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Prose Poetry Hate Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Hate

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

And Then I Pray

You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad

Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Rain-bow Nation


Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

I hate shopping

I hate shopping 
but when I go shopping
I know what I’m looking for
I go to the right store
I go to the right floor
I grab it 
they bag it
and I am out the door
Shopping is an awful chore

Copyright © Monty Newman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

Black Skin

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Black Skin
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014

What do you

when you
at me (?)

has you
speechless (?)

are you

you don't
me - (?)

are you
inquisitive -(?)

What is it
have your

on my
black skin (?)

copyright (c) 082014

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Garden Club Ruse part 1 of 2

For years no one ever had a clue...
Of the secret she hid..no one knew..
The child inside her never shed a tear...
Although she lived everyday with fear...
She grew up never knowing what love was...
Till that fateful day, when he met him on the bus..
He was tall and handsome and had a great smile...
Knew all the words making her feel worthwhile...
They fell in love and soon were married...
And that’s when things changed...the love got buried..
The days were long and the nights were lonely...
They seldom spoke, and if only...
She hadn’t seen that ad...this never would have happened..
Join the Garden Club today and...
 wipe all your cares away 
There’s more to this story..I must conceive...
So please follow this sequel and I believe....
You will stop and think of the words I wrote...
And perhaps even take your own personal note....

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

317 Words Better than a Life Hell Bent on Hate

Standing up tall holding my own leaning hard headlong into the wind yes I believe I have heard felt seen it all it seams. 

Been down on the row held my hand up high up on the bush - but yes time tells me to not worry - Lord has been carrying me for some time now.

If I could write you a sonnet I would, but; I haven't the clue of that form. 

Yeah all that I know, is to write in Joy and embrace the wind time and the realities as they are; and come. 

Though broken, I feel it can bring one to be enlightened through time, if a prayer is given for this and the heart to remain open with no strings attached and so yes if this is achieved, the Sun so to say is sure to rise again in the morning, and the World will march on together in Peace and so this Hope will remain, "Love Mercy and Forgiveness  - selflessness - will always be the keys to winning with God and one another - and the time it takes to share a kind word with the one who is down - well brilliant; it will always be a greater life - and in general the days will not be as tough as it is to live in a place Hell bent my friend depending solely on-Hate erroneously alluding to and believing that that alone will make all the difference ... and keep one safe.

"Yeah ha ha, I Laugh!"

Yes and having relied on Hate as a fix all answer all before myself well from bitter experience; I tell you it never did help - yeah and I tell you one more thing friend I know now Hate in all of its selfishness intended and ultimate suffering; it-never will ... . No no it never-will.

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Calculating Costs of Hate Crimes

Wherein lies the great dividing moral distinction
between hate crimes of socioeconomic historic proportion
and multicultural perpetuation,
and the more mundane population of defiance crimes
of a more personal nature?

Why is society's right to aggressively imprison unto nutritional neglect,
to kill and maim in just vengeance of angry sociopathic retribution,
politically and economically correct,
yet not these smaller personal issues
of ego-defiance,
LeftBrain exercising WinLose Competitions
for political and/or economic survival-thrival powers?

Which crimes are not self-enslaving,
hating crimes of calculating and emotive passions?
What crimes of aggressive terror
or malignant neglect of healthier options
wears no stink of hate?

Whether conducted as public retribution
or private rebuke of ego-supremacist behaviors,
lacking are self-esteem of WinWin
Both-And justice-option hunting
and gathering together.
Hate breeds further hate,
as love co-arises love.

Revenge is usually counter productive
where hypnotic addictions rooted in
an unholy internal constellation 
of anger+fear=active distrust moving toward paranoid hate-panic
tyrannically pathological nightmares
bleeding back into silos of despair,
aloneness fog of white noise,
timeless absence of healthy hope.

What seems needed are ecotherapeutic self-nutritionists,
lovers and beautifiers of co-empathic trust
co-mentoring mutual invitations into deep ecology of learning
healthy nutritional life options
as compared and contrasted with ego-purgation 
(0)-sum notnot life-giving,
restraints on right-now cooperative abundance.

Who dares continue throwing stones
when we might regenerate love's healthier WinWin Economics instead?

Criminalizing hatred itself
is like trying to fight fire with more fire;
it can work
but is best reserved as last extreme resort response
to wilder sweeping climatic conflagrations,
which would not have occurred
had we compulsory health education about love regeneration
rather than anger management removed from its wiser,
more ecosystemic home.

Perhaps it is fair revenge to imprison sociopathic haters
with other haters,
but who would that leave out,
and what shall we all do within our mutual imprisonment of fear and anger?
Provide Anger Management remediation,
yet not even discuss concomitant absence of love 
as self-optimizing health,
never mention absorbing truths 
of cooperative political and economic therapeutic beauty?

What do we feed our prisoners,
our self as other hating outlaws?
Do we serve up healthy relationships and environments,
or ever more toxic plastic degradations
that will continue to replenish pathological self-hate?

Imprisoning haters,
without repurposing
or even simply inviting to conjoin a more therapeutic life,
discovering potential lovers as co-mentors,
satisfies political lust for vengeance
in exchange for defiance
only if we are content to continue
on their future abuse and neglected generations,
future active distrusters
and criminally addicted self and other haters.

Which of your crimes against nature
are you so sure did not emerge
from co-arising nondual fears and angers?
conjoined to hate self-hating haters,
devolving away from WinWin regenerative exegesis,
plummeting terror-climatic norms of emotional despair
reduced toward pathological LoseLose
political-economic ecology
of not-really-so-much Grace.

Enslaving and imprisoning fractured hostile lives
while throwing away our deep listening key
is like intentionally placing an abused/neglected child
with an exhausted, starving, addicted sexual predator,
hoping they will teach each other further dramatic exploits
in what to never do.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Listen to the wind as it crashes into the towns and villages and downs mighty trees,
Stand still, let it blow until you nearly fall, face its anger and lean into the cold wind,
It brings snow so heavy, flakes will bite your face, freeze your wet golden pig tails
Stand in the blizzard then fall to the ground and stay there, this is your judgement day,

It's time to reflect darkest needs, and the moral ruin in that space, of your passing years.
Listen to the wind bending boughs, branches and the flow of a turbid stream of pollution,
A pollution that floats the wretched souls and bodies of all mankind to death and to hell,
You hear a sound of branches creaking under the strain of despicable wrongs in your life,

It's a mighty power that takes away the beat of the immoral pulse of your sorry humanity,
So now you are ready to listen, so listen hard, but then you know your own sorry story.
Listen to the wind and hail sweeping over dead leaves, throwing them into a black sky,
Do leaves shiver or do they shout out loud in rage as they are scooped up in a frenzy,

Will you pray to your god, ask him for forgiveness as this is your last day on earth,
Or will you beg in the tattered slops of your own righteousness just to save yourself,
Listen to the tolling of the old passing bell that swings in your black dome of vice.
You will feel the devils havoc amongst immortal souls, a hell fire dwelling in your heart,

A story of your progress a disease of lies which sucked away all goodness from your days,
Lies have plucked the red roses from childhood and set a brand of hate on your wet brow,
The story of lies which have stalked and spread up and down the earth for many centuries,
Lies that sweeps millions upon millions to destruction, for this disease there is no cure. 

How many sighs have been noted down in your heaven and how many tears were for yourself,
Those too often troubled fountains flowing like April showers, your wolf's tears fallen,
How many hearts have you broken in loveless famine, all for a want of an act of kindness,
See how deep the dyes painted in your days, a selfish dense black cloud as the background,

So look behind you, see the old man carrying his scythe, he is waiting and he has patience. 
Listen hard, listen well, do you hear trumpets blare over the crashing white landscapes,
Will you pray brimstone or treacle and tell the wind your sins the unacceptable truth's,
Did you sit and drink your wine murmuring everlasting hate in a rich full flavoured voice.

You are just a blank space in a world of nothingness a mere sour taste in the universe,
Your vicious wrongs telling the same old stories heard by thousands, thousands of times,
You close your mind and pretend to forget what cannot be forgotten, tell me are you bad, 
Because I would like to know if you think you are a good example, I would like to know.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Hate for Me to Have Anything

Some are so insecure and afraid for me to receive any good measure.
To be complimented or gain anything.
Believe  it or not these are females who dress for their best.
Rock all of their gold and flashy rings.
They carry themselves and present to the public their life is all about them.
Don't let me come in on the scene flashing a beautiful smile.
While watching the room glance at look at me from every direction.
Miss Drama Queen will drop whatever it is that she is doing.
Just to make sure that she stops me in my tracks.
She'll do all that she can to block any of my success.
To add insult to injury since you know that life is really a struggle for me.
Yet you ponder on trying to figure me out.
How I still present myself in a upstanding and put together way.
It drives you crazy trying to figure me out.
Just how it is that I have not fallen.
That I am still able to make it through.
You exemplify you got it going on.
That you have no cares in the world.
Claiming life's brass rings.
Yet you roll your eyes and buck your teeth. 
At the hint of me gaining anything.

Copyright © Cheryl Chandler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


 Is it wrong to end a life?
Even if it meant saving another.

Is it wrong to hate so much?
That your sight gets clouded
By pure rage 'till you see nothing but your crimson hued reflection 
staring back at you

Is it wrong to plot someone's demise
So thoroughly, never flawed
That you may even wish to...
To play it out?

Anyone who's willing to make sacrifices
Should be honored for their heroic act of defending the weak.
But I am the weak...

Who will take the title of 
Who will use it to mask
The true intentions of satisfying a cannibalistic blood lust...

The facade won't be kept up for long, though.
It's all in the mind
That is now twisted, and bent
seeking for the good in these actions of this 'hero'.

It’s like what they say;
"There is good in everything"

Do I still have good in me?...

It's too dark to tell...

Copyright © Jhade Dechert | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Anger and Hatred

Anger the bastard child of Hatred despised and rejected stands before his father 
and ask

"What do me and my mother mean to you?"

With glowing red eyes Hatred answers 

"I care nothing for you or your mother Lust.  Lust your mother is nothing more than 
a slut who I had sex with."

Looking Hatred in his fiery red eyes Anger said

"For someone who lurks in the shadows you hurl a lot of insults."

Stepping closer to Anger Hatred responds with another insult

"Your mother Lust is a slut plain and simple.  How can you not know and who are you 
to question me?"

With a bold Voice Anger said

"My mother is not a slut and I am your son."

With an evil smile Hatred said

"Her name tells you what she is.  Don't blame me for the life you was dealt.  If you're looking 
for Love you'll find her with the rest of the virtues in Tranquility.  Why can't you be more like 
your sister Cruelty?  Truly you are a waste of semen."

Turning his back to Hatred, Anger responded by saying

"These are my last words to you.  You're a pillar of salt.  No one wants to be around you."

As Anger walked into the night he heard Hatred say

"Like father like son."

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Copyright © Keith Baucum | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

The 0Cay Exterminator

I suppose there are no new problems in the world to be exterminated,
well, I mean, of course there are as many new problems
as there are creatures having a new day today,
but I mean I suppose there are no absolutely unprecedented types of power-struggles about comparative freedoms to and from
with short and/or long-term health and love's security implications,
just as there is no such thing as time flowing backward
except in our surprisingly 4D-equivalent visual imaginations.

What might it be like to be able to reverse time in our
hearing imaginations?
so we could hear a song sung backward in our head,
a life lived backward from full Yang voiced maturity
back to Yang/Yin embryonic soup,
surfing in soft warm dualdark composting diastatic murmurs,
like the Earth turning back into a newer
speed-of-enlightenment BlackHole Sun,
evolution as revolution to our 4D listening minds.

Imagine today as the conclusion of your Creation Story,
and play yourself backward to our mutually-held DNA/RNA
health-commons solidarity,
political-economic loves lives
ecological (0)-sum embryonic beginning.

Exterminators of life's great and smaller problems
must first
and more importantly,
become regenerators of solutions,
for if there are no new categories of Creation Story problems,
then there are no new categorical resolutions of chronic,
and more climatic,
issues and transitions and economic transactions and political relationships,
and personal loves and active distrusts,
health yin-streams
implied within pathological screaming contests,
yang-supremacist nightmares.

ReGenerators of Solutions
look for least effort compost piles of ideas, nutritional possibilities
repurposed from our still-evolving history of multicultural enculturation,
removing from the ground of trustful-truthful becoming
all  monopolistic exterminating and terrorizing fantasy solutions;
problems perpetually unresolved with Others spelled IntendedLosers 
in abject repressive compliance.

Such extermination through terror fantasies
for powering over life's little and great transitions
rather like swatting a fly
with a grenade,
a too-Yang dominant over-reactive response
which does indeed exterminate the fly-power problem for now,
by causing several newer and more costly challenges
for yet another day,
unless of course we manage to exterminate ourselves as well.
Then we merely pass along our carnage to our children.

Older chronically re-evolving, co-arising problems,
political and economic and ecological,
might healthier resolve with greater cooperative resonance,
with more investment in co-empathic trust
in mutually subsidiary and grateful deep listening
mindful of health/pathology problems nesting within their appositional solutions
inviting to raise grace
rather than more canes,
further pathological exterminations,
executions of mutual-immunity monochromatic intent,
with visions of socio-political grandeur
through naked robes of clown's multiculturing visionplays 
with Ego's
and Ethno's 
and Anthro's Idolatry,
and Other
as Earth's Maniacally Fertile EgoWorshipers.

Supremacy of Anthro-ReGeneracy our internal monopolistic Selves,
as if that could co-arise RightBrain happiness,
rather than further LeftBrain suffering,
cognitive dissonance 
stressfully blocking terror and extermination fantasies,
pinging fears and spontaneously combusting angers,
passive mistrusts 
and more actively steamy distrusts, 
rupturing black pearls of ballistic hatred.

Old enslaving problems
within renewed
regenerative Left/Right cooperative economic resolutions
point toward Beloved Internal Communication
and External Community.

making hay while sun shines just right
and rain falls just so
on the meadows of our co-empathic trust, 
transgenderationally-applied Golden Rules 
growing transpeciated-remembering evolving minds
with nutrition v pathology-empathic bodies,
fully co-conscious bilaterally-truthing-testing eco-healthlives,
rather than staying stuck within further dissonantly noisy and stinky decay,
disinclination to wake up and show up.

so that's an hour I'll never get back again,
irredeemably invested in old problems
in new cooperative-regenerative wineskins.

are you going to just keep repeating this same program
through your entire day?
Is that your plan for exterminating yet another day,
another life,
another planet?

Cay is about investing in yet another healthier love-resolving day,
another polypathic resonant trust for radically extended family life,
another healthier Earth.


Less paranoia, 
and terrible-terrific-terrifying-terror, 
monoculturally-motivated ego-extermination fantasies;
more actively, and inclusive of oneself, pro-cay.


If you feel like we are falling apart
more than we might ever conceivably come together,
then it seems healthiest to hope
that breaking up our current monocultural fossils
is our way through great, and smaller, transitional regenerations
of reincayness.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

mosquito and man

Oh no! Why do men hate me so much? From incarnation even as I try to make my legs and hands and buttocks as small as anything! So they can’t say am competing with their colossal legs and hands and their protruding buttocks!
They say; we knew it! Right from the first sight, he was bent on evil with the ulterior motive that, whenever he perches on the sweet succulent, fresh, flesh - of ours, it won’t be noticed. Because he believes men are fools after all, big brains are not found in big bodies.
Men are evil.  As I try to befriend, the more they inflict pains on me. Ok! I feel rejected and dejected by men, I considered it and thought it wise to detach myself from men by living in nearby bushes and rejected dumped waste and refuse.
They say; ah! Mosquito, you always make use of that little sense of yours. It is all pretence; you love men so much that you can’t live without them! Ok, if you say you want detachment, why must it be near men’s homes, or their dumped refuse and liquid waste? Why not very far at the desert so men won’t complain again. You love men! It is even clear as you lay your eggs where you feel you hate.
Men are ignorant. Ungrateful idiots! Their brains are stuffed with manure. Ok! If I hate men, why should I use the talent God gave me to make them comfortable? I use the best musical instrument; harp, flute with my wonderful composing way of singing, just to make them happy yet they detest me. Ok! How many men are musicians? How many even use the talent God gave them? Since God made me a musician from incarnation I will continue to use the talent, no matter how men feel.
Mosquito, Jackson of the age. You sing and even dance for men’s comfort! But the question is, if you love men as such, Why must the benevolent be a sort of boring? Why must it be at odd hours in the night made for resting? Even as we say stop! You still continue your singing. We don’t need it please! Your singing is a discomfort for men.
Ok! What of the affection I show to prove my love? I kiss your flesh and blood, just like any other man does by kissing the tongue and saliva of a female partner for love! Do you appreciate it at all? All I get from you are rancor and malice. Our judgment will be in heaven certainly.
The problem with you (mosquito) is that you don’t accept fault, very controversial and a very big threat to man. That is what you are! Accept your nature. You say you show affection, ok! Have heard of a man who kisses and inflicts pain on the partner? Perhaps by eating up the tongue or ejecting poisonous liquid in the partner’s mouth? But when you kiss, you disfigure our flesh and inject malaria into our bodies. Is that what you call love? We don’t want such affection, just know that; once you come around, we are at alert and always ready to strike! Let the worst happen in your so called heaven.

Copyright © Nnachetam Stanislaus | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |



HE WAS asleep
Between space and time
The first light on the world
Floated idly
On him
He was just born.

His folded hands
Glowed a pale pink
To keep the fire of life
He wondered if he was really awake.
Is it the true world?
Is it the true village?
Is it the true nest?
He kept kicking
And cried like a scared owl.

God trod to the next village.


Oh said the voice
Let me kiss you
Let me go in the fairy way
Let me love you earth
Overly cautious she crouched
Over a street strewn with splinters
S o confusing for a fairy
She approached a dark alley 
Full of vermin and dead
So confusing for her noble nose
We call it miscarriage in our land
She said and picked up intruder’s naked smell
Leftover of yesterday’s predation 
She did not move
She was crippled in an unknown fear
The emotion alien to a fairy
I want to love you
But you will kill me
That she said and flew all the way
Across hellhole and slammed into a tree
Still young, bright, full of promises
Though clawed by vampire birds
She moved in sense of rekindling 
I’m glad, I’m sure I’m glad,
I am in the fairy way
Because I came down to love

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

Hates were slipping through my fingers
Little ones burning like midday sun
When they cooled made garnets for my sisters.

An ancient cat god
Slammed down to my house
Went out with a sperm-whale
Harpooned by the mouse

Tara, I liked her so much
As a fish and as a friend
So in the Sunday night supper
 She had made a double-end.
She was gruff fish after all
In night-supper it took its toll
Tara, I liked her so much
So I wrote this story on the bark of Birch
I gave a tabby cat one ounce  of gold
That’s the way the story was told


Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

On Verge

Have you ever jumped in and out of your skin?
Found yourself on top of a hill with no shade to stand under, the skin around your lips and eyes starts to crack and peel.  Don’t you wish for one moment you could simply have a hand to cover the glare and give you a screen, to sooth them for just one instant and feel a breath of relief.

Have you ever bled without pain?
You are soiled red but the gates of pain are simply numb. You simply watch the drops stain. If only a hand could compress the hurt and brake the flow of this rouge river game.

Have you ever spat words of scorn? Only to discover it was a feeble attempt that bounced the daggers back at your wall of ice. They simply echo back, the acid splatters in your face. You regret what you said; you wish you were dead.

Have you ever defied your own line of fire? You’ve broken down your walls of guard and allowed trespassers to rape your morals. If only a hand could pull you back and tug you in, the rules you made would still be in.

Copyright © Goldie Uttamchandani | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

I'm Not Gonna Let You Say

Whispers in the dark Thoughts of you. a meeting at the park, A memory, a flash Surrounded by pin-drop silence. The saddest thing in the world, I have lost all meanings of life. My mind overflows with memories Of those few green and fair days. How do I mend my broken heart ? I hate this idea of my heart That you are the one thing, Whom I want the most but can't have. You tore my heart into two, One part has lost all and The other still thinking for you. I hate this feeling of pain, I'm not gonna let you say.....

Copyright © Chittaranjan Dey | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Mr Wrong

Mr. Wrong

You’re not one of a kind
You smoke;
You get drunk,
You like wars

But you told me
You smoke because you felt nervous when you’re with me
You get drunk ‘coz you think I don’t love you
You like wars ‘coz you’ll fight for me.

My eyes told me too
I hate your lips,
I hate your eyes,
I hate how it looks at me.

But you told me more
You wish to kiss my lips
You love my sparkling eyes
That makes you driving you crazy.

I almost hate everything about you
You’re not attractive, not at all
But what makes it wrong?
You make my heart beats strong.

But you almost love everything about me
I attract you like no one ever did
That’s all for you what makes it right
You’re my Mr. Wrong, but I’m you’re Mr. Right.

Now I hate myself even more
But my heart told me so
I love you more and more
I love my Mr. Wrong

Copyright © jaycel frances tamayao | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Deviating Sisters

One of my sisters believes I chose to be queer.

Did you remind her
you had no more choice about chasing guys
than she did?

But her favorite televangelist
says I must be mistaken,
or just lying,
because who wouldn't choose to be hated
by all the hetero homophobes
like televangelists,

That makes no sense.
She can't really believe
you would choose to belong
to any repressed and humiliated minority,
especially during early onset of puberty,
when every girl and boy in any culture
is terrified of becoming different,
or special,
or weeded out of the clickety-clak pack.

Well, as she sees it,
she is in a LoseLose double-bind.
Either I chose to be queer, and am thereby demented,
or God graces all forms of WinWin sexual expression,
which would be contrary to her homophobic enculturation,
so it is easier to believe I am nuts
to choose perversely
than to consider herself nuts
not to choose more graciously,
especially with regard to God's creative capacity for love,
rather than simplistic judgments
which look and smell and sound like patriarchal sexism
more than radical fertility of God's healthy wealth
of incarnating love for all children,
red and yellow,
black and white,
gay and straight
and shades of grey transgenderal,
each is precious in our multiculturing
MotherEarth's sight.

What about your other sister?

Oh, she agrees.

With what, or whom?

She agrees we're all nuts.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

ripped stitches

I stitched the names of
Loved ones
Onto the bleeding surface
Of my broken heart
To try to stop the steady stream
Of hope
From flowing out
And pain
Flowing in
But the stitches
Did not hold
My heart together
And I finally found out
They ripped
Through the fragile exterior
And left
A bloody mess
Of torn up flesh
And agony
In their wake
They tore right through
Because they wanted to be free
Of the restrictive bounds
That held them in place
In my heart
So they ripped it apart
And found their freedom
And happiness
And love
While they left me behind
With my battered heart
Rotting on the floor
And I walked through
The rest of life
With a hole in my chest
So no one
Could hurt me
Ever again

Copyright © Aisha Abdelfatah | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Dagger in the heart

Each time I try to say, “The country isn’t good”
Even as a secondary school pupil
I can’t remember the last I obeyed the iota rule
Even dough I know my parents builds castles in the air
Yet I can’t redirect the wrong footsteps
And I have the got to say, “The country isn’t conducive”
 Even as a medical practitioner-
That has taken an obligatory oath
Yet, when the language of money advance
I can prescribe the most unsafe drugs
I engross in the diciest abortion
 Yet has the impetus to say, “The head of my nation is incompetent”.
Even as a legal practitioner
I am part of the judiciary
I am part of the legislature
I am a the core executive
But, the epitome culprit
 Yet, rush head long to utter, “When shall things be cute”.
As a commercial executioner
I am submerged in fraud
 I am a competent illegal
Seemingly things are likened to my name
But, in spite of the legislative injunctions
  I am always the hall mark of every bad egg. But I still complain.
Even when I complain as a minority tutor
I can’t be prompted in my responsibility
Yet, complains of the recompense for the cute
But, the certainty remains
If I don’t redirect my erroneous footsteps
What is to be done, still remains stagnant!


Copyright © Nnachetam Stanislaus | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


 When judgement come what will you say can you tell the JESUS 
what you done in just one day eye left some fish upon the way then left my bed to 
gather more than eye can eat for eye am blessed my heart is full of love for 
people eye have never met and strangers yell at me from van and make me cuss 
and curse and hate yet the things eye found was blessed a cake a homemade 
cake remember LORD when we ate the cake eye found it in the city park on that 
SUNDAY when the man in the van rolled his window down he yelled screamed 
growled at me so cartoon of a character so rubber legged he would not stop near 
me for eye was mad at THEE for letting evil men get near me they rob me of my 
grace more needed now on SUNDAY as eye sit and feed my face eye will not go 
further with embellishments and lies intended just to sell a story to the men who 
drive the van and bother men with hate for eye found some extra clothing and 
added it to mind for there was no one there in the park today just laying on the 
ground eye passed the beggars sides with full larder laid as eye did not even lay 
it down eye hope they have an empty cup of alcoholic stop eye began this day 
without a fish but now my bags is hard to carry a brand new hooded shirt upon 
my belly my jacket getting heavy my cake and coffee is so nice please KISS mye 
lambea wherever she is at a smile upon her face for eye and love and grace on 
SUNDAY. This is CharlaXFabel number NINTEY. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

When they love their children as much as they hate us the war will be over

When they love their children as much as they hate us the war will be over

Its doesn't matter which side your on
Whether your a viva viva palestina
Or an am yisrael chai
You know which side is evil, committed all
Wrongs, sometimes you meet people who 
Extol the virtues of this treacherous, 
Terrible oppressor /terrorist
With their shock and awe tactics and 
Disregard for freedom or the right to life And the pursuit of happiness
And sometimes for a minute, particularly 
When you talk to someone you think is 
Intelligent it becomes harder to maintain the 
View on this malignant party you tried hard 
To campaign for and against and although 
Peace (of mind) is all you want
All you could dream of
With this entity at the negotiating table 
Independence is swapped for catastrophe And war
If you give them what they want you will
Have nothing except the need to a right of 
Return to a better time

Copyright © Saskia Kurer | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

~ (~) ~ Never Bow Down ~ (~) ~

~ (~) "Because yes I believe as well-true abhorrence is the springboard for more pain, love is the land of peace that lie between." "Denial the raging river running through it!" (~) ~ ~ (~) "Who in the back row, maybe in the front or some where in the middle or between the middle of the two... ?" (~) ~ ~ (~) "Would it be for an honest peace I would myself, maybe for one of you as-well, but for aggression I will not bow down!" (~) ~ ~ (~) "I'd just-soon-parish, because I will never bow down." "Because yes I know love as with hate offers more, but something far greater... !" (~) ~ ~ (~) Because to know love I believe-is to cherish the-gift of allowance, to own the face brimming with the pleasure of this delight, but to be certain also to oppose it as well, it's always ones given right... hate will never know this delight. (~) ~ ~ (~) Because I know mid toils and travels time ticks away yes hope advances pride waylays to and fro, true peace consumes. (~) ~ ~ (~) Golden nuggets turn mossy brown in the streams-time laughs promenades all things are prosperous within the able hands of grace. (~) ~ ~ (~) God's-tender tears-illuminated cascading-down-on-all-are-exemplified by-the-rains I feel-as-they-fall, delighted divinity leaps as it sings-love devoted... it prances... . (~) ~ ~ (~) Because I believe as well today loving moreover is prudent the struggle furthermore the prize, death of hate the mighty reprise. (~) ~ ~ (~) Tiny like a drop in a bucket hopeful is the soul who though longing still remains open. (~) ~ ~ (~) Humbled are the ones who want for nothing more, daring to go further offering all they- can. (~) ~ ~ (~) Exulted and merry are the ones who accept this, joining them, journeying along as they would with them in the beauty of this. (~) ~ ~ (~) Open to the willing peace once the quest of us all yes each our plight now the opportunity presents itself again propels us all together to know, yes-come to-own-for- ourselves-this-delight, the bucket full now sent-to-overflowing washing-the-dirt from our feet; because-lowly is the cry-for-peace... love-the-ladder its-gracious-provision... because though-partial to freedom and honor; cut down prematurely on-occasion surrounded- by-doubt... rising in the effort-love-budding-expects nothing treasures everything is in one way or the other always blooming; its-joy-forevermore consuming... ! (~) ~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kl-VCHzS1So&feature=related

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Ashes of Our Innocence

A song can be heard tonight
Swirling about me beating down my strength
Enfolding the whole of me with thick, terrifying captivation
That chokes a city with the roaring thunder of despair
Of the innocent obliterated in the unforgettable heartbeat
When we died with our friends and families
Slain from the once impossible that shattered our world
Tossed aside the veil of our innocence forever

I can stand no more and I fall
My weary gaze heavenward for I have no answers
With my heart weeping, my soul burning
My mind alive with a desperately hungry vengeance
I scream out all of my searing pain
I scream out with every fibre, every pore of my being!
I scream blinded by this maelstrom of emotion
I scream!

Until my voice runs ragged
Until my anger simmers
And here amid a shattered ruin
I find inside the depths of my soul . . .
That which is fierce in us all

I stand and glare beyond the horizon
Where I know the object of my hatred hides
Feeling safe in his pit of woe
“No,” I seethe
“No,” I burn
“No!” I say through clenched teeth 
“I will not falter!
I will not give up!
I will not give into the swallowing lament of night!

I will see you held accountable
I will and I do defy you!!
And everything you represent!”

I . . .
I like my people, believe in a merciful God
Our Lord forgives and loves us all
And this is the God I believe in . . .
But I am a man, just a man . . .
And I cannot forgive you for this, I will not
God may forgive you
But I do not

I . . .
I hate you!
For the lives you have destroyed!
For the fear in my heart!
I hate you for existing . . .
I hate you because now I cannot help but to hate something

It’s lonely where these towers have fallen
And in this solitude I pick up a stone
I move another stone and then another
For I know not what else to do
I find that this stone is not a part of the rubble
I understand that I am not really clearing debris

I am rebuilding

And this dust covered stone now within my hands
Is the first
In a new foundation of our lives
I see my friends
Doing as I do, lifting one stone after another
We are rebuilding our world
Our ideals

And I whisper to the horizon
“Know this
Today we mourned as people grieving for our loved one
Tonight we mourn as a race having just lost our innocence
Tomorrow we will mourn as people defiled by atrocity one last time
But soon . . .
We will weep and mourn no more
And on that day

We will end terror.”

Copyright © Neal Freeland | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |

Hate for you

Was thinking to move ahead 
buT every time you come in my memories to take me back 
back to the same era, of golden moments of mine 
that I spent with you...

Was king of mine and dream boy of yours
when all the time, it was me and only me in you
your presence was attendance of mine 
your hapiness was , religion of mine

My sun was you, the day with rhyme
evening , the moon of twilight ..
Wheatish skin , lyk cuban chocolate
everything of yours........ was
everything of mine 

And now its just betrayal
   ..hate for you

Copyright © BIKRAM SINGH | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

The First Unforgivable Sin

When the first murder was committed 
The weapon was useless
Knowing that the soul is what animates people 
He started stabbing arbitrarily at his victim’s body
With the logic that the soul dwells throughout the body, he thought that with one gash the soul might seep out
But he didn’t succeed
Until a stab wound reached the victim’s heart
And that was the end
War is random stab wounds throughout the body of the nation
Unnecessary pain
The point of war is to get to the soul but it’s hard to find where the heart of the problem is
After all these years we still haven’t learnt from mankind’s first unforgivable sin

Copyright © Danita Windy | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

i hate love

How do I live without her?
How do I face the day?
How do I keep my sanity?
While my life slips away

How do I survive with out her?
Now my life is so cold
I can’t live without her
 She no longer walks this world 

Try so hard to understand
Because there’s no reasons why
She belongs beside me
Not with god in the sky

Want to say goodbye to tomorrow
But this life don’t belong to me
So until god really for me to join her
I must learn to live in misery

Love turns my mountain
In to a little stone
Love sends a knife inside me
Didn’t stop till it hit the bone

How do I tell my heart? 
There’s nothing to live for
How do i say to my life? 
 I don’t need you no more

And oh how I hate love
For what it’s done to me
It turns my fairy tale
In to a horror mystery

Why did faith direct this?
And who wrote the script
Why did they turn my life? 
Into a tales fro the crypt

Everyday I get older
My pain is getting worst
And when the grim reaper comes
This chapter will close

And in the green valley
Where the water flows
On the hill under a willow
Is where my soul will go

Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Planting Tree Therapy

Why do we aim hot hate at each other
causing further cracks and craters in dried-up deserted skin,
when we could choose to heal and recreate
formerly fertile forested and grassland soils
to reform and rejuvenate subclimates of therapy?

ReCreating springs and filters of and for clean rich waters,
together restoring healthy air
to breath more deeply together
as we plan Earth's further fun and happier rejuvenation,
yet another year, and season,
decade and millennium.

We retain subclimates of good cooperative potential
so urgently needed.
We have no time left for guns and missiles.
We have so much labor-neglected waste and humane depreciation
for machetes and rakes and shovels.
No time left for any isms short of multiculturally rich Earthism.

For this we emerged
and to this center we each return
happier together,
more prosperous,
co-mentoring ecopolitical therapists.

Those who choose revenge and terrors
do not believe they have been given a choice;
that they have been born into a mess
out of which they can only compete to explode first and best.
And, who among us
has never known this victim of Earth's vast apathy despair
and darkly smoldered for revenge?

These are those most worthy of catching this compelling vision
for co-redemptive healing of their landscapes and nurturing rivers,
within as without,
purifying our formerly chaste seas and skies
all perpetually
revolving around and with one another
in hope of further resonant resolutions,
fertile regeneration.

Pathologies of eviL
no more or less 
than healthy Live as spelled-out
in reverse.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Poor Heart

Girl im not the one who i always used to be
U changed my life upside down
I built a city for u
Just to make your dreams come true
But u punished me for treason
But baby i know its not the correct reason
And im not bad 
Seeing u sleeping on my shoulder 
Was the last thing that i wanted
And now i sit in the corner
Wasting time
In mirror i see no reflection
I feel fake love connection
Nothing but distraction
 total head ache
 i lost myself
And from tonight I dont wanna know the reasons
And im gonna live with or without perfection
When i first saw u 
U were like a perfect painting
Who was always smiling 
But i tonight im making the colours fade
I dont wanna remember u
I dont wanna miss those old days
I just want to live every single day of my life
Girl im telling u
Im so glad that u left me
U taught me what fake love is
U left me in a woods with no direction
But ill survive as far the sun shines
As far as i live 

Copyright © Danny Sneham | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Between Love And Hate

To bridge the gap 
that is growing 
between love and hate 
let's lay a strong 
foundation of trust 
and faith 
and construct 
an impenetrable bridge 
to regain 
the lost trust and faith 
between love and hate 
by greeting 
the first ray of sun 
with exaltation 
and ravishment

(By Kishan Negi)

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016