Prose Poetry Happy Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Happy

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Look At Me

                             ~Look At Me~
Look at me,I will wait until you can overcome your shyness,
I will wait until you become positive.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your touchiness,
I will wait until you become fearless.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your stiffness,
I will wait until you become loving.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your emptiness,
I will wait until you become blameless.
Look at me,I will wait until you overcome your nervousness,
I will wait until you become indispensable for me.
                               ~I Will Not Wait~
Look at me,I will not wait because I felt you have a captivating 
charm hidden under what you show as your authority.
I will not wait,because I am eager to become part of your life, 
you gave me the impression that you have a gift of making me 
feel imperishable.
I will not wait,because you are generous with your time and friendship,
you are generous with your love so it becomes durable and loyal.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression that your enormous 
sensitivity becomes your enormous strength to achieve your goals,and 
help your partner during a lifetime.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression that you bring
strength and intensity to your surroundings,you encourage your spirit
& soul to remain persistent and ambitious.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression you are so powerful 
and tenacious,nothing will stand in your way until you reach your
goals, as you do not like to be a failure.
I will not wait,because you gave me the impression that you can love me,
I will wait no more to manifest my love towards you beyond belief,
its unavoidable,its powerful,it needs no introduction anymore as my love
is instantaneous,endless,may I become your lover tonight. WOW,Yes. 

Therese Bacha

Copyright © Therese Bacha | 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 |

The Ever Lasting Love Of A Child

             ~The Ever Lasting Love Of A Child~

You live and still living through thee only love that can last a 
whole life time between us,that same love we knew yesterday 
when we were born remains with us today, tomorrow, and after

A love so deep that only you our mother can feel it,as it
Is an unconditional love that has no end,your giving,your 
love that knows no boundaries,Its real we feel it in our depth
daily when you are not surrounding us,Its for good,Its not an
illusion mom,because Its pure.

A love which transforms our shadows to experience the 
need to stay alive,your existence in our lives will never 
fade away,our respect,our missing you allows our tears
to leave traces on our cushions during the night.

That instant love of the moment when we were born Is an 
everlasting love,we feel it,our loneliness vanishes,memories 
do not seem far away,that reality will always remain in 
process of becoming even when aging.

A love without pain this is what you made us feel,a love that 
cries out loud even be heard with the rumbling of thunder. 
That same love can be felt between electric wires,our phoning
you everyday,its so full of truth so beautiful it feels like 
a spiritual love, our beloved mom.

Seconds never pass unaccounted for,you even wipe away 
our clouded eyes,that kind of love mom can even predict
our happiness no matter what the outcome of our 
coming years would bring.

That same love has so much emotions it illuminates our souls, 
its untouchable,immeasurable,unforgettable,it is a reason 
for our existence,your love cures our pain even when 
too much time has passed away.

Mom, we both your sons will love you,forever an everlasting love.
Sorry Mum we couldn't be with you in person, but our heart
cries out for you, Happy Mothers Day. Your Sons.

Contest for PD. Happy Mothers Day
                13/5/2013   (Win No. 8)

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Spring New beginnings

Such a beautiful sight a valley of snowdrops, white heads nodding in approval of our love.   We wander hand in hand no more lookng back, just forward, stepping into the Spring time and the wonders of the new.

tiny sprouting leaves
flowers nodding downwards ...
spring morning

Walking together in  the countryside, we stop and kiss, just so happy to be together at last, lambs with bobbing tails watch tentatively, nervously bleating for their mam's shelter . A lone donkey in with a full of horses with their foals, is so happy as he feeds.

in green pastures
horses are grazing ...
springtime feeds the eyes

Our love has stood the test of time, new beginnings spring forth. Looking towards the winter of our lives together.

a glowing sun sinks
awaking lonely hearts ...
love blooms

Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Happy Family

Happy Family
There is no closer bond in our life other than with relatives.
How bad a problem between family members can also be always a thought about it from both sides with a desired reconciliation.
We can never choose on our own family, only when we get married to swear the oath for trust, our in-laws also can become the family member of us.
A Successful family is when everything is well organized in harmony with each other, so that every problem can be solved peacefully.
It will be grandiose if everyone in the family can rely on each other in any circumstances, this also give us a soothing and relaxing feel.
The family love is something that can go to the extremes between members with a limitless desire for each other and it is indispensable in a family relationship.
It’s give and take among themselves but without having any thoughts to extract benefit from each other.
We only able to meet a few people in our life in which we can treat them the same as our family member, but with them we can develop a super good friendship and they are indispensable in our life.
When our family grows then several new members has been added which makes our life becomes more meaningful and the love play a major role with mutual respect.
We would never miss our family, because we’ve learned a lot of life experience from them with joy and fun thus we becoming the person we are now.
And now we can be very proud with ourselves because of the family members we have with us all the time through thick and thin.
Our thoughts will always with them, even when they are out of sight , they still conquered a place deep inside our heart.
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen

Copyright © Jan Jansen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


                                                   I pray to God 
                                      to keep us safe from every spheres
                                          by inflicting good consciousness 
                                          to do away from all evil actions 

                                                    I pray to God
                                        to lead us to the perfection in life
                                by pouring sense of love to all hard heart man
                                      to make the World better living place 
                                                     I thank to all
                                 who have given me support from any sides
                                either mentally, financially or with few words
                                          I will remember them always


Copyright © BL DEVNATH | Year Posted 2012

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 |

Rich Man Poor Man

Human tastes vary and so are the desperate cravings to capture the best in human ambition,
A more desperate thirst for fame, riches and for power can be a low, vulgar bitter taste,
I admire the spirit of the man who sees richer recompense as a sign of alleviated misery,
And I see goodness in smiles and enlightened hearts of happy people that enjoy their life,
Men who enjoy what's free in life, the softness a beauty of a June night and warm breezes,
The calm clear loveliness of a dark sky where moon beams shine and an evening star glows,
Acknowledging wonder as the smallest sounds of the night, owl's hooting, crickets singing,
Enjoying the night time smell where different breezes unlock, the sweetest secret essences,
It could be the leafy aroma of the trees or the scents of many wild lovely forest flowers,

A man who knows the price of a wives 'I love you' when he comes home from his daily work,
A man who knows the value of money and would rather his name valued in poor mans prayers,
There are two choices in this world, greed or contentment but they do not go hand in hand,
So we see these choices as two garments spread out for your selection, which do you choose,
One is tattered slops of your own righteousness for ambition, to waste life chasing money,
Or be happy and live in a world that you can enjoy and afford, no one banging on your door,
Choosing between the two seem to be very simple and even a child would tell which one it is,
The fact is most grown men would choose the road to ambition and riches and all its burdens,
To these men a brilliant morning sunshine means nothing, a morning mist on a lake is wasted.

To rush through life chasing gold, not hearing curlews in far off moors, is the poor man,
The rich see joy on a beautiful day listening to quails piping from green corn in twilight,
To feel a flush of happiness along margins of a beach, waves break in flame at your feet,
To hear strokes of an oar, somewhere in the dim obscure and list, wild cries of the tern,
A plover that never sleeps soundly, sweeps past and plunges onward, until gone from sight,
The man who understands real treasures in life, remembers happy times, into his last days,
Greedy men remember too late when old and grey, reflecting through an ocean of wet tears,
These musing men spring forward forgetting poetry of the ocean and a new mornings sunrise,
Then let them go from beauty, the understanding of beauty is wasted, the poor man is rich.  

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Happy Father's Day: Your Sweat Is My Increase

your left hand was hard, but your right, gracious putting me in the balance of Love of which its fulcrum is discipline and respect. Your weaknesses were classified just to ensure I see beyond mine Your chastisement was not without pain of which its appreciation is a strong indicator of my gradual maturity. You always guard the gates of my territory like a Centurion and fight against all antigens like a warlock. You taught me how to be complete and provided the staff and Ass as I journey across Life and appreciate. I initially thought of you differently when you gave me the partially made sandal, when you refused to help with the air-tight metal box, when you gave me bone while milk was still my best delicacy when you laughed at me while I'm confused and worst of all, stopping Mum to come to my rescue. I never knew they were task of Life I most needed, finishing off the sandal made me industrious, opening the box, made me determined and never relenting, chewing the annoying bone made me grow up; your scorn and laughter actually made me decisive and rescuing myself made me independent. All these sum up to making me a MAN! Which makes you my Hero and role model. Before I was, there was you; in fact, I am in existence because of you. I've always clinged unto you as my Life's support but you allow me make my mistakes so as to be the best gadget. Your regulation of Mum's affections only makes me be an unspoilt egg. I always increase when you sweat and your headaches are stepping stones to my zeniths. You are such an irreplaceable asset and your love, so refreshing as the evening air. What more can I say and how else can I show gratitude? As much as I know, you need none of these, One thing I must always say is, I LOVE YOU DAD!

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Concerto of the Enchanting Night

Concerto of the Enchanting Night
 Arabic Poem by: Fadhil Aziz Farman *
 Translated Into English by:
 Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)

You suggest the songs
And leave me deep
In the splendor of the rhythm and melody. 
Drag my day out of the dream to wakefulness 
I have not known 
But the philosophy of dreams 
In all my days.

You suggest the songs
And leave me floating in a wave of fragrance 
Showered down By Lynol Ritchie 
With his love songs 
Or by Yanni with his tunes.
And dance
Do the tango 
Do the waltz 
Do the ballet or the jerk dance
Dance as you please 
Or spin around the Earth-pole,
O symbol of amazing taste, 
Rouser of lightning in the sky,
And crown of all beauties.
Here I am intoxicated
By the melody pulsating in your figure 
And by the bashful roses 
On your cheeks,
O sweet wine in my chalice and my vats.
You suggest the songs
And at the end of the round
Put your head on my chest, 
O child of my poems, 
And listen to my heart singing them 
With the virgin tears of joy 
Flowing down the violin’s cheek.
You suggest the songs
You suggest the melody 
And hint the sweet words
They’ll come to you 
Then hold me to your chest like a child.
I will need your ear 
To whisper to you 
All that baffles my heart 
And my tongue 

You suggest the songs
And strew them
Such as roses 
On the desert of my life.
What remains for us 
Of all our years, 
But joy
Strewn like roses
And like dew
On the seconds? 
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 * Fadhil Aziz Farman is a poet from Iraq
 The original poem in Arabic

Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

I'm Not Five

I was going to jump on the bed at midnight
While she slept to wish her a happy birthday.
But she looked so asleep and it was so quiet.
I did it anyway because it's funnier to go through with it.
It's not like I'm throwing a nerf ball at her head.
So I get my knees on the bed and hop up-and-down
And "whisper-yell," "happy birthday happy birthday."
And she's not upset, in fact, she's giggling. 
And she whispers to me that she loves me.
I whisper to her that I love her, too.
And I leave the room with the bed
I just jumped and sang on.
And I'm 32.
I mean it's not like I fell off the bed
While jumping and hurt my head.
And made an owie.
I'm not 5.

Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Happy Christmas Poetsoupers

                                                                        and pray,
                                                                       let there be 
                                                                   light where there 
                                                                is gloom, let there be 
                                                             love where  hatred stalks. 
                                                         Realise hope  when despair 
                                                      overtakes our day, walk in honesty 
                                                   and truth, carry the shadows of kindness 
                                                 and humility throughout your life. Be gentle 
                                             of heart to family and loved ones, be tolerant of 
                                           faith and thoughts of fellow man. Be akin with others
                                         less fortunate than ourselves, be humble in the eyes of
                                        your God. Hold the memories of those passed, distant or
                                     on duty dearly, on this birthday of all birthday's pray for the 
                                    infant child of all nations. Peace and your God be with you all.
                                                  Happy Christmas and a brilliant New Year


Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010

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 |


Ever since I can remember we visit my grandmother´s house every Sunday.  In the dinning room were we usually spend the while there, she has always had this big glass carved showcase lying against the wall. This big showcase of hers has all types of dolls you can imagine. Is a collection a hobby of her that since I can remember it grows bigger every time. From Matryoshka dolls until Mariachi dolls we can see up there in her collection. Dolls from many places around de world: France, Russia, China and Germany are some examples. My father tells me she collects this dolls since he was a kid, from house to house they have lived on she has taken this big showcase of hers. My grandmother is a collector, and yes she has probably more than 20 different nationality dolls, but this doesn’t mean she has been all around the world. People that know her and care for her always bring her a doll as present when they come back from a vacation. Sometimes I ask her things about the dolls, and every single time no matter her age she always remember the dolls that are the most special to her. Some are presents from other people, and others were bought by herself, but from this special dolls she can give all the exact information. Off course the majority of the dolls she doesn’t even remember from which place they come from or who gave them to her, but I see the smile on her face every time we talk about this showcase, and I feel happy myself only by thinking how an object that she has save for so many years have a great value to her. But most of all I feel happy that one of this special dolls is a present from me and every once in a while when she remembers she thanks me for this doll and tells me that is one of her favorites. 

Copyright © Ricardo Cisneros | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

The 'Happy' Porn Star

  The 'Happy' Porn Star.
Grew up in poverty, 
on a farm,deep down in the south.
With too many brothers 
and many her cousins.
She had not the time to love them all..
Except for her pet pink pig.
She had no use for a cork screw.
Most of the house looked like there's.
Not her room, 
full of lace and silk, they yurned.
She burned and burned wanting more.
She has her own pony.
Nice little pony and friends.
By the time she was grown and tall.
Every thing of value she owned.
Old gold coins and silver in a box
southern confederate money, 
yellowed with age.
She packed it all up, 
while her pony and she rode away. 

Is It Poetry 

Copyright © Poetry Is It | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |

Beware You smiling man

Beware! You, smiling man...
 Smile isn't always so good,
 It may also deceit sometimes in life;
 People may mistake You
 for Hiding something,
 showing something,
 With no reason they may think,
 You’re wrong unclear for them;
 Beware! You, smiling man...
 Ladies think your intention wrong,
 You have flirting smile,
 With no reason,
 watch you with dubious eyes;
 Men may think,
 Your smile has naughty touch,
 you are making fun of them;
 Beware! You, smiling man...
 You always smile for even no reason, 
 they may think, you are no serious, 
 no worth trusting you; 
 Beware! You, smiling man...
 Some love odour of rose,
 And some rouse by Lilly aroma;
 Never smile at pyre,
 Never smile to haughty,
 Never smile to weeping man,
 Smile only when needed,
 Where needed, that wisdom says;
 Beware! You, smiling man...
 Smile isn't always so good; 
 it may also deceit sometimes in life;

© Sadashivan Nair

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

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Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

you make me happy

You place me on the tallest tower in the world
You showed me the beauty of nature from that height
You never let me down until I am satisfy
You are truly committed to my happiness 

Copyright © Olivia Nimley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Teenage Love 19: 2010-present

When it comes to young love, it's a beautiful thing for young people from around the world. 
And when it comes to teen boys and teen girls falling in love with each other since the day they 
met, it's like fireworks popping in the sky. Their moms and dads are either happy about it or 
inapproving or whatever. It seems to everybody that most relationships among all teenagers 
might even last to either 72 hours or a lifetime. That's a really long time, but then, if these two 
young lovebirds want to stay together, even until their high school reunions, then that's fine. 
Sometimes love will make young men and/or young women do some silly things or whatever, 
but love doesn't; it's just an emotional feeling for teen boys and teen girls combined. Their 
parents (the moms and the dads) should also know what their lives were like when they were 
teenagers, especially since the day they fell in love with each other. Young love has 
revolutionized the year 2010 and it'll revolutionize the future of all of the would-be teen 
couples. This is starting to get very interesting. It looks like the junior/senior high school years 
will be with all of the wound-be-then teen love birds for the rest of their natural lives. All 
relationships among all young people will not just continue to increase every single day, but no 
matter what the circumstances of young relationships or whaterer, it'll seem that day in and 
day out, all of the young lovers (all teen boys and all teen girls) will always have love for each 
other, and their parents are very happy about it. And if young love continues to grow and grow 
by the time the year 2025 arrives, there's no telling what beautiful thing might happen next.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Happy Hour

...She asked me what I was so deep in thought about. I told her it was about a girl I saw once. She finished her martini, pushed it, along with the cocktail napkin towards the bartender. “good luck with that,” she said. She walked away. She left. Her lips were imprinted on the martini glass, I examined the shape, each crease, and I thought about the possibility of language. How my words could be aimed at her. She was gone, so I aimed metaphors, similes, and calculated syllables at this particular stemmed glass. I swirled them  around gently. All these ideas shaped themselves into a woman--miniature--inside this martini glass--she was mine, and I carried her with me throughout the rest of the evening. When the night was over she broke apart into tiny little pieces; particles, matter, and soon she dissolved right there before my eyes, and I went back to thinking about the possibility of language. 

Copyright © Augusto Munoz | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Backyard Politics of Love, etc

By now this self-analytical Left mindbody lens grows thin
imagining dualistic cultural dominance,
logically sciencing,
rationally defaulting to either-or assumptions
supposedly proving either x or y
does notnot also equal x + y = (0)-squared
fractally regenerative temporal health-balance
unfolding c(+) + c(-,-)
bilaterally bicameral delicious eco-lovely light.

Which seems to merge natural with spiritual,
co-functional ecological paradigms of temporal-dialectical analysis,
networking through (0)-sum economic and political cooperative-regenerate
functional potentialities for me,
my struggling and also loving-listening family,
and my neighborhood,
our BioRegional Network CoOperative
of WinWin Positive-Balanced
strategic optimization of health's internal as external climate adjustments
toward truer-healthier Yang/Yin EcoCentric Balance.

I still work toward hearing political and economic love-potential
through loud and dissonant, sometimes wild and downright ugly,
voice within my own richly diverse extending muticultural families.
What might I do that could actually please all sixteen
of my grandparents grandparents?
AND, all our current grandchildren's future grandchildren,
nearly regardless of species,
although I do harbor some prejudices again overly aggressive and thorny brambles, 
gratuitously clinging out-of-control ivy,
and, well, yes I see my anthrocentric desires to recreate
to please my own aesthetic and nutritional pleasures.

I still play while listening within political-economic bird and insect song
and dance
and rhythms of embryonic development patterns
of polymorphic co-exegetically healthy growth and safety trends.
This backyard outdoor therapeutic time
speaks more clearly through Earth's patient Love Development Languages,
logos of Earth's revolving nutrient-rich dipolar light
as notnot equivalent
binomially TransParent YinYin
EcoConscious BiCameral Light.

Here, embryonically swimming in warm organic early June's DeLight,
fluttering yang/yin breathing leaves of forest waves
scenting pollen's fertile fresh scent,
Yang love Yin loves Yang,
much more contenting
then Yang dominates Yin recesses bipolar-oppositional-defiant;
projecting future eco-not-so-logical climate changes
of a revolutionary traumatic EarthBound Nature,
bad news for RNA and DNA regenerate health
co-operative investors.

Now if we could grow stronger love inside the house
to smell and feel and sound more reminiscent
of this outdoor song and dance party,
perhaps I might have more to offer my neighbors,
especially the edibles and ornamentals,
between which my Fetal Alcohol Defiant Daughter
quite often fails to distinguish.

Fortunately for ornamental me,
a female robin just stopped by
to invite our co-mentored Basic Attendance Therapy
between apparently alien-languaged biosystems.

Her visit honors me,
as she invites my reconnection
within our shared ReGenerating Heritage
and Future CoCreation Story.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

True Love

When you put your hand in mine

It feels as through we stopped time

When I look into your eyes

I know where your heart lies

Even when you say my name

That alone means everything

The gentle touch of your lips

Takes my breath away as through it was our first kiss

When you got down on your knee

I thought my heart might flee

As you said those words to me

My heart felt as if it was meant to be.....

Copyright © Tiffany Flowers | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


Silence is deafening
I break the eerie tone
with a crackle of the egg
and the sizzle of the pan
Silence no more

Copyright © Robyn Campbell | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


Eye came unhurriedly into the Ronstadt center walking unhurriedly for it is a Sunday 
Schedule on the Bus Sun Tran couple this with Easter and a holiday to boot upon the land of 
this renewed AmeriCa, may GOD in Jesus help mee eye forgive her; When to mye surprise 
delight a happy Easter eye surprised the EGG just laying there forlorn and forgotten from the 
Basket on a ledge where bus patrons sit and Gather dust just waiting for the buss there it 
was boiled and purple colored Easter Egg with White left interspaced and looking closely eye 
discovered some spattered mottley colors there none of them a primary some EGG childe 
artiste had created this created creation just for eye to find so eye peeled it carefully of shell 
but some color still remained on EGG transporting me back home to MOTHER and to Yard 
again while eating EGG a man now eye took half of it away with just one bite while eyeing 
yellow yolk inside a smile then one more bite egg was gone a swallow a lifetime 
remembered happy childhood was revisited all in one short moment of an Easter Sunday 
Suntran Bus day. On this mye Easter Sunday. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |

perfect people aren't happier

Perfect people aren't happier,
 Use brain and not the heart, 
 Want this perfect, want that right,
 Look perfect, do perfect,
 Perfection stresses them all the time,
 Entire life elapses in perfecting life all the time...
 Imperfect use heart not the brain,
 Do mistakes - Do blunders all the time,
 Have memories of mistakes to laugh at, all the time,
 Bad experiences make them have fun, all the time...
 Life experiences make them happier all the time.
 Perfect ...use their brain not the heart, all the time...
 Imperfect ...use their heart not the brain, all the time...
 The teachers elders taught me, 
 Be perfect all the time...
 But life experiences teach me,
 Be happy all the time...
 Perfection without happiness isn't any use,
 Happiness without stand is as good as curse...
 I learnt perfection gives me stand,
 Happiness teach me to live the life,
 Sometimes wrong and some right,
 I feel is good for life.....

© Sadashivan Nair

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Tears don't mean sad or pain

Tears don't mean sad or pain,
 Isn't even flow from wounded heart...
 Tears are way to express joy and sad...
 Emotion charged when fervently warmed...
 In Very sad or Ecstatic joy, 
 the persona links with soul,
 Feels the touch and melts to drops...
 Tear turns on to heal and cool the soul,
 Tears show the worth of love and hate...
 Tears don't mean sad or pain..

© Sadashivan Nair

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

live a moment

Looking here and there, striving for rapture...
 Went to friends, 
 they said get rich, enjoy luxury, 
 Pleasure is the means of joy...
 Not really!!
 So knocked the doors of sages and saints,
 Same old preaches from sacred books,
 Nothing new; seek refuge of God, 
 Get blessings for blissful life...
 Not impressive!!
 Then went knocked door of God...
 God reluctantly sobbed 
“I gave you life and things to live. 
 Go back; Find yourself what you want”....
Discosolated finding no hopes!!
 Sat lonely under the tree...
 Watching child hitting stick on ground, 
 Enjoying the sound,
 Was busy so much cared none except a stick and sound...
 What Taught me!!
 Bliss lies in our mind, stick was only tool to turn on...
 Need no extra strain!!
 A simple stick was child's joy...
 I learned Enjoy each moment,
 Whenever, whatever, wherever we find...
 Child had in mind, live the moment...
 What others failed, was a lesson taught by child...
 Found what I looked for!!
 Purity, innocence are mantras, 
 The path to live blissful life...

© Sadashivan Nair

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Be Thankful

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Be Thankful
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  December/2014

your light

be joyful 

and spirit -

new day



breath -


give praise's

Great Spirit,


the Sun -

Be thankful,

your light




is all 
have -

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Dear Partner

Dear Partner,

Present and future,

I feel like I should apologize now.

I am awkward

I am shy

I am emotional

I get attached quickly

Dear Partner,

Present and future,

I'm sorry.

Dear Partner,

Present and future,

I am someone who will do everything to see your smile

I am someone who will buy you things because it reminded me of you

I am someone who will see you as beautiful even if you don't believe it

I am someone who will give my all to make you happy.

Dear Partner,

Present and future,

Thank you.

Copyright © Cassidy Budd | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father’s Day
By Curtis Johnson

Good morning dad and happy father’s day.  You have been gone for a very long time now; some 55 years to be exact.  When you were still with us, as a child I did not get to know you very well.  Perhaps our time together was very limited because there were lots of siblings, and you had lots of responsibility in caring and providing for all of us.  Thank you for all your hard work by keeping us fed, clothed, and warm in winter.  O dad, I’m so sorry that you did not live a long life.  You never got to see me and your other children grow up to finish school and move on to marriage and careers of our own.

Nevertheless dad, I feel that you gave to us a very strong foundation relative to the work ethic and human relations.  You lived long enough to teach us the basic lessons of right and wrong, and you stayed with mom until death, showing us the enduring value of family.  And by the way, thanks for marrying such a wonderful lady to be our mother.  She was only 35 when you passed away.  She did a masterful job at such a young age in caring and providing for us.  We all finished high school, no teen pregnancies, and none went to jail, 

I must say concerning mother, there were times I felt you mistreated her, but she was strong and refused to allow you to go too far.  Indeed, she was not a pushover.  I suspect that this side of mother sometimes surprised you.  That is to say that she both deserved and commanded respect from you.   I am certain that you were the better for it, because she never allowed herself to be an enabler of bad behavior.

Finally dad, a few additional words of thanks.  Thank you for the large and strong swing set that you had built for us.  It was enjoyed by us and all the kids in the neighborhood at a time when we were forbidden the use of the public playground.  Thank you for teaching me how to tie my shoes and for showing me the value of keeping them clean.  I shall never forget the day on a sunny afternoon that you taught me how to drive your truck.  It was the joy of my life.  That day, it was just you and me returning from a trip through the countryside,  selling fresh green peas from your garden.


Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015