Prose Poetry January Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About January

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

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hunting in january


White of sky
like the surface
of a frozen lake
mirroring the snow
covered lands,
as orange weaves
in and out of trees
the color of dark
cutting into the thin
stillness of winter air.

Each footprint covered,

Next day, light
brims at the horizon
and splashes yellow gold
upon deep maroon,
brown seeped into the barren trails
of this vanilla earth.		 

Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2012

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January's Wishes Spoken Through the Dishonesty of April.

Her eyes amused me, slices of January that held April tightly....

she could rain in snow, drop from upside-down skies, and we held tightly to the tears that
only appeared on the opposite side of closet doors as we marked our claim on unusual with
hand prints that never saw the sun.

Two days could have passed underneath us before we blinked, my windows whispered glorious
promises but we kept them closed for safety, for the opposition of who we could be, and
she knew the secret of every season, she knew how to laugh when bedroom doors...


I drew her behind the mirror and we created October across December stars, we became
disobedient underneath the glorious names we sang that night for lips speak magic when
they pretend to lie and dishonesty was but a kiss away from sunrise.

Time stung me come August, come March, come the age of thirty-two, her eyes had been shut
for years now and she sunk beneath flowers I am positive would be beautiful enough to
photograph had I the courage to glance, but my feet have never crossed the grass that
blankets her and roots her promises...

tangled beneath tomorrow with a tight grasp on yesterday, and I wonder if the days have
yet to fade the color of her hair.

It rained in January when I existed miles away, teardrops of memories that fell as softly
as the whispers of her name, I closed the bedroom door tightly and listened intensely for
the echoes of dishonesty, for she remained there, somewhere, behind mirrors that painted
her and the lies that bit my tongue, that reassured me...

our hand prints would hide from summer...

covered in ice-cream secrets that screamed her pain from a smile, from a foolish wish that
spoke us inseparable.

Her eyes, blue as October, slapped me, that day, as they painted themselves the secrets
girls are never supposed to witness, as they refused to allow April to fall but declared


with the beauty that she

could never see.

Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese | Year Posted 2007

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In this windy coastal location the interesting thing is that 
1000 years ago this unlikely spot  was a huge city.
Where we see the forests and  swamps now -
Was a  large city which we’ve  called simply   Bayville.
Nature has reclaimed  it,  as it has all ancient civilizations.

Last month we looked at the Aztec  and Mayan cities.   
This  month  we have come further north
And we are examining   the Euro-latin  civilization
Which came to  an abrupt end  
About 1000 years ago, for unknown reasons;
Although evidence suggests that there was 
A climatic change which gradually 
Turned fertile farmlands hereabouts  into deserts,
And there was a series of devastating earthquakes
Which hit the city each year for  several  years.

(NOTE:  Part  II  of this poem follows immediately in the list of poems)

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

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Me and The January Leaf

Me n the January Leaf.
Morning prayers, tweets of bird
Wrinkled Sundays,olives in curd
All took fathoms to drag me out
From the blanket of laziness, letted me meet
The crisp n cold but fresh n bold
Blow of year 2014.

"What!" I screamed as year 2013
Left me unbade, I complained I whimped
Then the 'January Leaf' fell n dewed
"Like now I can't be fixed, I can't be mixed
'TIME' greatest of all couldn't be rekicked, surf forth
To play with unceased waves that waved."

Copyright © Rajat Kumar | Year Posted 2015

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(NOTE: If you have not already read  PART I,  then do so before you read this)

Though the buildings are gone long ago  
Our diggings in the places we felt were the main city  
Have unearthed   plastic  false-teeth and artificial heart-valves.
We  have also brought up plastic bowls and plastic bags and bottles, 
Probably used to carry artificially-flavoured  salted food.
(This would account for the false teeth.)
The marshy delta in the south arm of the bay 
Once supported a salt-evaporation industry.

These people knew how to use technology
And  were obviously technologically  advanced  - 
But a weak people physically. Let me show you why:
Here we see what seems may have been 
The foundations of a  great bridge across the bay  - 
And  engineering was a forte of these people.
This huge block of concrete you see in 
The middle of the water  may have been 
An artificial island to anchor two such bridges.
Movement and transport seems to have been in vehicles
And very little walking was done, (hence the heart-valve).
Huge concrete highways extended  from this city south,
Probably to  another of their cities, long gone.

Though important and widespread,
Transport was however a problem for these people,
Especially in the foggy weather which seems to be typical for  the place.
Underground we have found a complex 
Of tunnels which probably housed a movement system of sorts,
Unaffected by the treacherous climate.
And not just  land transport, but sea too.
It doesn’t look like it to our eyes, but this was a major port, 
And under the waters  of the bay
Can be found many artifacts of ships and cargoes.

Those seven or eight small hills to the south 
Of the baymouth are covered today in natural forests of sessile oak 
And shrubbery of peach-     and   grape-bearing plants 
But there are still some large Euro-latin buildings
Poking through the growth.   It seems to have been 
A prosperous residential area  of the city.

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

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January 1st

Relieving myself
After a long night
I smiled a bit
I havent peed
Since last year!

Copyright © CJ Krieger | Year Posted 2012

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Stitches of January.

“Buy me a scarf” she said and curled her toes through snow to demonstrate the color of

“Buy me a scarf and I'll wrap our memories around my neck, you can watch me smile in
storms as I contemplate warmth and look at you beneath the sky.”

I wrote promises on windows with fingers that touched shadows and counted snowflakes
crystals as I destroyed their patterns in a feeble attempt to claim love...

There, in the house that spoke one thousand tears, I thought about the secrets we
whispered when the year turned and purple was fantastic on the other side of frozen lakes
despite the voices that named us something unspeakable.

Rings and silver and I wore one on my toe, polished perfectly, my feet felt summer and I
laughed in lilts of June and breaths of lilac bushes that lined my backyard, but I kept my
closet door shut, winter stitches on shelves so January's voice would never be heard...

I boxed up photographs and letters that quoted songs we had sang together, I covered up
her haircut and placed her eyeliner in an envelope but I knew, beneath the ground where
lilac bushes rooted themselves...

she wore the ring I had placed upon her finger on her fourteenth birthday, on the day
August spoke up and we listened intently, mocking 


and bedposts that wrote her name...

and I sat, cleaning prints off of windows, erasing promises and eluding love, wondering,
if I had learned how to knit, would sidewalks have been so convincing?

I listened to memories and bought myself a scarf, wrapped stitches of January around my
neck and heard her, in laughter, as she whispered through the wind that numbed the fingers
that broke promises...

“Lend me your scarf, and I'll see you, I'll hold your hand when August knocks you down.”

Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese | Year Posted 2007

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The inclemency of winter
has stripped the towering trees
of their peacock foliage of fall;
gravity sucking them back
to the womb that gave birth
to their bare breasted branches.

Yet these pompous zombies of nature
stand poised like wooden megaliths
winking and smiling at the sun 
peeking through stilled clouds
lingering in stolen spaces between
shades of blue and gray chilled skies.

In the irony of this scene’s prelude
to nature’s power of resurrection,
we stoked the hungry fire  and fed it
another log; and warming away the cold,
we waited with the trees to greet the coming snow.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015