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Prose Poetry Dream Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Dream

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Surrendered Dreaming

I knew you long before
    pursuit's intention shone,
felt you in sun's fiery warmth
       & shooting star surrender,
heard your voice on soft
  burbled whispers of sweet zephyrs
    and nectar'd songs of hummingbirds,
saw your depths of magnificence
        in sapphire ocean tides
     cresting 'neath effulgent moons
savoring breaths of crystalline
   snowflakes on crisp sea air,
I knew strength in your convictions    
   for it braved every fantasy's illusion
     acquiesced 'tween dulcet desires,
whilst the strong presence of your charms
     envelop'd every night's dreaming

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Moonlit Dreams

hand in hand we ran, part our way through the crowd
without a light across the meadow glow
in disbelief, false or true? you’re forced to flee
side by side into the night here we go 

moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
if only we could be
moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
you’re all i need
moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
all i wanna dream
all i wanna dream

far and wide you jumped, doved into the flowing tide
quietly, you held your cries, in need you begged and plead
disappeared before my eyes, now this voodoo spell is under me

moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
if only we could be
moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
you’re all i need
moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
all i wanna dream
all i wanna dream

blue violet hues for us to see 
let us be, let us flee, to the sea

moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
if only we could be
moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
you’re all i need
moonlit dreams over the midnight sea
all i wanna dream
all i wanna dream

Copyright © Jonathan Moya | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Unknown Art

The picture painted is not what 
is drawn
The drawer sketches different 
shades partly understood by 
They see and claim to know 
Complexity that is the 
Like most words, the art is not 
defined in a single manner
Many have walked with it not 
minute has discovered
The mystery of the art in play.
A creative piece reflecting 
greatness visible to those with 
eagle eyes.
A lone shadow traveling great 
depth to birth dreams
Not an adjective, pleasing to 
those deserving.
Do not desire to be unveiled.
Priceless value hangs on its tag
What a masterpiece!
But not fully discovered...

Copyright © Yei Suah | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Vase Dream - c'est la vie

       Vase Dream - c'est la vie 

White vase with no design
Dangling there - c'est la vie 
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything
In an apartment rising skyward
Lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or there about
And more - c'est la vie 
The balcony did its’ best of course
Displaying the fragile curves
Morning sun light danced approval
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from… 
Poof!.....And off  it went… c'est la vie 
An alert French man
Pastry smile and all
Happened along
With left handed nimble fingers caressing a Beaujolais 42
The other hand stretched out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie 
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened 
Something like an egg
A natural death ensued - c'est la vie   
A passer-by seized the moment
Lifted vase and fled
Made off down and dirty
An ally
Another fate for vase awaits
Less encumbered
In a land far away
To dream of ledges - c'est la vie 
If so inclined   
Or so designed

Modified on 10/21/14 for - c'est la vie - Poetry Contest

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Dream

Strands of thick strawberry lace
Cascade and kindle together over a
Serene and still, velvety muse;
Soft sensations of quiet breath
Brush against every line within the frame;
A luminous comma poses
In an eternal gilt about her face;
Every flicker of her unseen candlelight 
Reflects a somnolent kiss
Upon the gazer's nodding lids.
Magically, the mind reacquaints
A taste and scent of red and yellow ocher, 
Along with the sound of a swoosh,
That permeates a freshly painted room;
Soon, the eyes open to a distant, familiar recall,
When two sleepwalking, kingly eras became one;
Every step blending each image
With a different pallet in time,
And while touching overlapping 
Textures, the mixed mediums are forever
Imprinted upon the memories of the two
Motionless figures;
The connoisseur, while he slumbers
And the sleeper, as she awakens 
From her symbiotic dream.

Contest: "A Dream"
Theme: Based on the painting: "Resting", by Victor Gabriel Gilbert

Copyright © Lisa Lee | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Chance

	High coffered ceilings, 
	an odd filtered light, 
	mote constellations adrift,
	rooms enfilade... 

	In the room at the far end
	— the kitchen, it was — 
	I met my dead grandmother,
	her crooked corpse 
	bothering a hot stove, 
	boiling up a pot of her 
	awful, brown, sticky soup.
	She turned to me, as if to ask,
	“Do you want a bowl?” 

	Startled, I turned to leave
	(She was a ghost, after all...).
	Her boney hand, 
	still holding a soup ladle,
	brushed my right shoulder. 
	I turned. She whispered, 
	“You had your chance.”

Copyright © Jack Jordan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Tarnished Knight And His Unicorn Named Dream

I am a Tarnished Knight 
Dragons do I slay, 
With my trusty sword 
I hold then all at bay. 

I have a trusted steed, 
A Unicorn named Dream. 
When we ride together 
We make a mighty team. 

Nary is a dragon. 
That will look us in the eye. 
They just turn and fly away, 
As we chase them thru the sky. 

For I am fearless warrior, 
Will do battle anywhere. 
Fight that dreaded dragon, 
In your heart or in the air. 

So if you have a dragon, 
No matter where he be. 
Maybe flying in the sky, 
Or lives deep inside of thee

Call the Tarnished Knight,
And his Unicorn named Dream.
We will come and rescue you,
For we are a potent team.

A reward is not required.
Our service is for free
Just to slay your dragon
Will be our only fee.

A fire breathing dragon,
Sometimes is hard slay.
With out an open mind
He may never go away.

So take this little fairy tale,
That I did write for you.
Please let me in your heart
So I can do the things I do.

I will slay your dreaded dragon
Then you can ride upon my dream.
I promise to take you places
That few have ever seen.

So let me come inside you,
In your body and your soul.
Let me slay that dragon
That has such an evil hold.

Copyright © Donald Eissler | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Ode To Olaf Olafson - For Anne-Lise

“The Ode To Olaf Olafson.”
Michael P Clarke.

(Story Poem.)

The night is cold in the North tonight
By the jetty a mighty long ship moored
The Fjord in darkness awaits ceremony
From the Lord’s hall on the hill a woman wails
Sorrow does seem to be in the air
On the sigh of the wind a hero is called
Ceremony of death shall soon begin
A Viking Lord shall sail to Valhalla

The hall door opens and light floods without
Men with torches walk down a pathway
Sure of foot these men of the North walk proud
Bjorn the bear he leads the procession torch in hand
His steely blue eyes looking straight before him
At the foot of the hill by the jetty  people gather
They look upon the line of torches approaches
Once more the wail from the hall

Bjorn drops his eyes knowing the pain
His grief he must lock deep within himself
He must be as strong as his Lord’s Lady
She must be strong for her children and the people
She wails not for her Lord this night
A sister of the Lord shall do the mourning for all
Bjorn raises his eyes once more keeping them on the dragon
The long ship that shall carry his Lord to Valhallah

Now the body of the the Lord Olaf is carried from the hall
There is silence everywhere as the body comes down the hill
Eight mighty warriors carry their Lord on a large wooden litter
Indeed it is strewn with flowers what a wonderful scent
Behind the body came the Lady Marga and the three children
Then came the four sisters of Olaf
They were followed by more warriors holding torches
The procession walked silently down the hill.....

(Fjords Dreams Series.)

To be continued.........

Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |



At the entrance of evening, the melting sun slowly drips
     over the tree top horizon;
Beckoning the moon to peak through the opaque shades
     As lazy winds play tag with the heated night.

The staccato symphony of horny crickets pervade the scene
     Piercing the stoical still silence with melodic sounds.
Weighed eyes and muffled ears grow weary…
     Retreating the scene and its sounds.

Sleep, the stranger of the day, threatens familiarity:
     None can avoid her acquaintance.
Unable to complete, I slip into the twilight of dreams
     Knowing not if I shall greet tomorrow here.

God willing and Earth’s water baptize my eyes, maybe,
     Just maybe, I will rise to fight another day.

So in this twilight dim, I pray my childhood
     Prayer to Him:

   " Now I lay me down to sleep.
    I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
    If I should die before I wake;
   I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

I Like to Walk Alone

I like to walk alone

I like to walk alone
In the desert...
By the light of
The stars....
And the moon......
A man.......being a man...
Alone...and comfortable
In his own skin....

I dig a hip hole....
Yes, the sand is cold....it doesn't remember me...
And that's as it should be....
Laying down and looking up
At all the gems and jewels
God has given us.....
To dream that dream again
Of you.....
And the day you wore that
Empire dress...
When we were just kids...
Funny what a man
Thinks about as
He closes his eye's
To sleep.

Copyright © Randall Smith | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

Doors, Doors, and Doors

And in my dream I walk corridors with old creaking floors,
deep in the sanctum of my soul echoes stir calling me to come;
soon, I enter a hall of doors, doors and doors . . . 
red doors painted bright, green doors with polished knobs.

Blue, deeply and darkly lovely blue, varnished doors,
a heavy ornate church door, ajar, beckoning hymns drift;
one hundred year old doors with brass chimes, portals to long ago,
wide barn doors in antique grey, opening wide, thresholds.

Doors with stripped, chipped white paint, oh my beating heart,
rounded doors, wooden doors, some to push, some to pull;
through a long forgotten door the wreckage of my life . . .
A door opens, new and polished shiny, the entrance to where?

Closed doors, swinging doors, locked doors with a sign Do Not Open,
doors with steps, doors with brass keys dangling;
and doors with chimes, press here for access, my dear,
then, I see two doors side by side, a simple cedar door-  a golden door.

Oh, I stand unsure, which door? I hesitate and then,
I put my hand on the knob of the golden door-  nirvana is beyond;
then, I open the simple cedar door, which takes me to the here and now,
and I breathe a sigh of relief, yes, this is exactly where I need to be.

March 24, 2017

Prose Poetry/Doors, Doors, and Doors
Copyright Protected, ID 887007

Written for the contest, Doors
sponsor, Richard Lamoureaux

Seventh Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Dream Within A Dream

A Dream Within A Dream

Fix thine eyes upon Earth's great treasures.
Morning calls of birds looking for a mate-
Winds blowing over mountains, across plains to blue seas
Jungles sweltering in heat and dangers
Wilderness teeming with ancient dreams of ghosts of time....
The heavens gazing down at all.

Waking shadows soon to be burnt by the sun;
And just beyond that lucid moment,
This world cries to be explored and walked about
Mysteries, eternal in their depth, colors and glories -
shimmering visions born of cosmic dust and time,
Can you hear that first call of youth?
Echoes returning from never ending void
And Nature proclaiming-- man thou art mine!

Churning , foaming and spitting forth life
Gardens in forests born of primeval gods-
Stones singing hymns in their silence,
Meadows spreading across broad plains into realms anew
Can you see, Nature and its magnificence?
Herds, by the thousands, rampaging into future time
Forests sheltering billions of birds, insects and bright trees
Rains plunging down to soak virgin soils,
And eternal cycles renewed within Nature's overarching plan.

Ghosts of time, returning to laugh, dance and watch!
Harbors welcoming incoming ships and cargo
Cities crying to be filled with bustling throngs!
Homes with welcoming fires fighting Winter's wrath
Snows that paint earth, land and sky....
Rivers and streams on winding never ending quests
Lakes glimmering under moon and star lights
Creatures moving about water and back to solid land
And mankind-- deep beneath earth, scavenging for more treasure!
And mankind, planted beneath earth to decay.....

R.J. Lindley,
March 22nd, 1977

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Big Pillow

Did you ever fall into a puffy big fluffy pillow,
Greeting your back as gravity commands you
And wraps around your entirety?

That moment where all you see is cushion:
Soft and safe is all that you feel
And you hear the rush of air passing you by.

For an instant there is nowhere else,
There is nowhen else, time has stopped
And you wish the moment would never end.

But all too soon you are aware
That you still lie among chaos
And you pretend the pillow is your shield.

Jumping from pillow to pillow
Tring to hide from the world
And you know it’s not real

I wish I could only hear the rush of air passing me by,
My vision obscured by the comforting cocoon  
And to feel someone wrapped around me.

Copyright © Ijm seven | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Madre part two

 Don Coto's..

 face smiles no more
 Only in memory
 Paving the way for others
 with dreams and aspirations
 Arriving at these shores 
 To prosper achieving those dreams
 And hopes that our forefather set
 So many years ago while the moon
 Looked on :-)  tides rolling in and out
 like clock work fish dancing to the 
 Florescent harmony of the stillness
 The trip took many months
 With many risks,so coming to this point 
 This time this place..I think about  
 Don Coto's flag ship la 'Cocora' 
 Now a memory lingering on and on
 She was sold for scrap years before
 We now go sailing on planes with wings
 Like the beautiful birds seen flying high
 Driving Upwards by the warm thermals 
 Sailing past Ponce Deleon and old San Juan
 Reminiscing through my past,leaving behind
 Our companions never to be seen again
 The fisherman of el Farro and Playa Santa
 Putting our noses against the window
 Of This flying machine
 To see this brand-new world in its grandeur
  I Dios mio,oh my god
  a Cold blustery morning it was 
  We left the balmy Tradewinds in morning 
  As we exit the this flying Machine
  And enter a new world
  White flakes racing from out of nowhere
  Hearing my uncle Pedro ,watch your step 
  Watch your step stopping every every few feet
  Allowing the fluffs of white to enter my mouth
  Flicking my tongue like el Coqui 
  In between chattering teeth
  but a thought comes to mind 
  A sadness,accentuated by a harsh reality
  A new way of life A new language
  A brand new shiny culture
  Our old home left behind and now a new land 
  Called Los Estados Unidos
  The United States
   mi Nuevo Mundo 
   Our new world 

     bless us all...



Copyright © Tonytocaa Camacho | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Mocking The Raven

When I was young, I would mock the raven,
Never dreaming her harsh call was a cry
Across the water to the castle of her brother
King Bram, the Raven, ruler of the British Isles.
Never did I dream of the destruction 
That would follow this desperate plea
Sent upon the wings of a blackened crow.

When I was young, I thought childhood
Would last forever; secure in my father's care,
Content in the loving arms of my mother,
Never did I dream of the devastating war
That would follow this messenger of our doom
Carried across the seas to inflict upon our land
A war of vengeful purpose and contempt.

When I was young, peace prevailed in our land;
Our King was just and beloved by his people.
Then came a marriage, an alliance between
Ireland and England.  Queen Branwen;
Discontent, lonely, hungry for power,
Hated by her court for the intrigue
And bloody sanctions imposed upon all
Who did not obey her sanctimonious whim;
Queen Branwen, beautiful daughter of England.

When I was young, I stood beneath
The blasted pine, looking up at the black bird
As she screamed out her litany of wrongs,
Watching as she lifted her wings to soar across the water.
My father, general of Ireland, fell upon the shores
Fighting to repel Bran's vengeful warriors;
My mother, condemned by her beauty
Fell among the vanquished women.

When I was young, I did not fear the raven;
Now I live in the court of the Raven King,
He, who conquered my people for naught as his sister
Queen Branwen, the White Raven, took her life
And walks now, shriven and pale, among the graves
Of the fallen warriors; forever singing her lament
Of sorrow and regret; far too late, far too late.

When I was young, I believed in the goodness of men.
Now I am old; my raven hair is streaked with silver.
The voice of Bran echoes through this palace
As he cries out exhortations to his conquering soldiers;
As he cries for peace and fellowship in his land.
When I was young, I would mock the raven;
Now I am old and have harnessed the power
Of the raven's call.  I cry to my people for vengeance;
I wait for their rescue, as I haunt the halls of the Raven King.

[Loosely based on the legend of Bran, the Raven King of England 
and Branwen, his sister, who was married to the king of Ireland.  
It is said that King Bran speaks still in England through the cries of the raven.]

{by Deb Radke -- written for the contest 'Among the Dead'}

Copyright © deb radke | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Hunting for Spring

We’re so tired, of winter’s, snow and ice,
For too long, we have been, within our house, winter’s price.
Why won’t you come, to visit us, and sing?
Where we’ll be touched, by your sun, so heartily, beaming.
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our sweet Spring?
We need you, so very longingly!

We saw you peak out, for just one day.
Then you quickly, and suddenly, ran so very far away.
So we did a Rain Dance, and danced in the cold.
Without your shinning brightness, all we got, was cold snow!
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Why did you run, so very far, with your blessing!

We sought the Groundhog, that he ask you, to come back.
But he was burrowed, deep beneath, all the snow, and ice pack.
He wouldn’t open his door, as we knocked, true and hard.
He refused, to even come out, as he denied the pleas, of this bard!
Oh where! Oh where! Are you, our precious, sweet Spring?
We beseech thee, to please come back, to me!

The trees want to bloom; their sprouts are ready, to collect.
Our hearts are there beside them, under this winter, and it’s effects.
We’ll sit here, dreaming of the beauty, only you can affect.
We’re hopeful, can’t wait, but now at March’s mercy, and redirect.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
Our hearts and souls want to be warmed by thee!

What? Dragon and I see you! We rejoice my friend!
Our hearts, like the trees, are beginning, to warm again.
The snow is leaving; all is greening, before our eyes.
We beg you, to please stay here, solidly, close by our side.
Oh where! Oh where! Did you go, our sweet Spring?
At last! It doesn’t matter! We have you back, and all that you bring!

Written for my good Friend Jack Ellison.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |



                             Yesterday`s dream his thoughts were here
                                       Today his thoughts are there.
                               Yesterday`s dream my legs could hold me
                                         Today my legs sold me.
                                    Yesterday`s dream I was in pain
                                           Today I`m living again. 
                                   Yesterday`s dream I thought I knew
                                           Today my thoughts flew.
                                  Yesterday`s dream his love was about me
                                          Today his love is about them.
                                       Yesterday`s dream I had hope
                                          Today was what I thought.
                                     Yesterday`s dream I was wrong
                                              Today I am strong.
                                     Yesterday`s dream I opened the door
                                             Today I closed that door.
                                     Yesterday I did not dream I was tired
                                               Today I am very tired.
                                   Yesterday I did not dream I did not dare 
                                               Today I don't care.

                                                        Therese Bacha

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Fantasy Dream

                                 A Dream From My Past 
                                     Was A FANTASY.
                           Be patient I will take you where I 
                              have been from the beginning.
                           One of those days was a lucky day 
                         When I heard a light tap on my Door
                                 Who is it I asked? 
                                 Its me the post man. 
                          Oh dear I was murmuring what could it be? 
             Step by step with my cane I arrived to open with shaky hands 
             a young man with a smiling face was standing with an envelope 
                 in his hand ready to give it to me but I had to sign it first 
         staring at him crying for help to stay as maybe it could be 
                                       bad news or good news.
              I opened it and In there was a cheque of one million dollars
                                I screamed young man I won 
                                 the lottery I am a winner 
             yesterday I bought a ticket with my last 2 dollars thank you 
              please come back tomorrow I have a small surprise for you.
 My cry of happiness was heard by the drops of rain knocking on my window                                                                                              calling to ask when I am due to cache the money as they also were my friends     awaiting for the happy event to the never ending journey of giving.
                                My fantasy dream was fulfilled 
                               Oh! how good is The Lord to me.
 Now that I won I ran sat down got out my pen and paper and here I am 
writing today I am rich but tomorrow I will become poor as I will give away 
all the millions to the needy my family my friends everybody will share 
                                        my richness. 
      Good night my friends until tomorrow another day another dream.  

                                        Therese Bacha 

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Here is a story about myself

My mind went on a trip one sunny day
In that trance I was president
Papa was proud of me
Mama felt pleased too
“You are a natural leader” said my neighbor
“I knew you would make it, it’s not a fluke” commented another
Frenemies surfaced in haste

My face was on TV
I was a president on the move 
Ain’t nobody stood in my way
I travelled far and wide
My term was short
I had to make an impact
Etch my name in the hall of fame
History had to have my name

Time is a march and the powerful are drummers
He who drums loudest leads the song
His life is lavish and his abode magnificent
Look who is drumming
Would they be drumming if I weren’t president?
Are they friends or foes?
Only time will tell
Then there was a reality check.
The chimera was over

I am just who I am
The same old nobody

Copyright © John Pen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |



The arid winds steal
     Our tears.
The sterile dust tease
     Cystic hopes
Of dreams deferred.

At shrines of Lazarus
Beckon the faithful
 The wailing discontent:

Only the dreamer dies; the dream
     Lives on.
Only the dreamer dies; the dream 
     Lives on.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Murphys' Law

               Murphy wished for a Prince who rode a White horse...
               So she went back to college and took a new course...
               She met a man who drove a green pinto...
               Although he had no idea where his life would go...
               His wants and needs he wanted for free...           
               As he had no intentions of working you see...
               So they moved in together...and she paid the bills...
               He played online games and took many pills...
               While she worked two jobs, and going to school...
               Her friends told her often she was a fool...
               This wasn’t a relationship...this was just bizarre...
               And to make matters worse, he drove her sports car...
               But she explained, he needs me and I don’t want to be alone...
               Besides I have created a most beautiful home...
               The years flew by and no changes were made..
               She graduated with honors, and now had a trade..
               At the firm of Morgan White Esquire at Law...
               This was just the beginning and the last straw...
               She finally came to her senses you see...
               Of her dreams and wishes that were meant to be...
               She now had her “ Morgan “ and her “Prince” you see... 
              A Morgan is a breed of horse...and the rest is history

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |



How long 
must we still march
and sing---
our feet grown weary
and facades of justice
quietly silencing our voices?

we remain footnotes
to his story---
our story 
a cocooned legacy
of a pregnant dream
in the tangled web of time.

of pseudo gains
to tease un-ripened minds
with scams of liberty.

in due time
in due season
we will rise up
from the pit we’re in---
rise up 
and catch the fallen dream
laying it in the warm nest
of the bosom of liberation---
and incubate the waiting vision
of our destined realities
singing songs of redemption---
ringing bells of freedom
dancing to the beat of liberty:

the flame of determination
burns eternally
and the love-journey
of the unshackled 
continues toward the trysting place.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |



In cosmic dreams,
I’ve waded the Nile
In golden Nubian sunsets;

Felt the warm breath
Of Sahara breeze
Kiss my cheeks;

Made my bed in tall savanna grass
And cooled my soul
In rain forest dew;

I’ve crouched beneath Gold Coast palms:
A palm wine drunkard…
Arms flung wide;

My soul
Has soared 
Atop Uhuru Peak:

I too,
Dream of Africa.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.

Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

You Make Me Smile

 I just wanted you to know....
 I will always stand by your side
 I will give back and be your guide
 I will fight for you in the hard times
 even if all I have are a few dimes
 I will never lose my faith in you
 my love for you is always true 
 all I have its you....

 I’m proud of you....
 you never gave up hope when the times were hard
 you kept going forward through it all, yard by yard
 you have never let others change who you are
 you have always shown me the way of love
 you move through the unknown with strength
 no matter how far the length

 I would have never been here today....
 without your love
 without your ultimate sacrifice
 without the support I needed
 I never would have succeeded
 without your unbounded love
 I could never stay above

 I will always be there
 on those days you are hurt and sad
 and you feel everything is going bad
 I will hold you in my arms and say
 I’m glad to be with you here today
 when you feel you are alone
 I will be your chaperone

 I love you so much!
 I love your smile and the way you make me smile my love
 never forget, the support and love I have for you,
 so don’t let anyone else’s evil decisions or careless actions
 change who you are today.
 you are better than all of them and stronger in every way.

 all I have its you my Love…

Copyright © Debasis Karmakar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

One Reason

Little did she know,
Every day that passes by, 
Her heart blooms like a flower who met sunlight for the first time.
Her cold hard lips now curving into a sincere smile each time their eyes meet.
Her sad eyes beginning to show some light.
Her messed up emotions back to its own place.
All of this happening because of only for reason,
One reason that we all know.
That one boy whose beautiful eyes stopped her heartbeat, 
That one boy whose captivating smile turned her knees weak,
Thay boy whose overwhelming charisma changed her perception.
And she all wanted is to escape.
Escape from this unwanted feelings.
The feelings that had bloomed inside of her,
The feelings she once wanted to avoid,
The feelings that had hurt her before,
The feelings that turned her ice cold.
But it's too late.
She knows she is in a deep mess.
And the only way to escape,
By loving him more each day.
Hoping that one day,
Love will settle into its place.

Copyright © Diyana Ayuni Abd Nasir | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

African cross

I made up my mind to live or die by faith,
Not through faith, nor justice, nor second hope
My hope is that justice and happiness comes,
Not through fear or through blood aspirations
I hope Makelele will stay milky, not bloody

African cross, the wood of my ebony tears
African cross, the limitation of my ideas
African cross, the mortification of my past
African cross, the slaughter of my generation
Africa cross, I decided to carry it to the forest

I made up my mind to lead twelve disciples,
To knowledge than through ignorance,
My son said, Master, focus in sowing your seed
I said, as long as there will be rain and water,
Seed shall be planted and Lukunga will water me

African cross, the riot of the poor angry
African cross, the revolver of the weak
African cross, the massacre of the no name
African cross, the policies of the lost winner
African cross, the darkness of wisdom

I made up my mind to love and speak life,
Not lies, no, truth, no minutes, no report
Where most of our lonely desk, teach us to run
I believe in seeking and walking the lonely Calvary 
Carry my wood heavy, black African cross

African cross, the helper that reached out to my king
African cross, the nurse that was near on my birthday
African cross, the editor of my prophetical papyrus
African cross, the politics of emotion motionless 
African cross: football of goalkeeping not reaching 

Copyright © ISAAC KINZAMBI | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

An Endless Time

Wish upon a falling star
And pray within a dream
For what your heart desires
To become the truest reality

Touch the clouds embracing heaven
Flying like a bird high in the sky
Cast a coin into a wishing well
Praying a loyal love you will find

Search the farthest horizons
Go to the most distant shores
Pray that you will find the one
Whose amazing love will endure

Be very patient in your Odyssey
And one day you will surely find
That love which was once elusive
Will be yours for an endless time.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Realization Of A Dream

Whom shall I love
when all my dreams,
and all of my thoughts,
are so alive...

Dancing with each image
of bliss, dressed in a
vision of your likeness

While my heart yearns
for endless moments
hoping you will soon
come near...I faint
from mental exhaustion

My educated mind suddenly
becomes uneducated and
hopelessly falls into a
hypnotic state...flavored
with a sweet natural high

I realize I will never know
what to do anymore, if the
vision within my mind of
loving you will not soon
come true..

So I am left praying that
the dreams which embrace
my world endless nights
will birth a realization
of a genuine blending of
our hearts love.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Climatic Dream Therapy

I had a historic dream
that Einstein led polypathic Elders
pursuing roots of time
as emergence of light's speeding race
through regenerative histories,
thought experiments revolving resolving enculturation.

I dreamed energy conjoined space
as rhythm reiterates pattern,
as time incarnates changing place
as space bifurcates time's revolving light and dark
mutual recessivity,
ecological balance of Earth's cycling revolutions,
cooperative norms within interdependent symbiosis,
multisystemic revolutions of evolutionary paradigms,
poetry as language both light and dualdark heart-soul investment.

I dreamed terror reacting to ballistic weapons
revolted into wonder responding to synergetic cultural ballast,
dense nutritional balance of political relationships
with economic transactional harmony,
that spirituality rejoined naturality,
as nurture reflects nature,
that wealth rejoined health,
that degenerative histories conjoined regenerative futures,
that deductive logos refueled inductive mythos,
that economic intention continues incubating ecological forms
and recycling symbiotic frequencies of emergent evolution,
that living nondually co-arises loving
as struggling to harmonize with others
rather than struggling against AnthroDominant decomposing outcomes.

I dreamed religion regenerates polycultural fusion and passion and creativity
rather than competes good spirits against evil natures,
that competing spiritual economies merge into cooperative ecology.

I dreamed of regenerating religions
co-arising from degenerative divisions
to presume solidarity of rightful love multiplication
as polycultural cooperation,
co-arising human nature's political economy
encompassing all Earth's co-evolving species.

I had a fertile Earth Day dream
that elation and fusion
absorb competition and fission,
that integrity overcomes suboptimizing mendacity,
that polycultural life management skills
reverse anthrocentric monocultural elitist aggression,
power overing
when love optimization waits in cultural wings
to overwhelm threadbare anger and fear management
in a revolution of timeless cooperative intention toward mutual love
as mutual assumption of integrity.

I dreamed
we share a self-as-other integrity dream
regenerating time's emergently cooperative Earth Tribes
golden-ruling together
producing and consuming harmonic global poli-economic outcomes,
a self-regenerating WinWin network
where all needs are opportunities
without risk of health-loss to others,
without compromising future generations
of beloved climax gardens,
robust interior/exterior landscapes
resiliently enculturating life
as EarthTribal love,
political solidarity,
economic cooperativity,
ecosystemic integrity,
mindbody wu wei vitality
of dipolar nondual interior-as-exterior balancing dreams;
fewer climatic nightmares of monoculturally elitist AnthroHubris.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016