dear fox, but I have all I need down here
Why don’t you come and see the wealth?
Schools of fish for you to hunt!
Oh, come and follow me.

So the fox jumped in and swam, and dived
But the elusive fish went deeper and deeper
And to avoid drowning the fox swam back up
Angry and disappointed


Said the fox to the bird:
Come down sweet bird, I can offer you a multitude
Of sweet ripe berries near my home
A safe place in a tree
To lay your eggs
Soft fur of my cubs to dress your nest with
Beautiful sunsets from atop my tree
Come down sweet bird

Said the bird to the fox:
Oh, my, dear fox, but I have all I need up here
Why don’t you come up and see my six
Wonderful eggs?
Oh, come up and look at them!

So the fox climbed, greedy and longing
For fresh eggs and bird
But all he found was an empty nest
And an empty twig, the bird long gone.


Said the fish to the bird:
They are so stupid, don’t they understand
That greed and deceit
Never wins?
So much fun to have a friend so different from me
Yet so alike.

Said the bird to the fish:
Have I told you how much I love you?
Such shame we can never live together
But we can share our tales right here
Every day


Sent in for contest: Fable on February 26, 2017
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Man's Best Friend

Abandoned, scared and alone he lay in his bed
Wondering if he will ever have a loving home
On the concrete floor, he lays his head
Without a care for his old bone

It’s loud and the rotten stench of shit and piss fill the air
He lay, wishing and dreaming that he didn’t have to be there
Locked up and taken prisoner he is so sad
He never thought his life could get this bad

What’d he do to deserve such a terrible fate?
Waiting for the day he reaches the end
All he is now is a cute little piece of bait
Never knowing if he will ever mend

From the terrifying experiences had
Now afraid of any large objects or yelling
He is older now and the young ones are the fad
Look in his eyes and see what they’re telling

A lost and most beautiful soul
Awaiting the day he may find love
And get out of this terrible lull
He looks up to the heavens above

All he can see are painfully fluorescent lights
Wishing so badly to see the outside
To get out of here and have play fights
What he really needs is a person, a guide

Someone to love and support him
He waits and waits for his special person
Someone who’d make his life less dim
While the pain and loneliness worsen

Copyright © Aubrey Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

The BegInDing

(Door bell rings)
 The damn dog barks and a voice is heard. Arms stretch, forming a letter Y. A head shakes. Dimples become this smooth cheek; lips form a letter O... Exhaled respiration sighs; the break of yawn verifies new horizons; official. Time refers to the handbook of rules. Rip threw page after page; crumpled up waste basket balls rim out off yawning lips. Illusive sleep hysteria dreams, that flicker on and off stroboscopic memories. Unconscious thoughts fill in gaps with a given assumption. Personal stead-fast conviction driving miss daisy; otherwise terrified by reverse psychological roles. Hole punched tickets admit one day: beginning with a letter D; memory recalls it ending with a big Y... Negative voices echo through lightless minds; laid flat in a bed between soiled linings. Poor children are told how; begging to find out why. Sit down, shut up, do what they tell you to do; innocent belief. Criminals will steal their hope; they will turn around and become them. Again and again this pattern seams stitched into fabricated existence. Rock bands form guitar heroes; creating descriptive music that we listen too. Lyrically guided by spoken words: this music takes us into journeys and out of mind. We release our inhibitions; momentarily vulnerable. At times we stay up all night; carrying one day into another. Two days still end with the same letter Y. Reality then gets associated with a drag; that's just life... Is it really though? How does this make you feel? Why is life as such? Apparently nothing changes if nothing changes; whatever that means... Nothing is what nobody does. Who is nobody? Nobody isn't even a person so... It is an it? It is a vaguely indicator word. Open ended like our speech tendency; along it goes on... What do you think is closer from truth? Closer to what and where is its origination? No-bodies language sighs lettered lips O and right arms wonder Y this really is... Left arms think nobody's looking and carry(s) on with, that's life... Somebody knows nobody.  Both of you know. Some... No... Any... Everybody includes anybody, but somebody overlooks nobody. Nobody's look like somebody in mirror’s image. You become nobody when you wear somebody's look. Anybody can change the outlook of everybody. Nobody has this ability... That's a matter of fact because nobody doesn't even exist. Everybody is somebody and this can be anybody; even you. (Door bell rings)  Two hands make two fists that rub two eyes. A new yawn gathers what is left to be salvaged of puzzled peace. Yesterday’s left over memory forgot its closure. Carried on with a letter Y; personal resolve unsettled by such a disregarded end. Time remains constant; utterly unbiased. How can I make the most out of my limited time? What have the messages of my instructors truly been intending? Make your time count rather than count all your time. End each day with clean linings free from soiled letter Y. Begin each new venture following a righteous close. It's not actually a fresh start if begun prior to such (a) just ending... Fret not for the dog is merely communicating to the best of its ability; most likely just saying hello. It is what it is but what may that be? Let it be but as simple as it truly is intended to be... Anything and everything comes to an eventual end. Followed by an unbiased time shaped beginning. Be somebody! Someone who doesn't know how to be nobody anymore. Count yourself in; everybody's included. Horizons scarlet colored reality sends its hopeful rays to signal the beginning. Only to use the same sign for the end. Embrace each exceptional end and embark new beginnings with hope filled wide eyes. Close the door on yesterday and open up for today.      (Door bell rings)                          The BegInDing--   Ironic Zinc  10-10-15

Copyright © Ir0nic ZiNk | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

An Affair with Death

I knew I was gone when I went into the sleep..
There was no guilt or pain insight..
I’ve never had an affair of the heart.. of mind, body and soul..
The comfort I felt was beyond words from my mind...
And I was destined to fall under his spell...
The fire I felt on my skin began to rage..
 I became like an animal in a cage..
Every time I drew back, he pushed me forward..
I could feel his arms embrace me like no other,
His strength overpowered me and breathing became a necessity..
I gasped each time we danced the dance..
I could feel life’s breath leaving my body..
As he held me tighter and tighter..
I have never known such ecstasy as I drew each breath as the last..
Don’t know why I gave in so easy, temptation is not one of my virtues..
I’ve always weighed the pro’s and cons..
Who is this man of many tricks that I would succumb to him ?
I am smarter than this I thought in one lucid moment..
Be gone I said.. leave me alone I do not want to follow you..
All you want is my soul... and I am not ready...
When I am I will call you....

PS. This was a recent experience I had in the ICU...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


Nice, nice is the rabbit
Nice, nice is the little rabbit.

Pretty adorable is the rabbit on the picture
Agreeable is the rabbit, there on the little image!

Majestic is that animal, treasure of nature
Simply beautiful, here, is the rabbit!

“My” rabbit is so generous
For sharing a pure moment of happiness:
Acting there as a photo model, full of humanity!

My friend, the rabbit is finally 
Example Of the joy OF LIVING…
Let’s do like him:
Let’s enjoy life as it comes…SIMPLY§§

©RITA SOLIS RADIUS. ON JULY, 16th 2015. Poem “The Happy Rabbit”.

Copyright © Rita Solis Radius | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Paws For Christmas


The tree stood straight,
It looked so nice.
Even had shiny things,
To look like ice.

A star on the top,
Was special to see.
Plus the lights and toys,
Filled our hearts with glee.

A package or two,
Were placed on the floor.
For family and guests,
To see and adore.

Then the puppy came close,
What did he see?
What is that shiny thing on his nose,
From the Christmas tree.

How did the ornament so bright,
Get down on the floor?
I bet this puppy could tell you,
As he ran for the door.

What are these teeth marks,
On the package we see?
A gift from our puppy,
Under the tree.

But we take it in stride,
And hug the old mutt.
For it's his Christmas too,
but "stay out of the nuts".


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Lone Wolf

Perhaps I could rely on the maps, 
The paved roads and tracks,
But everybody's seen that, in fact..
I take the route unknown, where werewolves roam, 
This? Yeah this is my home, everyone's known, 
The deer in the leaves, the birds in the trees, 
Can't forget mosquitos,
That always catch your neck or toe, 
The rowed boats, so sundown star shows, 
Everyone goes..a lot of water, we're more celestial,  
Adventure's of the night time, forever unknown,
Heavy heap of fur, with such fragile bones,
We're outsiders, the unwiser,
Proves that i'm just, more in tune, with my provider, 
The flame that, forever burns fire,
Big brown eyes that, would never expire,
To the rocky mountain top the, trek gets higher,
Forever in the moment to, howl notice prior.

Copyright © Key V. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Introducing Me

Who am I really? Who does everyone think I am,                                            and what do they think I’m really like?                                                                 Do I even know?  Stay tunnnnned.

I was a newborn in ‘49 in a home within a mile of Highway 49
There was no doctor; but a midwife arrived on time, nice and kind.
My weight was 10 lbs.; and I have reached 165 in 66 years of time.

I didn’t go astray; and I’ve done my best to walk the narrow line.
Old people said, “Be good so you don’t go where the sun don’t shine.
Anyway I respect everyone, and I serve notice on any who disrespects me.

O I have over time exceeded the speed limits, and ran a few stop signs.
My folks attended a Church in the neighborhood known as True Vine.
I’m not perfect, but I’ve never  been accused of being a liar or hypocrite.

People called me “a good boy” when I was a kid growing up.
But there was always something inside the me that they could never see.
They never knew the deprived, the denied, and the underprivileged me.

My grandma was my best friend who taught me love; and man she was tough.
My next best friend came along when daddy gave me Jack, my first little pup.
He was the best, boldest, fastest, and loved to ride in daddy’s pickup truck.

By grace I’ve done good like we all should, and never committed a crime.
I don’t smoke, drink, or dope; but I’m a sinner saved by God’s grace alone.
I believe in forgiveness and not “an eye for an eye”; but please don’t ignore me.
04012016  PS Contest, Who Are You?, by Catie Lindsey

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Caution : NRA Possibility

Walking through the woods early in the day...

Haven’t seen a single soul passing my way...

All set to hunt as, I bought the latest gear....

On this the first hunting day of the year.....

It isn’t too cold but there’s a bit of snow...

So footprints will tell me where to go...

I can track by smell....

And I’ve been told pray tell....

That Man is getting smarter every single year..

Which means a lot... to my friends in here...

But now here’s the twist of this little ditty...

I’ve never lived or been to the city....

But trust me.. cause when I’m done..

And this is all in fun...by the end of Fall....

I’ll have a gorgeous blonde six footer ... a hanging on MY wall....
*** Just a thought...NRA = Natural Roaming Animal....
       or Nasty Reindeer Association.......hmmmm

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Driving Out West

        Where the sky meets the earth and the highway goes on and on, a white satin ribbon snaking across a sea of brown. You can see far into the distance with no trees to obscure your view. No billboards mar the landscape, no skyscrapers rise out of the ground. Rolling hills, tumble-weed, yucca, sagebrush and distant mountains range on forever. Herds of antelope roam freely, wearing coats of butterscotch and whipped cream.
        Artists leave their signatures, huge metal sculptures drawing the eye, many miles in advance. Anticipation grips you as you wait to identify buffalo, roadrunner, jackrabbit, Brahma bull or horse and rider.
        Contemplate a life so different from your own, experience the serenity as you roll along with so little effort, feel the fulfillment, the contentment, the embracing freedom. 

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

White Bunny

My 29th birthday 
it was set up to be a miserable experience
without many friends or family
I was left to smile through the half-created festivities
my best friend showed up with a box
and sat it on my lap
and a bunny appeared.
A real life bunny rabbit
She was tiny and white and scared
and I picked her up gently
and whispered, "youre home".
Albino, my friend found her on a country road
2 months old, with no camoflague
And of course she thought of her best friend who cant deny an animal
and whose birthday just happened to be hours away.
That first day, my birthday, I held that bunny close.
She didnt fight, but now I know how much of a shocked baby she was.
I researched and read, watched countless videos.
I bought her a huge cage and started litter training her right away.
Its now 6 months later...
Ive worried over her more than any animal Ive ever loved
I took her to get her fixed and got really scared when I realized the vet knew less than I did.
She lived, and healed, and then she ate 6 buttons off the remote, 2 pieces of saltwater taffy, and 4 inches of hard plastic.
But she comes running for her treats and hops into my bed like a super-bunny
She kisses my hands and arms and knees and I know she loves me back.
The way she drinks up a bunch of water, then licks her lips for minutes and still drips water everywhere
The way when I call for her she looks so suspicious, wondering if its time for medicine or bathing or nail trimming.
Thats my bunny.
She makes giant messes, she eats like a horse, shes always looking nervous, shes always doing binkies or flopping her heavy body down
My pretty pure white bunny was 2 small pounds when I got her, and now she weighs 12, more than all my cats
And all of my cats are afraid of her, she tramples them when they are sleeping. She amuses me.

Copyright © Gina Young | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Evenings With A Mouse

My Evenings With a Mouse

Once I shared my evenings with a mouse
By cliff face tall in tiny house
By Fraser river flow, near Chilliwack
By a truckers’ café I had my shack
One room, kitchen nook, and can,
Not enough for a married man.
Away from home five days a week.
I thought I was alone, but then - I 
Found scat near breadbox tin
Found shavings near, and shredded socks.

And then a visitor let out a squeak
Bulging eyes and bristled nose
It stood upright, chin touched toes.
Were we lonely, would we find compassion?
Next four days I served supper to companion
Crumbs, pork, pasta and milk
Before I headed home to lingerie in silk.
Set out meat, cheese, fries, bread leftovers
Made it good for rodent stay-overs.
Returned, I found the timorous creature
Had met a most dastardly departure
It had looked for a watering hole.
Now it floated, dead and toilet-bloated 
It seemed crude just to flush it away
So I carried it out for burial on a silver tray.

Copyright © Wallace Du Temple | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Our Lack of Tolerance 
The culture difference between Portugal and Norway are sometimes 
baffling, like seeing a tribe of Ciganos waiting for one of their own 
often for the day with their offspring running around and they, the children 
are surprisingly clean. This would not have been tolerated at a hospital
say,  in Norway, the police would come and the social people too taking 
the children away... all for the best but for whom?  Well children have to 
go to school and so on, we measure our  standards with theirs, who think 
we are callous sending our old people to homes. It appears the Portuguese 
believe that benign neglect is a good solution. 

But this western standard of behaviour goes deeper it is the reason we
meddle with tribe wars in the Middle East wanting the people there to be nice 
democrats like us. It is like an inverted Midas touch, everything we touch end 
in bloodshed and humanitarian help programs.  And we continue to supply
 weaponry to both the warring sides.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

White Wolf

When dark of night comes to call,
I listen for the Gray Wolf’s howl.
He is calling me to come and run,
cavort and explore till night is done.
Just out of sight I begin to morph
into what reality has written on me.
Daytime I must be this shy, winsome
creature who no one pays attention to...
I hate the visage in my mirror.
Gray Wolf sees a sleek coat of white,
yellow eyes and teeth straight and strong.
I can run forever through the forest,
but when daylight comes I ride 
in a wheelchair, bound by iron.

Copyright © Sherry Asbury | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


Salty air breathed from crystalline peaks
I breathe in And catch a glimpse 
of the dancing, bowed bodies.

They perform a graceful ballet;
like arrows shot from an archer’s bow;
they leap, breach and roll.

Their eyes have seen ages of brine and shifting sands.
I wonder if they really are the “Watchers”; 
like the “Dogon” stories portray them.
Did they once have legs instead of fins 
and can we really be their children?

Perhaps that is why they are so quick to help us;
Why a child who can not speak can suddenly come to life?
He won’t be silenced again, 
after all, he swam with the dolphins.  
Could it be the magic of the dance that heals?

Odd, that they are always there when needed
And can transform a stagnating life 
into a miraculous moment of rebirth!

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

It Must Be Puppy Love

Love and faithfulness live together - Psalm 85:10

Throughout the ages,
Family pets have served.
Faithful til the end,
Many have observed.

Do they know how to love,
As humans think they do?
Look into their eyes,
The rest is up to you.

Watch those tails a swinging,
There's a story to be told.
This is how a puppy loves,
Worth much more than gold.

They do not need a reason,
As many humans do.
It is their gift from God,
Especially for you.

But if you do not understand,
This passion that is so.
Follow our little tails,
They will show you how to go.

Chicken fresh for breakfast,
Roast beef at dinner time.
Sirloin steak so often,
Am glad that you are mine.

Snacks available all day long,
Special ones when you depart.
Is it any wonder then,
That you control our hearts.

Today you are special,
We thank our Lord above.
Thank you for being my mommy,
We will smother you with love.


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

I Am Much Cuter Than

I am much cuter than those squirrels.
I see them in the morning when they
don’t think anyone is watching,
primping and posing and fluffing
those tails, rubbing their teeth on
the maple leaves to shine them,
rehearsing their inane chatter.
I choose a quieter life style,
living in an underground
estate, multiple entrances,
sensible rooms, and a large
storage space.  I must collect
nuts and seeds, while at the
same time, evading the beaks
of the birds, the claws of the cats,
and the mockery of the squirrels.
I tried speaking to one, one day.
As he picked a seed aril from
his teeth, he laughed, and made a snide
remark about my skinny, rudder tail.
The birds, though they never stop
squawking, have little to say.  The old
owl, though given to wisdom, seems
to have a focused interest in me,
as supper.  One old lady says that
I am cute, and tosses me seeds and
acorns.  I do appreciate the handouts,
but chatter my sharp and frightening
teeth at her just in case any of the
squirrels are watching.  I have seen my
reddish brown, skinny tailed, spotted
image in the window of the basement.
I am one handsome chipmunk.
I am much cuter than those squirrels.

John G. Lawless
Contest - Animals Alive

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


Tired of frolic
and the beaming sun,
the snow and ice retreat;
returning the pond nation
to its peaceful co-existence.

Toads once again sit
majestically upon their naked 
rock thrones—no lily pads here.
A lone insect glides by
and is slap from the sky
by the welcoming frog’s tongue.

The ducks again cruse 
the soothing wet water
dousing heads to catch prey 
or douche long neglected feathers.

Suddenly, a rock skips across the pond.
Ducks frantically populate the sky.
As if a magic act of nature,
all other creatures disappear.

In the quietness of this canvassed scene,
ripples concentrically spread across the pond—
Shattered reflected rays, scattered dancing shadows. 

Silently, we drove onward.
Indeed, nature’s mercy
has strange laws.


Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Child's View

We went to the beach, but it was different. 
The sand was black and sticky. The smell made my eyes water and my throat burn.
I wanted to go home, but then I saw him. 
At first I thought he was just a rock - a big, black, sticky, smelly rock. 
But then he shivered.
I showed my mom. She gasped. "That's a seal" she told me.
I think she was crying.
We fetched my red wagon. The seal was very heavy. 
Mom said be careful, he might bite!
But the seal was too tired and sick to lift his head.
We took him to the Sea Life center. We made a strange parade; 
A mother, a kid and a filthy red wagon.
The lady inside looked tired. Her sweater was crumpled and her blouse was buttoned wrong. 
She used warm water and dish soap to clean him. She said he was covered in oil.
 It would take a very long time to make him better.
Every day I came back to visit. At first he was too sick to notice me. 
When he breathed it made a barking, rasping sound. 
The lady said the oil had burned his lungs. 
Slowly he began to look more like a seal and less like a dirty rock. 
One day I came and he was swimming in a small pool. 
I asked the lady if we would take him back to the sea now - I had my little red wagon. 
She looked sad and shook her head. 
He could never go home. 

Copyright © Rose Whelan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |









Copyright © Lydia Brescia | Year Posted 2011

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

Copyright © Rakesh Arava | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Prey for Me

I searched for you through the endless expanse of night’s long blackness, 
The shimmering light from a crescent moon offered little help in my quest for your elusive form. The pale light dimly lit inconspicuous objects and cast shadows of their beautiful contours upon the ground to thwart my pursuit at every turn. 

Radiant eyes peered at me from within the cover of darkness, 
And mysterious intonations and melodic resonance echoed into the night air, confusing my sense of direction until I was lost in a maze within your protective purlieu. 

Fighting my frustration and fear that I may never gaze upon your majestic beauty, nor hold your rapturous warm body against my cool skin, or savor the taste of you on my tongue, I gathered what was left of my strength and resolve, and continued my silent pursuit. 

Guided by my heart and uncontrollable emotions and hunger for you, I somehow broke free of the discountenance feints set upon me to mask your true course. The hunger within my heart and the vision of you brazed within my eyes, guided me toward your lingering essence and ultimately to where you now hide, deep within the confines of your sheltering den safely held tight within the cool moist earth. 

As my long sleek form slithers into your place of refuge I strike and sink my teeth deep into your neck and as my coils embrace your supple body, I am overcome with powerful emotions emanating from your very being, and at that moment I knew my hunt was not in vain. To taste your sweet flesh wound be unlike any that has ever been known between predator and prey.

Copyright © Thomas King | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Life's Meaning

My Life’s Meaning
By Curtis Johnson

Where do we fine the purpose of it all?
What does it all really mean?
What does life mean to me?

I have been young, and now, I’m getting older.
I’m thriving to be wiser, before I close my folder.
If we are willing to learn, life is willing to teach.
Life is learning, being taught; life is teaching others.
If we are willing to listen, the sounds of life will reach.
O the whispers of the wind! What melodies the birds sing!

May greed  not be pleasing.                                                                      May there be bread enough, with a little bacon.
May the peace makers and keepers prevail.                                                 May nothing be missing nor broken.
I want to give more than I receive,                                                         before my last words are spoken.

If you are willing to receive, life has much to give.
Quiet snow flacks and rain; departed pains from hurricanes
Take what life gives, make the best of it, laugh, live, and love.

Yes. Sometimes, bad things will happen to good people and all of us.
When trials come with blinding dust, be still and do not rush.

We do not always know what life will bring or share.
We do know that others care, and will help us bare.
We pick our peaks and climb, ascending with the passage of time.
We wait our turn; don’t break in line; and continue on being kind.

There are  peaks and valleys; there are some tricks; but there are far more treats.
Life is sometimes cold and bitter; it is also warm and sweet.
There is a little of the bad, sad, and ugly; but life is really mostly good.
Life can’t be all good, because we don’t always do the things we should.

Ignore the promises of the “quick fix”; it takes time for the wounds to heal.
Don’t seek the “get rich quickies”; such  likes are usually schemes and tricky.
Breathe in; breathe out; it’s worth a shout, no doubt.
So slow it down a notch or two, and get to know the good life.

Take some time off; take a break; get away; take a walk along the beach.
Take a trip, but not on a plane; relax and take it easy on a slow moving train.
Rest, relax, and recreate; don’t answer the phone too quickly; smell the roses.
Live and love the good life; pick a rose, or maybe two; share them with someone you love.
Life has lasting meaning  to me, given by one who said, “Be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves”.

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


	Kitten-play is sweet;
	a precious jewel of a moment renewed 
	by each new discovery.

	A butterfly-chase ending in a bumblebee moment
	of enlightenment and sometimes
	a succeeding “ouch”!
	The butterfly is a more hospitable playmate.

	Graceful leap into a patch of soft delicate wormwood;
	A tree-leap, a prick on the nose from a rosebush;
	it’s about as friendly as the bumblebee!

	A jet-sprint to the patio results in a
	back and forth stretched-roll on the warm concrete.
	The pose that says, “I like this place; can I stay?”

	Perhaps on another adventurous day
	kitten will discover,
	the catnip bush at the far end of the yard.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Selah Season

It’s late August, and there are some hot days yet ahead.                      The heating system of the earth has gotten the word.                             It is time to start down shifting to lower temperatures.                        Such orders are clearly understood by Mr. Summer.                                 He has to share the climate stage with Miss Autumn.  

Standing ready for their commanding orders are the weeds and the seeds.
Flowers and trees are listening, as are beautiful birds and honey bees.  
Ants and squirrels gather and store their harvest, but continue to feed.
Nature’s bells slowly ring as summer’s Season begins to recline and recede.
I whisper a prayer about our many creeds, selfish deeds, and our greed.

May we pause and calm ourselves like the creatures and trees of nature.
May we fine tune our hearts and open our ears to hear that clarion sound.
May we respond to Creation’s King, and experience a ‘Selah Season’*
08252016 cj PS (*Selah, a Hebrew word indicating a musical pause)

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Animal Queen Contest

The horn sounds
All the animal
Jump into action
Ready for the first
Queen contest ever in the forest

The moon is bright
Much excitement everywhere
Mountain, hill, rivers, tress, ocean
Are special guest

Every animal awaits
This day to display talents and beauty
While the organizers
Deer, squirrel, zebra, donkey
Set the stage 

The master of ceremony
Mr. Fly welcomes our judges
Elephant, tiger, lion and leopard 
Mosquito the journalist 
Sets his camera and recorder

The forest is getter hotter
Mr. fly introduce our beautiful contestant 
Monkey, Bamboo, fox, rat, Raccoon
As they smile with their tail

Each four legs
Modeling on stage
Excited about their beauty
The most pretty of all
Eloquent in speech
With charming smiles
Is no one else but
Bamboo the queen of animals 

Copyright © Olivia Nimley | Year Posted 2013