Prose Poetry Inspiration Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Inspiration

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

The poem(s) are below...

Details | Prose Poetry |

Language Barrier

I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,

at least not all of it,

but the emotion pouring past her lips, 

the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists

enunciated more clearly,

than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,

and grabbed me, held me still.

                   …In that moment, her soul was in my arms.

In that finite, tender breath of our lives,

she was my mother, my best friend…

but I could not console her. 

I didn’t have the words;

and my heart sank into the 

concrete between us,

wet with the pain of God’s rain

and her tears. 

                  …Were my tears

So, I simply opened my palms

toward her crouched form and 

spoke the only words I could 

fathom, that would be accepted

by a stranger on a dangerous street. 

"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."

I knew she did not understand…

"Lo siento" 

                  “que va a estar bien”    

                            “Dios te bendecira’ “ 

the words were as messy as the overturned

duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly

from my lips, as my knees hit the street.

Two strangers, cried in the rain,

knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,

and yet we shared the weight,

together, for those few moments;

the barrier of language was broken.

Love spoke for us.  

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

…Love transcends any language


Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Seasons and Imaginations

Wind so cold.
Fondles my face.
The tears from heaven.
I wonder if i wish
    to stop them
From numbness,
    to waking,
          then sensing.

The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
                                                  I'll play.
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin 
     with the pure coldness that you bring.
     like it's my first time in the snow.
     the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
    that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.

The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here. 
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
   And again I fold.

Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Child's Peace

Tell me of your peace. 
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place 
As it gently sloughs the pain away 
Tell me of your peace 
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind 
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace 
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know 
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease, 
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here 
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now 
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies 
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free 
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within 
Waiting for you
For you to let it be

Copyright © Gabrielle Charisse | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

We Ain't Forgotton


You cried a smile
shadowing anger
beneath a canopy 
of love

Your necks filled nooses
tied with Christian knots
that never failed

Your wombs challenged
the holding holes
of sanctified graveyards

You kneaded gospels
from the dough of pain
and fed starving souls:

You moaned songs
with groans echoing
echoes from the depths
of suffering spirits—

Suffering spirits
whose fortified bent backs
gave rise to a flourishing nation

The fruits of your labors
have now ripened:
dropping pregnant seeds
germinating liberty

upon justice…?

the rain fell
her tears
of waters
drowning justice
to survive
tidal waves
of deception—
seeking to douse
the flame of hope
held high
in hand—
an elusive lady
to stand
her anchored

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Song My Heart Sings

Each morning as my eyes awaken
A lovely song in my heart is heard
Its melody is more than enchanting
It inspires me with amazing words

How could I ever live without you
Lord, why would I ever turn away
From your spirits song of deep love
Which within my heart simply stays

I deeply breathe your perfect harmony 
Accepting your kiss of a love divine
Happiness paints my world beautifully
Since your wonderful gift became mine

Lord, I will always let the world know
How truly blessed my life really is
From that very first perfect moment
As you spoke to me the words I forgive

All that I thought would not be possible
Suddenly in an instant became very true
As my heart humbly responded joyfully 
How much in life I really needed you

I will seek new ways each morning
To happily lift up your name in praise
Thanking you for making love a reality
As a treasured blessing which now stays.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

In Vision 2

In this year 2016 the 1st week in August, I had occasion to speak with a Christian headmaster, the spiritual aspect dominated the conversation, I expounded many
things 'that I believe only the Lord had put in my consciousness.' my understanding of the force and the 'reason' ( if that's the best description?)  behind the Dunblane shootings contained in the earlier poem was one of the subjects discussed, obviously the person being a headmaster would have
aroused my memory, so much so ;I raised the question as to whether there were any former students of the school showing promise in life, and if so a positive approach to help them may be a good thing, the headmaster replied he had links 'i believe with the school, or if not with someone, who would be able to contact former pupils, as I write the headmaster is still on holiday which was about to commence a day or two from the time of our conversation,anyway instead of just waiting for the headmaster to act after a few days passed I put this  search into a computer myself..'  ( people doing well in life after being in Dunblane school shooting ) Andrew Murray's name appeared, It was a strange feeling to realise that among others he was who I was praying for.' I also realised he had just led out team G B..' Therefore It seems to me God is already moving him into position, this leads me by what I know of the events in his life and God, to say that he should be moved even further, into the position of leader of the U K.' It would be a change from a career
politician, and I believe would raise the stature of the Nation.'

Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


MY UKHT AL-KUBRA I have one sister in my home Sweet, loving, with open arms and heart With dark brown eyes And an inviting laugh And a passion For life. I have a sister at Soup Sweet, loving, with open arms and heart Both my sisters are so different Yet one thing is the same: I love them both With all of my heart. My sister at home has her Arabic name. My sister at Soup stil hasn't. To me she is an inspiration. So, my dear inspirational sister, Below your name in my language: ILHAME - INSPIRATION The picture is Ilhame in Arabic calligraphy (pronunciation: eel-am) Your Kalakeolelo

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

In Vision

Keep silent before Me, O islands and let the people renew their strength
Let them come near; then let them speak; let us come near together 
To judgement.  Isaiah ch 41 verse 1

March the 13th 1996, I was driving along, thinking of how some people were affected by traumatic events in childhood and how some overcame setbacks to become role models/leaders even, the thought made me 'feel hope' this was after years of denial, that there was a satanic influence in everyday life yet now I was  facing.and considering the idea that such events could be of satanic motivation in order to stunt or even deny 'the world' of helpful statesmen/women & role models.'

Very shortly maybe seconds after,this very thought; the radio station I was tuned to announced they were interrupting the schedule to breaking news of a terrible shooting at the 
town of Dunblane, in the primary school, as more details emerged I pulled over and although stunned
and dismayed, I was hearing the way this was being viewed in a sanitized way, a matter of fact thing, just a madman.' I punched the dash tears were in my eyes, I felt an evilness I could almost taste, pulling my thoughts together I realised if I believed that which I was thinking on moments before the news flash, I must pray against this act, and as well as praying for all there, I wanted the Lord to bring all the children being   
brutalised here, through this, and those who were destined for greatness to reach their potential.' I knew this was why? a relatively 'obscure school' rather than a prestigious one was attacked.. My thought was 'who' was in there that was the specific target.'
I prayed intensively & above all; for that child,

Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Here Be Keys

Sabers of the light…calm and friendly in showing appreciation…exuberant energy to burn…New powerful self-defense…Energetic straight forward shooter…Logically love applies knowledge…inventive soft gently touch…Good physical desires…honest. Takes care of friends…vies for creation…Spiritual presence…Broods introspectively…lies serene…Immature…Never candid…deep emotional feelings…appealing light this magnetic balance…Reverse logical concepts…killer communication…Naivety’s…Enthusiasm…Systematic it is…sabers of the dark. What say Gabriel…earnings from Raphael…never die Uriel...Send see Miguel…incorporated thee…Immortal Ye…wielding the shield that heals…invoked spirit…Lord only you…sending current energy…Pick ultimate belief…regarding all possibilities…Inside guide…teach soul lesson…Master situation…in every challenge...negative influences…draining diet…Spirit overcomes…best house matter…Overcome challenges…does now be renowned...Ye’s turning point…Saber of light overcome. Clearest light…rooted in tree…eternal force be…Alluring optimism…telling you light is...Force full you be…listen carefully…Omni Prime see…weathering the storm…Intentions warnings…new impulses…Gains in perception…through self-touching…Humbling to Ye best…others support you…Unvulnerable master…romantically open-hearted…good in crisis…having wins Ye battles.

Copyright © Steven Henderson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |



Always have a book at hand,
In the parlor, bedroom and loo.
Condensed thought on paper,
This is the world for you.

My daughter loves to read,
Must have something to hold.
No cover or pages,
Not even a center fold.

Electronic books these days,
For the person on the go.
Flip it on for convenience,
Living color, like a show.

Reading can entertain,
Delight the lonely heart.
Those without education condemn it,
The learned ones tear it apart.

The many pieces of the written word,
Bring light to those in the dark.
Challenge the mind of the curious,
Give your life a spark.

No entertainment is so cheap,
No pleasure lasts as long.
Your mind flies o'er the pages,
The words are like a song.

The love of reading,
Challenges the soul.
Nothing else given to man,
Can make one whole.

There are those who read,
To know what the world has done.
Others to enhance their personal life,
To be the brightest one.

Master Sergeant, USAF - Retired

Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Just a tiny scrap of
night sky
Set with
A single star,
In shining evensong
And tied
With a ribbon
Of moonlight,
Kept with me
To remind me
That no darkness
Is total.

Just a quiet soft
green valley
Washed with
A gentle rain,
From sadness and
And touched
With a feeling
Of deep peace,
Kept with me
To remind me
That no despair
Is final.

Just a small pressed
Saved from
A Wedding bouquet,
With memories of the
And faded
With the feelings
Of long ago,
Kept with me
To remind me
Is but a moment
in time

Copyright © Keith Robson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Your My Dear Friend

We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

How Poetry Began

Today my thoughts were feeling melancholic, 
my silence minutes later fought back 
to help me reach out to the moment 
of relief and not to relinquish myself. 

Today my thoughts were trying to sing,
 my silence started to enjoy the music 
since poetry became part of my life, 
it helped me to remove any 
negative influences.

When my thoughts fought with me not to write, 
my silence thought I must hold tight and not fight, 
nor run away, but keep typing as poetry will allow
 you to discover yourself, 
and the whole world.

One day my thoughts were never 
awakened by a passer by, 
my poetic thoughts started to weep, 
moments later a bird stood at the window
 and brought joy to my ears, 
thats when I wanted to love 
and lose my reasoning, 
to celebrate a new day,
hold my pen and write a poem.

When my thoughts wanted to fly away,
 my poetic thoughts insisted I should 
stay to give myself feeling of safety,
 and remember never to get discouraged 
nor weaken, as that would destroy 
my wisdom and my poetic life, 
instantly I felt more powerful,
and wrote down this poem. 

My thoughts woke up much 
much to tired to live, 
reading through my poems, 
I was reminded that the heart 
has its own reasons which the
 mind knows nothing about.

That day my thoughts wanted 
to travel and feel happy, 
my silence created for me
 a beautiful idea to carry on the plane, 
my poetry book, to read through the 
sources of my own knowledge, 
penned down in writing.

My thoughts one night wanted 
to dream and could not, 
my silence thought, 
don't ever feel sorry for yourself,
 another night will shortly be here, 
reach out for your poems, 
read them, and peace will prevail.

On a new day my thoughts 
broke my heart, my silence 
insisted I should start going
 back home be alone, 
and not sit by the phone 
and wait. 
Enjoy the moment by writing poetry.

Its hard to write like a very
 talented writer, the reason is,
 every human being does not 
have the same brain,
 the same diversities, 
the same creativities, and 
inspirations, that is why, 
I took a walk between the trees
 wanting to feel that soft breeze
 pleading to come along my 
way that beautiful day in May.                 
When my thoughts woke up 
my heart started to beat
 I know I can, I know I must, 
I know I could, I know I would, 
my silence answered, 
 I know you should, 
you should Now,
 Remember, Poetry, 
Has Become You.      

               Therese Bacha                                           

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Getting Older

          Getting Older

Young man sitting next to me on the bench I asked him,
Young man if I am sad what will you do? I will ask you to share your sadness.
Young man if I am cold what will you do? I will cover you with my coat.
Young man if I am angry what will you do? I will listen and help you forgive. 
Young man if I am standing what will you do? I will give you my place.
Young man if I am crying what will you do? I will wipe your tears & enlace you.
Young man if I am hungry what will you do? I will give you my sandwich.
Young man if I am sleepy what will you do? I will cradle you.
Young man if I need a friend what will you do? I will befriend you forever.
Young man if I am lonely what will you do? I will take you in and look after you.
Young man if I am lost what will you do? I will hold you to find your way back.
Young man if I want to kill myself what will you do? I will forbid you to do that.
Young man if I want my children what will you do? I will locate them for you.
Young man can you get me off this bench walk me to the bank, yes of course.  
Arrived at the bank holding her hand she went to the teller told him to get her out 50.0000$. Thank you for sitting on the bench with me. Remember this day
Its a Thanksgiving gift.

    Therese Bacha

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

the Rain

  The Rain tried to find its way into the very depth of the souls, sneering at the gloomy faces of people who were walking through water. Unexpectedly a sudden clear laugh of a boy who jumped into a puddle mocked all His aspirations. 

  With an increased force the Rain turned into a wall of water pushing the pedestrians into the open doors of the shops, blocking the traffic and confusing the air controllers at an airport nearby. 

  Seizing for a moment almost absolute power over the world, the Rain suddenly felt bored and first burst out into numerous crossing lines, then calmed down and throwing the last blast of wind with water drops at the running boy, He sighed in despair and having banged few open windows He disappeared, staying for a moment in thick eye-lashes of a girl who was adjusting her make up.

Copyright © Serge Belinsky | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


Touching to sea essence with their noses
Old men  by the seashore
Sails up flags waving goodbye
Gulls laughing
Don Coto's Face brown and wrinkled
Smiles from ear to ear
Prepares for the voyage to gather bounty
From the land the sea to see
The coconut trees
Leaves rubbing against each other
Waiting for their daily drinks to arrive
The sun plays peekaboo
With the rolling clouds of white and blue
Man loading their Cargo
Their wives saddened
Tears flowing 
Nearby laughter
Josélito Negrita and Tony
Chasing down fiddlers 
by the mangroves
Oblivious they are
Life is just fun and games
Atop the hill
The river flows endlessly
Mi madre Maria tomasa
Is at the river bed
Washing clothes
Andre the fiery
She's beautiful, radiant black hair green eyes
Strong yet loving she was
I miss her my family mi familia
My people mi gente
My culture mi cultura
Mi India Borincana
With your music of love 
Life and lore
I will never forget you
Dreams never die
Although years may pass
I'll shall return 
Just like my 

           All rights reserved
              A Camacho jr.
                1996 -2015

Copyright © Tonytocaa Camacho | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Culture Since Ages

After the evolution of fire,
Man’s wise discovery for survival
Was the indispensible culture
Of raising crops.

It came through their ancestors,
They created fields of happiness.

Albeit accurate in their perspective of culture,
They were unaware of the modern complications,
But they believed their culture and worshiped it.

The men were a collision of knowledge and tradition.
The emergence of modern period has viewed agriculture
as an economic activity.
But the men had become an inspiration for the youth.

Their hard work has served the nation enormously.
But the country left them with no land 
And dearth of them is the worst.

Their successful revolutions had led to victory,
History holds their strive, 
As long as we realise their importance,
We would thrive! 

A tribute to farmers..............

Copyright © Aishwarya vr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


A hundred days of tomb-like silence; a hundred days of blind eyes and deaf ears; a hundred days of wooden hearts and cruel minds. This was long ago, but still its stigma is there. Years may pass but MY LIFE will never be the same again.

I was barely a woman then, carefree and with smiles touching my lips. I was enjoying the view of the sun shining over the tranquil green  hills  of Rwanda. But, in a blink of an eye, the beautiful calm scenery I enjoyed was tinged by some shouts I heard from a river nearby. Curious, I went to see. Meters away, I saw a happy huge man wielding a machete butchering another man on the ground. Before he could see me, I turned round and ran.

Ran as fast as I could!When I reached our home, immediately, I was told by my father to keep on running. To run to a Hutu Minister miles away from our home. To run and be safe. To run and beg for my life's safety. Paper white and shuddering I ran and ran until I arrived at the Minister’s house. Scared but kind enough, the minister kept me together with seven other girls. 

We were placed then in a remote bathroom in the house. 

A bathroom three feet by four feet in size.  A bathroom where the other girls and I hid. A bathroom where in the next days, we alternately sat, stood and stretched. A bathroom that served as our refuge in times when the killers {Hutus} stormed inside the house. A bathroom where we ate beans and insects just to stay alive.

On the radio, we, Tutsis, heard our names  being announced as needed to be killed, too. There was a window where we could peek  and see people running and running. Clubs and spears a terrifying rain brutally killing men and women alike. Screams and cries a regular ringing requiem outside. Intense. Intense. Intense were the surroundings, I remember. In the bathroom, we maintained silence as if no one there. For at any time, we could be caught… Raped… Killed. And we knew back then that, the green hilly Rwanda was turned into a garden of bloody wails and tortured tales.

Then one day some troops came, stopping the genocide and finally we planned our liberation day! 

It was through courage. Cunning. Prayers that we are alive. Rwanda, may seem peaceful now, but for us victims and survivors, our life will never be the same again. I can't seek revenge for our loss: families, property and the trauma I experienced for it would only prolong my Calvary. I would rather forgive and hope that such genocide will never happen again.

© O. E. Guillermo

Sponsor	Cyndi MacMillan Contest Name	
Placed 1st... :)

Oct. 11, 2014

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Prepare For Tomorrow

Awakened I am
bright eyed
bushy tailed
to live another day,
a new hope and
a new prayer
that no-one,
no neighbor
no jealousy
no callous driver
or scorned lover
corrupt me today
Allow me to
mend yesterday.
enjoy today,
and prepare
for tomorrow.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |



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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Rain-bow Nation


Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Let Your Light Shine

Let Your Light Shine
By Curtis Johnson

It’s true that we are different, but life can be tough for all of us
No matter who we are, we all shall one day bite the dust

So take your liberty to debate and disagree, to fuss and discuss
Let’s exercise our freedom of speech and argue if we must

There are some things we must stand up against and fight                                                                                          It’s not just It's not a fight to prove who’s wrong and who’s right 
It’s one way to supply the world with salt and light  

It’s also another way to separate the night from the day
It’s another way to keep the darkness in its place
It’s another way to give hope to the human race     

I tell you, we must be brave, bold, and not run away and hide
Never giving chance and opportunity for an evil and rising tide

May our voices be heard, never giving sway to the absurd
May we step forward and cast our vote while there is still hope

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Joan of Arc memorials

I used to live in France, near the Champagne region.
My favorite Notre Dame cathedral is not the one in Paris;
Rather it is Notre Dame de Rheims.

After many battles, Jeanne D'Arc helped the Dauphin Charles
Be crowned the king of France there.

There are many statues in France of Jeanne D'Arc.
Most of them show her riding a horse with sword held high.
I've see that image in many Places in the north.

My favorite statue of her is in Notre Dame de Rheims.
She looks to be standing a vigil in her armor
With her battle flag posted behind her.

I've also been to Place Jeanne D'Arc in the city of Rouen,
Where the British tormented, interrogated, and immolated her.
It didn't look like a sad place, but I felt sad there for her.

I don't know if she really heard angelic voices,
But her story always inspired me--
Probably the only non-Biblical saint that ever did.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |



We hear that patience is a virtue 
Is this true, or simply virtual reality 
When leaders are teaching our youth; 
do as I say, not as I do 
Regression to a version of the American 

Impatience is becoming intolerance 
But to be patient is viewed as ignorance 
In a blind world conforming to violence 
Very few see need for benevolence

Many view crime as way of life 
Government fuels fires, causing strife 
Committing true crime with their lack of 
Our country torn by those who lied

Promoting bigotry and distaste for the 
 But these days color and homosexuality 
are lactose free 
Intolerant of equality, it’s a problem, 
Love is love, embrace the hate 
Hold it tightly until it sees the light

Peace pushed just beyond our reach 
We realize that “hope and change” was 
just a speech 
Wars raging through the land we call 
In God we trust, not this powerful regime

Speak out now with virtuous impatience 
Change is change no matter how small 
the feat
Restore hope with unfaltering acceptance 
and grace 
Serve what you stand for, no time left to 

Copyright © Gabrielle Charisse | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


May the hand of our Lord always guide you
May His tender love daily anoint your heart
May the peace of His heaven fill your world
As this New Year's breath begins to start

May His grace in your mind be steadfast
May the light of His Spirit fill your face
May you never again feel any loneliness
As you live daily in His loving embrace

May your spirit be blessed very abundantly 
Writing and sharing what He bequeaths to you
May you strive to inspire and touch another
In the wonderful way He also does for you

Be charitable and kind in your daily walk
Never finding hatred or prejudice within
Living your life each day in a humble way 
As this new year in your life now begins

May each step you take this year resemble 
The sharing life our Lord always displayed
And you will find His spirit blessing you
As His grace guides your life each new day.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Paint the Permanent

I stand before the canvas of my life
with the arsenal of brushes I've been armed with
choosing the paints with which I'll work

My will is to paint the permanent
No watercolors that can wash
My strokes will stain the canvas true

In my art studio my brushes fire
Salvos of sultry reds
Volleys of vivacious violets

But I don't always paint alone
Others there are that share the studio
And though our canvases won't always hang together
A small army of artists are we

Who paint our lives with care
For all the world to see
The hues we use only we may choose
Brazen and bold, subtle, or stark
Soldiers of our arts
Aiming and striking and painting our hearts out
Until we die
And go to the Gallery

But as for me
I stand before the canvas of my life
And the brush is in my hand

Copyright © Brandi Elizabeth Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Thoughts Of Love

Each day my love I think of you
And so happy am I made to be
For so joyful has my world become
With the warm love you bring to me

And there is no better way my love
to start the beginning of each new day
Than imprinting your smile upon my heart
to help gently guide me on my way

For what is love to me my dearest
Does only come beautifully from you
For you are the dream I once dreamed alone
Yes that within my heart finally came true

And each day that passes I find my love
There will never be no better way
To brighten my world each new day
Than letting thoughts of you to stay

For each day my love that passes by
I spend my time thinking of only you
And I find my thoughts are so alive
With the love of one who loves me true.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

An Endless Time

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Inspiration and Truth of Sacred Scripture

Eternal God is the author of Sacred Scripture
The divinely revealed realities
Which are contained
Presented in the text of Sacred Scripture
Have been written down under the inspiration of Eternal Holy Spirit
They have Eternal God as their author
Have been handed on as such to the Church herself

Eternal God inspired the human authors of the Sacred books
To compose the sacred books
Eternal God chose men who
All the faculties
So that
Though he acted in them
By them
It was true authors that they consigned to writing
Whatever he wanted written
No more

The inspired books teach the truth
Since therefore all that the inspired authors
Sacred writers affirm should be regarded as affirmed by the Eternal Holy Spirit
We must acknowledge that the books of Scripture firmly
Without error teach that truth which Eternal God 
For the sake of our salvation
Wished to see confided to the Sacred Scriptures

The Christian faith is not a religion of book
Christianity is the religion of the “Word” of Eternal God
A word which is not written
Mute Word
But the Word which is incarnate
If the Scriptures are not to remain a dead letter
Father Christ
The eternal Word of the living Eternal God
Through the Eternal Holy Spirit
Open our minds to understand the Scriptures

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Up in Smoke it's Reality

Fantasy like Reality can be a disappointment...
Clearing the Air........

He worshipped her from afar...
He had since he was three..
He hid it well , no one knew...
She was his heart’s desire...
With her big bright eyes and her winning smile..
He never thought she would beguile...
Then he turned ten and it was clear..
It had been she who did inspire...
this young man ,with his heart on fire... 
He arrived at seven in the morn...
To help prepare the feast de jour...
He stuffed the bird and chose to make..
Her favourite dessert...fresh Raspberry cake..
He feverishly cut and whipped and stirred..
Grandpa ‘s little helper was becoming quite the gourmet chef...
Then came the time to shower, and get dressed...
He chose his wardrobe carefully...
Making sure that he looked and smelled hmmm good....
She arrived and you could see him beaming proudly...
Everyone feasted on the bird and ate their fill...
He waited on her as I watched..
No one even blinked an eye..
They spoke for what seemed an eternity..
His face could be read for all to see...
Then out of the blue, she excused herself..
And went out on the patio to puff some stuff...
His face went white, I could see his plight..
She chose to be with others you see..
Who foolishly did an atrocity...
The one he worshiped from afar..
Went up in she smoked her cigar...


Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013