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Prose Poetry Food Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Food

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Paying the High Price of Gas

I feel a blockage has occurred...
It must have been all that stuffing and Turkey bird...
The gurgles, the rumbling, the passing of gas...
It’s beyond my control ,Oh dear, please let this pass...
We have guests you see...
So I don’t have the privilege to just get up and flee...
No one should ever be in this state...
And I should never have put so much on my plate... 
Cause now I’m paying and to my demise ...
The rite of passage has been denied...
I feel like I may blow up and explode...
It’s times like this when you miss the commode...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Food For Thought

                              Here I go again, Another GOD send
                               For the realistic and the optimistic

Have you ever thought your life had another chapter, I'm talking about the here after?  A perpetual state where life is really great or that other place far down below where no one what's to go? I mean the one that's Heavenly, supreme, everlasting, serene far better than your most beautiful dream. Just imagine when your old life end a new life will begin one that's completely without sin. Or do you believe we live, we cry, we die absolutely no reason why, it's just hello and good by. Come on peep's  we all have a brain and knowledge there are to seek and retain, although some knowledge can drive you insane  while  some is purely in vain. 

Still you don't have to be a rocket science nor do your brain have to be immense for all you need to go far in this world is plane common sense. The Book of Life makes it perfectly clear, if you are not sincere your life will end here and love is the key to unlocking the door to infinity. I use to take The Bible for a joke  I can clearly see the signs of the times, was walking sleep. I'm woke. Then I started to wonder how can this book make  such awesome predictions if you look at the world you will see it's nonfiction. And who where the people that wrote with such majesty and might, better still who was the one that told them what to write?

I was going through life wild and carefree , I thought nothing could move me. Then I was told about the piper I would hear wise people say if you dance to his music one day you'll have to pay but it made no sense so I brushed it off  and man did it cost when I found myself completely lost. So I asked for the meaning, you really don't know, it's in the book of knowledge. AWE... You shall reap what you sow. Now I know.

If you call yourself slick and keeping out of sight, what ever done on the  dark shall come to the Light. You can defy, you can deny, just don't make the price too high.  Because there is a lot coming your way just for being born, some not so bad some well out of the norm and this is guaranteed as it is foretold so what ever you do don't add to the load. Or you might hear a snap or a crack from that final straw witch broke your back.  I'm  just letting it be known it's written in stone if you are going through something you are not alone. But  if you try to slip slide and hide thinking you'll never get caught LOOK here comes the piper. Food For Thought.

Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Ode to the Orange Gourd

It’s that time of year again...
When family and friends gather together..
To share and give thanks for all that they treasure..
The young and the old, the tall and the small..
The Vegans and the Carnivores, come one come all...
There are dishes of tradition, like Turkey and stuffing..
Mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry muffins..
Green Bean casserole, and corn soufflé...
Are just some of the dishes of the day....
And of course a relish tray to take off the edge...
With that awesome Spinach dip in Pumpernickel bread...
So many desserts at this time of year...
But the favorite of all , synonymous of the Fall..
Is that Jack’O ‘Lantern, orange Gourd.....
 known as Pumpkin Pie...
As the children play a game of touch football...
Something that is 24-7 on this day in  Fall..
As Grandpa sits in the afternoon sun...
Remembering back ..when he was young...
Then the words of “ Let’s eat “ fills the air...
And everyone sits down in their chair..
Who wants the first slice ? Dark meat or White ?
Grandpa asks...then proceeds to take the first bite..
Everyone fills their plate, till it can’t hold no more...
Yet some go back, for more and more....
Finally everyone is full...can’t eat another bite..
Till the smell of fresh coffee brings on a plight...
Aahh  dessert ..and the best part of all....
“ PUMPKIN PIE “ !!!! ....It appears was a "Majority Call"...
This is “ my “ favorite time of the year....
When you mention "MY" name, everyone gives a cheer !!!
So without  further adieu  ...Grandpa picks up the knife...
As I am the “ MAJORITY CALL “ and receive the first slice....

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


On a bright day
I will be
Grabbing a drink at the bar
Brighton Beach, it seems so far
Coney Island is where you'll find me
Sideshows and Hotdogs
Where I need to be.

Copyright © Jillian Sabecky | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


     (Apropos A Visit Home )  	

Tired shrimp boats sit moored  
along the muddy banks of the Brazos;
their day’s catch iced down and waiting.

Tormenting mosquitoes flew
from puddles of water
pooled between blades of salt grass,
feasting on the fresh blood
of buzzed home comers.

The aroma of seafood gumbo pots 
saturated the salt water air; and the clinking
bottle caps signaled the gathering of keno players.

Olympian domino players slap their table tops
with rhythms that rival the best of Art Blakely’s
drumming on a full moon Afro Night.

Teams of bid whist players
played musical chairs.

Over chattering voices, echoes of howling dogs
faded into canine whimpers
as Gulf Coast breeze blew sweet memories:

Indeed there’s no place
like home.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Elimination of Stress and Strife in My Life

Broke the Rules...
Left some clues...
I'm a fool...
Living in a cesspool...

I hear the economy is bad...
And getting worse each day...
Although it hasn't affected me in any way..
I can even keep kosher if I choose.
So what do I have to lose ?...
I get three meals a day..
And sometimes a snack...
Clean clothes everyday I put on my back..
Exercise is a daily routine..
that I choose to do ..and it keeps me lean..
My quarters are small..but after all..
We have a room with a big color TV...
And a place for family and friends who visit me...
Healthcare ? not a problem you see..
As I don't pay for insurance like thee...
Problem with teeth...rectified
Education, Degree, I can even be Certified..
Because unlike you, who lives outside..
You need to work to survive...
Now I'm a part of the system you see..
And have it much easier than any of thee..
I broke the law and now pay the price...
But I'm still better off than your lousy life...
And when I'm released, I will qualify for...
Medicaid, Medicare and even more...
So you may have done it different than me...
But in "old age ", we're equal you see...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Comfort Food

It's the taste of tears
and ice-cream
in a big plastic

Copyright © Nancy Ames | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

Food For Thought 2

                         For the realistic and the optimistic

Been watching the news, it gives me nothing but the blues and it's the politicians who's turning the screws, we have a situation witch needs to be defused or everybody's about to loose. Relations are starting to corrode people has gone into me mode while things have spun out of control and about to explode. Have we reached the crossroads? Crime is running rampant, shooting, lootings entire neighborhoods on the run and the problem is. More Guns. The nation is becoming divided, in a real crisis, as we turn on each other we forget about ISIS.

Even though they are being beat down, constantly under attack, they are like a bad dream, that keeps coming back. Witch should let us know, not to play them cheap, they are a formidable foe. This country need complete unity to stay strong and free. For no matter how tuff or how grand a house divided shall not stand. This also looks like an elaborate plan to wipe out man. Yes we are in a real stinker and we are falling for it, hook, line and sinker. I mean muder, malice, mayham and madness is everywhere, are we dealing with The Prince of the Power of The Air?

Just look, thousands of bombs, they expend with no compassion, they grin, as they wash their hands in the blood of children. Mean while the big wigs sit back and keep score. Yes folks it's the rich against the poor. People will continue to get sadder as they climb the ladder. Now they are to trash the middle class. When they're through they are coming after the well to do. While we be obedient doing as we are told, like the ostrich sticking our heads in a hole. I don't have to fight nor flee, if I don't see the Lion the Lion don't see me. We are being overpowered then devoured. At least when we stand upright, we know when to fight or take flight. By closings our eyes, playing dumb, something evil this way has come.

He looks like very familiar faces, he also sit in the highest of places. None of us has any worth as long as Satan sit on the throne of the Earth and what we now observe is just the tip of the iceberg. But don't get the blues there is very good news. You are a beacon of light, so shine bright which will drive away the night and show you are living right and it's all right to grandstand for you are in the best of hands.

People. There is a fierce battle about to be fought and a hard lesson that will be taught, so with your drawers down don't get caught, take the blinders off people...
Food For Thought.

Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Coming out on the porch this morning after the sun had risen far above the horizon...I 
noticed that my herbs looked wilted.  Checked but not really dry just potbound or rootbound
in too small of a container..Life___how many of us are potbound or rootbound contained in a 
container that we outgrew years ago___stuck, complacent not growing and soon will die from
starvation because we can't receive the nourishment from the source of our total being the 
giver of life the One Who gives the Living Waters....In the next few days I will get larger 
pots, fresh soil, and remove those plants..distrub their roots...Repot them giving their root 
system room to grow..They will come out giving me fresh French Tarragon, and Lemon 
Thyme all summer..I will enjoy watching them grow and produce....What about me?  Will I 
get out of the pot that is too small and grow?

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |


Hice handwritten from the little notebook my new Hispanic friend read this he speaks of delirium and decay and makes it become fantasy this is for him Self Descriptadjective A Library (lieberry) is full of books they cover upp the words is what we use to read the Story Chapters and the Verse the beginning has a middle and the end. From the firs tpoem ever written you will never see the last self descriptadjective is my best one kept for Jesus as eye rest, Rudyard Kiplins stripling lad the Gunga DInn a water boy a better man then eye a Mexican from Mexico or Spain a Jesus man who drinks he smokes he even tokes his self discriptadjective he stones his bone he has his drunk religious bones and yet who am eye to judge this man has fed me solid food while eye can only steal his food not repay my mood is one of acceptance listen and receive this as iff Jesus gives me from this drunk will argue his religion frevor seems misplaced so why obey some from of Law replaced with Grace perhaps the Jewish Sabbath Day falls on our American Wednesday no He smiles it is on Saturday what matter what is the matter iff drunk and full of more then mere religion everyone has a bananna everyone has something that they must have they place it first in mind in heart in soul so black in need of sin and yet please carry food again come back to me my Mexican GUnga Dinn you Jinn from Old Mexico or Spain. My old freind.

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Food For Thought

Ignorance provides a rarity of hope for tomorrow.
Knowledge is best, even though it increases sorrow.

One reason that it is better to lend than to borrow
Is because debt tends to pierce like an arrow.

The path of least resistance can lead to horror.
Take the moral high ground, even though it is narrow.

01072017 ( Inspired by Bible, Ecc. 1:18b PS Contest,
Written in January 2017

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Golden Sun Of Spring

As spring's golden sun rises awakening the fog.  Its light reveals fog's gray clinging tenacles all about. A Dove coos softly singing in spaces opened up when the roosters quieten their chorus..The tree's dark silhouettes stand still for no breeze rustles the air this morn. Those Blackbirds are back their voices fill the Oaks with lively music.  Then they go down upon the good earth to feed upon the rich food available.  I don't even see anything there but they seem to find plenty everyday.  It seems they are here to stay this year.  They usually come for awhile then leave until about the same time the next year. I wonder if they are going to pair off and stay around.  Only God knows if they will stay or leave.  He has provided for the troup to have sufficient food everyday.  All they have to do is come and feed.  We His creation only have to come into His Presence each day for a short time, open our hearts and minds to hear His Voice.  He is there waiting won't you come and feed upon His Word(The Bible) and then wait to hear His Voice for it is pleasant to the ears..  

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


you love meat
its your beat
it needs  A treat
to eat
and make it talk
you need a

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Dying Dreams

The young dream their dreams away at night

Hoping they come true

A doctor,policemen,veterinarian and other dreams are developed by the young

Too naive to understand the ways of the world

Determined as ever to achieve their dreams

The old regret the dreams they could never accomplish

They had dreams but unknowingly never came true

You go from living a world full of dreams

To living the reality that is life

Why do we let our dreams die

We were so excited as young kids

At the foot step of our dreams

Were we haunted by the mountain we had to climb

To make our dreams come true

Did we simply quit

Because of society’s pressure

Did money deter our dreams away while we slept at night

Did we let doubt creepy into our hearts

Silently killing all of our dreams without realizing it

Why do dreams die so quickly

When we spent years of our youth

Hoping that we could get an opportunity

To make them come true

Dream big, chase your dreams and never let them die

Copyright © Jorge Toro | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Burnt Toast

     At some point you are going to need to impress more than a few friends with some burnt toast. I used to have an old, heavy-gauge chrome-plated toaster with a dial to adjust doneness from 1-5. I took a Sharpie and scribed a 6 at the extreme. The pointer doesn’t actually go there, but it is useful for indicating my intent. It works better than the 5 setting which merely chars the surface. But 6 chars it darn near all the way through, enlarging the pore structure to retain even more melted butter. You gotta be cautious not to overuse that feature because it’ll burn the toaster, as in overheating the thermostat and melting the whispy wires. No more toast for you. Back at the store they were quick to figure out your attempt to exceed the capacity and the clearly worded statement in the ownership contract will be pointed out to you, that glamorous document with the curly-Q decorations making it supremely authentic like a stock certificate from the 1960’s. They replaced my toaster once, but the second and third times I only got a stern look of reproach. The manufacturer has black listed me through my credit card so now all my toaster purchases are cash only.

Copyright © james friske | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Inches make feet without inches there is no foot without beginnings there is no work without measure there is no dearth without a ruler there is no worth there must be rules and there are rules but eye will let them all apply to them my enemies at work and never eye. The horse runs well it has a heart so then they fill syringes from the start to inject the muscles of the neck to make the beast faster than the wind oh heck the animal is dead it never hit the ground but flew too fast and lost the race and life. Desert life is winterless but not without some weather life the sun is always shading and the water is found in sub altern placing near the animals for killing under the ledge of apprehension near the fire of desperation comes the frog and toad and watercrest nut sandwiches. Eye had been to the desert on a horse with no namme it felt good to be out of the rain. Voices come out at me from the air into mye membrain eye call it Disraeli musick it is usually someone in the area with a boom box or even cars with the windows rolled down can be the culprits they hound me when eye am hicking place to place. There is other answers to the crazxy place eye hear noises mad mostly by people in the other cubicles the walls are just invisible the talking is allowed. The thief cannot sneak in sneakers they squeak like he is sweating in his shoe laces. This brings me to mye priority eye. The reason that no one wants to be a Detective is the movies the guy may have had DAMES by the score but he had fights and was so sore the men were ruthless and left him spinning on the side of every road. The streets of New Nuevo York has gum shoe on them. The American idea of Indians and wampum has brought us to the test of food in rest or rants of foreign style they smile and bring the menu back to make certain that the orders write the man has pointed several times at five bills a whack. One from Column A and 2 from Column B brings us to a bill of $23. Well eye wanted some meat too but you are so expansive. Rice and curry hot mustard radishes. Try finding food in the summer time how careful now that eye a homeless one should be then tossing caution to the winding blowing wind when it seems only wrapped so tightly to keep flies at night away. To feed myself is easy to offer some to others almost impossible a few times eye have asked to share they slide that nostril in the air and leave the food to the one that found it in the lair of tossed and discarded things the general city the loose leaf cabbage so nicely adds a bite to the membrain of mye priority eye. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |


it was on a sunday afternoon
in the milldle of june
we  played soulfull tunes
at will
we at spare rids
drink soda and beer alot
it was so hot
we need those pops
stay there until after dark

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


 There is a personal testimony and everyone's focus is on the group and on the 
self and not on JESUS where it was supposed to be the reason eye won't go to 
fellowship with rich working Christians meeting at a SUNDAY SUPPER to drive to 
a pizza place where everyone pays something for the food even if they share it the 
cost is still beyond the pocketbook of yew. The added price of fellowship with 
world is loss of spirit functions eye am not suggesting we have meetings in the 
desert with the hedgehogs but there could be a meeting place for all the 
Christians like the fish doors of the early days of meetings they were in and out 
so furtive searching alleyways for soldiers avoiding arrests and fighting and 
bringing lots of food in the bags of fishes and the loaves of breads in pockets of 
the tunaes fishes smile eye could just not resist this in almost every Church 
there is a Kitchen and in some of them is love the people make the soup for the 
homeless and the court appointed prisoners and even important people come. 
Hang a fish upon the door of every kitchen in the nation make a place with tables 
where the poor can come in love do not forget the love the soup is  nice but even 
slabs of raw meat are not enough with hate. 
Eye could not write a word on yesterday the things that eye had wanted to write 
left on the flight of lost ideas and night came again without a thought and then the 
day came back this fable was born and eye decided to try religion again. The 
focus of a lot of people is the congregation the error being life is not a middle 
class house with people making money in a paper plate of life some people 
need a cup of soup just to survive please open up your love first open up your 
hearts then open all them kitchen cupboards up. There is another thing that eye 
must say to all the bible thumpers not yet in the grave what does it matter what 
the date and day of this my own salvation come the day of JESUS was 33 AD the 
date that GOD was saving me. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

At Kravitz's

The meat slicer is vintage 1957
the walls are a dull green
the deli case is full of the same
bland pastries that crumble
as ruins at Jericho.
The waitresses smile quickly
through tight lips flashing
those straight marble teeth
as they march with their menus
across the linoleum to take
orders for Latkes, 
two for six dollars,
a large size chicken liver
plate for eight fifty,
or the half pound corned beef
“wall” sandwich for 
a fair price. 
I sit at Kravitz's
today for the atmosphere,
I hear the strains of
Va Pensiero in the silence
of the patient deli case, 
the pastry ruins, 
the circus that is the menu,
the New York style low cut
coffee cups, the face
of Mr. Kravitz in the corner. 
This is the place where
things happen if one but
sips coffee and waits and
I order the thick Latke's with
a teaspoon's worth of apple sauce
for each.  None wasted.
The minutes pass slowly
in this gastronomic temple,
I have faith in a destiny,
down to half a Latke.
My phone starts playing music.

Copyright © Peter Kautsky | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |



Eye am risking the loss of some merits to at least prove to some of you that to do 
the works of JESUS is the right and lawful thing to do the man was just like me 
he seems to be a homeless and eye asked him to share my food he said no he 
was taken care of a food card from the service. Eye wound up giving nothing but 
a courtesy yet my blessing is unending the words that JESUS speaks are meant 
to be the life we breathe and giving is so certainly the thing to do. Not bragging 
unnecessarily just letting people knoe to do the works he says to do. Offer 
someone food if they can take it it will help you if they refuse it you can eat it 
seems to me there is nothing there to lose. Now the food eye have to eat is better 
for the act of sharing even the man is not eating with me the food it's doubly 
better in proportions. Show me the house that's built on stilts that's built on sand. 
There is a temporary church that meets inside the main church building they 
usually start the service at nine thirty today they went out on a run away there was 
no church service even eye usually go just to knell down near the table and thank 
Jesus for the offering there there is Coffee and some coffee cake and other 
things as well but today eye am on mye own attempting more than one thing at a 
time it seems beyond the eye trying to stay hooked into the wonder of this life for 
it seems like GOD is just like Santa Clause to me when we have it in our heart to 
do he sees it just the same. 
Eye still carry my raincoat my umbrella even though it has not rained for many 
weeks I'm ready. The place eye like to visit has been pulled out from under me 
the preacher needs to visit his own prayer room just to see how dark his heart is 
to become without his love. He warned me not to trespass and so far eye have 
not been back but the wonder of it all is that the place still seems to stand a 
monument to decadence a monument to disgrace. They knoe that eye am 
homeless eye still walk the street without a place. The blankets in the dump 
seem so nice when eye am cold. Foolishness or wisdom tell me preacher what 
would you do when the sky was falling would you stick your turkey neck up to the 
rain and then just drown or would you find a church with a poor doorway to get 
dry. The path is narrow the climb is steep and harrow the preacher fast asleep. 
Eye cry a homeless to the end of time. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Real Real Spicy Kick Three Hundred Fifty Words Form a Hot Chili Pepper

""Entirely you know I cannot change the whole of the World all on my own." - "Or can I?" "I mean whom better to start with?"" ""Yes, finding I am; Humility raises no defense or real doubt for- nor rouses up no great fear against - one better yet yes offers no consequence." to anyone, thing; "freely bow's down; in only direct reflection to itself."" "So yes rather than win can you lose be rather wrong than right - surrender everything keep stirring the pot friend yes not let the beans burn." - "Yeah ha Ha ho yo oh yes don't you know how hard out of my way I'd be sure to go just to avoid that?"" ""I am so-curious; "Brilliant!" everything is used for something, so to Grace I lend a knee; heart, open mind hand."" - "Some barter's made yes some sold are bought and sold and re-bought again and again. entirely" - ""Heaven knows I have bought that Farm before; sold a lot of priceless - valuables in my time I cannot ever wage enough collateral to buy back." "My very soul included, Ex-Wife Life - Children, yeah I tell you I sold it all, yes, my entire family."" - "Vivid" fond their memory's"- But I would not change a thing, if I had to do it all again. ""Yes time and time again; Because I wouldn't be the man I am today if it were not for all of the mistakes; lessons learned, of my past. "But you know I know I could never-barter with God for any true faith in my own security." - No no I cannot bargain with Him, to reach a place, vision as Blissful Peaceful; Pure; as that; "HEAVEN!" ""So to fill a weary soul, He taught me, a bowl of Copperhead soup." "Well I tell you now friend sure makes for a fine; cleansing-dish."" ""With white-wine salad lemon pepper chard finger size copperhead steak patty's on the side - "Lima beans - fresh milk cornbread yeah they all provide a quick cooling, for a real real; spicy kick ... !""

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Some wise-man expounded that a knife and a fork
Seperate men from their simian ancestors
I'm not so sure
Certain people should show
Their true colors
And cram the food straight
Into their face
Ram the grub right 
Down their throats
Fingers and all
Staring ahead blankly
Streaming grease begins swinging
From a cinderblock chin
Thus soiling their near perfect
Opposing appendages are great
For ripping flesh from the bone
And fastening bow ties

Copyright © dennis sheffer | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

Give A Lift

Give A Lift
By Curtis Johnson

So you are aware of a need
Are you prepared for the deed?

So you want to reach out and help
Are you prepared to go the depth 

So you want to do all you can
But do you have any kind of plan?

To help someone in need is more than a notion
And it requires more than a tear drop of emotion
It helps to say a little prayer, and have lots of devotion

There’s a hungry person simply trying to live
But your pockets reveal you have nothing to give

He stands there, hot and tired, cold and hungry
He has a cardboard sign, constantly looking out
It’s not our job to decide if he’s looking for handouts
He needs a little help, a little hope, a little hand up

All she wanted was just a little change,
Just a little love to relieve her pain

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Soul Food Recipes

Rob Brezsny reports
In 2004, San Rafael hosted a World Conference of Soul-Making
resulting in three schools for best practices,
to which I will add one more.

"The Ruminators
theorized that humans are born without souls
and can create them only through arduous,
disciplined rebellion against all belief systems.

The Resonators
agreed that soul isn't innate,
but insisted that soul-making is by no means difficult
...gathering good stories is effective
and not at all hard.

The Revelators
said every person is born with a soul
in seed form,
and need only discover the 'blueprint' of that seed
in order to attract the experiences
necessary to draw out its potential."

The Regenerators
agree with all of the above,
born with a potential integrating seed,
we struggle with dissonance of painful ruminations
and celebrate their great climatic Creation Story culminations
to uncover resonantly notnot 
reiteratively positive soul-revelations.

Once again, adding a culminating four-fractal fold
to three interdependent spatial dimensions
closes a four-season structured development story
openly inviting our regeneratively expectant revisit
for yet more soul food
made of premillennial manna.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

To All My Soupmates

Have a wonderful holiday.  Happy Thanksgiving!!!  Remember, the best things at 
the table are your family.   Tom

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |

Ninja Restaurant

I walked her home
Chatting aimlessly of nothing
Finding words to fill time
As we slithered by the Betty Crocker Shop
Sweet fragrances
Of apple pie and coffee
In a death grip
Pulled us both inside
And forced us to sit at a table
The waitress
A knowing accomplice
Snickering behind her receipt book
Scribbled down mounds of orders
That were forced upon us by the heated oven
Three hundred pounds later we left

Copyright © CJ Krieger | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Apart From Me

Somber silly little Setter, English; painting trapped himself in the side yard whimpering, howling away wildly. 

Sunscreen-on, moseying on over, in His tenderness He offers a helping hand. Hot Summers cool vapors the blessings found  here, there to and fro leaning midst the still lulling; gentle calling of the Rains. 

Yes the Grace of God, in His joy humming, arriving just in time, and so is Patience the greater venture I suppose the eminent virtue. 

His Love always; Honest, Open... Willing already beholden... . Far beyond the wreck I make for myself and others... chains stretched bounded securing me yes, my freedom in kind stripped away from me given in the effort this provisional very prominence preceding me when in denial of these facts.     

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


its in my mind
all the time
rain or shine
she our life shine
how she cooke
without a cooke book
how she look
like a mess
in her

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |



Copyright © steven williams | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


its cheap
real meat
get underneat
it lunch
you juct munch
as you walk and talk
don't have to money
well honey

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012