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Prose Poetry Relationship Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Relationship

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Rarely Spoken Words

Rarely Spoken Words 

Rarely Spoken Words

"Please forgive me, I was wrong" --
" when I thought I was right "....
If you ever hear those
rarely spoken words keep
them near your soul...

If the person that spoke them without
coercing-stood strong against their ego-
Liken to a rare jewel, they are.
You can trust them to shine;

They have the fortitude of integrity
Which is the thread of friendship's lifeline
as they will be most unlikely to
deceive you in relationship's.

Those who be sprinkling fairy dust on their
mistakes, are not really sorry, they will
wound you all over, before you are
recuperated, they will injure you again.

You need stay clear.
Remove them like a dart in your heart.
From most you will never hear those
"Rarely Spoken Words"

“I apologize, my fault”
"My bad" - "You were right".
Unless spoken from a jail cell.!

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

The wedding cake, a collaboration with Ian Jones

What a beautiful, romantic day
Most wonderful day of my life
I soak up the sun, every ray
We're going to be husband and wife
The wedding cake's beautiful but where's the knife?
And where's my dad? He should be here
To give me away, oh my, oh dear!

Oh my God! What a Stag Night
I can't quite remember, what did we do?
Why's there a tattoo on my butt on the right?
And why is half my hair blue?
I'm panicking now about what will ensue
When in the shower blue dye starts to disappear
And the girl's name just dissolves from my rear.

I'm loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer
A triple dare
Of a husband number three
My beautiful day, I swirl for the show
Hubby number three won't be free for a while.

Still puzzling, how did I get here?
A triple trouble stands in front of me
The bachelor party a couple of nights ago
I wish I was free again
The knife in the cake crumbles as the sweet cake is savoured.

As the blushing bride I look all around
My brothers and sisters, eyes open wide
They look at the cake and at the groom frown
But they're smacking their lips but not at the bride
The church doors are locked, everyone is inside
When will the service be over, how long will it take?
Before they can get their hands on that cake.

As the blushing groom I nervously look at a sister
The brothers are scowling, her kids just grinning
Don't think you can back out now mister
My fate is sealed, my head is spinning
The priest calls to order, the service beginning
I glance across at the majestic cake
Like Kilimanjaro no knife could it break.

The wedding day rings dancing on the plate
Waiting to be worn on this forever date
The service ends, the wedding bells still ringing
The now wife and husband each having
A million thoughts running
The groom takes a quick glance at his years of single
The bride not holding back on this mingle.

She loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer, a triple dare
Of a husband number three
He is still puzzling, how he got here
The cake demolished to only one crumb
Just like his chances of being free

Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Secret Lovers

Meet me at the park bench
So I can breathe in your fragrance
Meet at the park bench 
So my words can tickle you
Til your bosom shakes	
Til your belly aches
© 2015

Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Please Don't Cry Love

Please don't cry, Cause I'm not leaving your side. Wipe all the tears away, Cause I'm still by your side. Till the day we die, You don't have to hide your beauty. Cause you are always beautiful in my own eyes, No matter what people think. Your beauty is one of kind, Just like a rainbow rose. But 10x more beautiful, I know you have a lot of pain. But baby you are to damn beautiful to have all that pain, Wipe those tears away. Just take my hand, And let's fly far away.

Copyright © Eduardo Martin Castro Jr | Year Posted 2017

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 |


I BEGGED YOU TO STOP You see me already sitting at the corner heads down unto folded arms, bent on knees... When tears and cries, all that left to say still, your tongue is as sharp as a wooden ax, slowly cutting me like that of a CT scan. Sobs, groans rocked and rolled earthquake in my bones, I beg hard for you dear mother to stop. STOP! but sadly, you didn't... You didn't... Left to right you again whipped me with shouts, your eyes mad like that of a lion ready to devour. Frightened, the most I can do is to stare down, beholding my two pained, beaten bruised legs, knees shaking despite my hands holding them tight, also my fingertips dance in terror. Again, I beg hard for you dear mother to stop but traumatic, you are there but you aren't listening... Like the disturbed tidal waves of the sea, your palms non-stop lapping hard: thud! thud! Even your digits keep on squeezing my skin. A cheap make-up colored red and black are scattered free all over my flesh, except for some purple spheres in my wrists. I beg hard for you dear mother to stop but all your eyes mirror is remorse... Stop! Please, please Stop! but you never stop only my breathing stopped. __________________________________________ ==Sponsor Broken Wings== ==Contest Name Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention== ~~1st Place~~ O.E. Guillermo 10:01 pm , June 17, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Somewhere over the rainbow

I had heard this song by an obscure artist, with a twist as it played verses 
of 'Somewhere over the rainbow, with 'What a wonderful' world entwined. 
It's simply melody strummed on a ukalele mesmerized me as I listened on the radio 
in the car.
I remember saying to my wife, "I want this at my funeral." I was morbidly honest 
that way.
Several years later, I was watching an episode of E.R. in which our favorite 
character, Dr. Green discovers he has brain cancer, and a short time to live. He's 
basically given the advice we all wish to avoid. "You don't have long, retire, enjoy 
the time you have left."
 Dr Green, plans a vacation with his daughter, who's relationship has been strained 
since his divorce. For the next three or four episodes Dr. Green and his daughter 
spend his last days surfing in Hawaii. Mending the relationship slowly, to a degree 
of understanding only a father and daughter could know. He's still Dad, and she's a 
teen working on letting go of her resentments.
In the last episode of the story, he's not doing well. He keeps passing out and his 
strength is waning. He knows it's only a matter of days, possibly hours; but doesn't 
share this with his daughter, the scenary is of a bungalo on the beach, white sands 
surround the openness of the primitive bungalo, palm trees speckle the beach, and 
in the distance lies the royal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
A day of surfing is suddenly changed as he suggests that his daughter go ahead of 
him, he'll stay back and watch until his strength returns. So he sits in a hammock, 
and watches out in the water as she strolls off to surf, Background music grows to 
this song I'd so loved, by and artist named Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole and as the 
music is playing softly, the camera pans in on the face of Dr. Green for his death 
scene, and his last breath. The camera pulls back, from the back of his head, above 
the bungalo, above the beach as if we are Dr Green's soul departing this earth.
Yes, I cried like a little school girl as realized that my favorite character had just 
been erased from our show, with no chance to come back for a Cameo... What!? of 
course that's why I cried! OKAY! it was a tear jerker! and the saddest part, was the 
relationship with his daughter was still in repair . Moral of the story i guess-- You 
never know when its your time, so don't hold on to petty resentments, and love 
every minute of life.  

I later learned, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole; had also died

Copyright © michael hornschuch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Math Problems

The problem of PolyNomials,
equivalent or not?
with NotPolyNomials
hides a geometric assumption
that was profoundly challenged by Bucky Fuller.

Polynomial v NotPolynomial
assumes if we could distinguish NP from P sets of information
in advance of processing language trials,
then we would know two sets of autonomously delineated bipolar information.
Yet this is no more, or less, the case
than to say that something is not
is to contain and define more valued information
than to say it is
at least notnot right now.

This equivalence or not
between not polynomial information
and notnot polynomial exformation
may be better redeveloped,
more cooperatively regenerate,
to see PolyNomials as binary informating bits,
where two notnot yin-negative exformating ambivalents
equal one positive Yang-PolyNomial equivalent
dipolar co-arising positive convex
as also dualdark co-gravitating concave 
enthymematic dipolar.

For example,
YangLight c-squared
equivalent with YinYin e-squared
primal convex/concave
outside radiant/inside co-gravitating in reverse time
temporal double-binding relationship,
0-sum fractal Eulerian prime function,
like DNA and RNA string theorems
of regeneratively double-bound in/ex-FormFunction,
and Holy Spirits within CoRedemptive Trinitarian Hypostatic Braiding Trees of Threes,
and Gaia TriLateral CoOperative Hypotheses.
Yang reforesting radiant canopies
over Yin double-binding root systems of fractal ergodic rhythms,
with reiterative trunks of networking cooperatives root to branching
Yang EarthSpace
over YinFlowing Spiral Speed,
ReVolving BiLateral (0)Root PrimeTime.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Relationship thoughts

WHAT have her eyes seen and
WHERE have her fingers been?
WHOSE skin has she touched and
HOW did she feel?

WHEN does she remember this and 
WHY does she dress like that?
DOES she think of me and
WILL she feel passion tonight?

ARE her secrets fun and 
HAS she experienced real happy?
IS she good, IS she O.K., 
IS she adorable, IS she unique? 

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Determination makes the impossible possible

When I’m known, he’ll come knocking.
Left alone to cry for our children,
I wish for them to know, the truth
not become bitter, broken, or hopeless.
The choice to conceal, be honest,
My dilemma, want better for them.
If I can get ahead despite rejection,
Social issues, challenges, being ill equip,
So could they, I want them to know this.
Determination make the impossible possible.
Even if alone and unsupported.

Copyright © Ruth Garnes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


ANGELS AND DEMONS IN HER HEAD "Abort it!! and from this day and on, no more us. NO. MORE. US.!" (These the earthshaking words she heard from him.) This was the man that made her feel she's pretty. She's nice. She's worth every care and touch, but this time, he denied her. He want her out from his life. Blues skies he promised flew fast like the wind, so are the smiles, moon and stars he vowed to share. The light and shades, they are painting nine months ago turned fast in a minute in an envelope-tinge of black. Liquid diamonds- a curtain flow from her eyes as that one test. Two red lines now change her life. Sponge soft are her knees. Gypsy are her shaking heels. Chilly sweats cascade to chaperon her tears. Alone. Scared. Frightened. Torn. Horror is the athlete running through her reverie for she knows... She knows the world she's in may stop and stare at her. No lax brows no smiling eyes rather arched brows and big eyes ready to claw. Lightning fingers and tidal palms may grace her face. Lashing monstrous words she will hear. All these plugs, churns... regurgitating to her nerves. Angels and demons knocking to her head-- they, she --all in a battle for life. Should she tell her parents about this? to her mama... who didn't even care to stop even for awhile just to ask how she is? Her mom who prefers going out with her friends rather than with her? To her papa, who like more to watch a television? who likes staying out 'til dawn more than paying attention to her talks. Yes,her phone is always new. Her room as big as her school's classroom. Her pocket like a walking bank. Her parents taught her to speak but when she wanted a talk no one there. She walks so well. They even tell her she could be a model. Yet, her parents refuse her for a stroll. Ah! She is hurting-- HURTING... Her hurt is cutting deep reaching further to her already broken soul... Her life-- like the leaning Tower of Pisa even a collapsed castle; a black hole but lo! some voice within tells her: "soon from your belly a new life will begin..." _____________________________________________ Sponsor Debbie Guzzi Contest Name Tam Lin Placed 3rd... O.E. Guillermo 11:49 pm, April 14, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Waiting At Doctor's Office

Cody was questioning the lettering on the doctor's plaque on the wall..
He asked me to write letters in cursive which I did ...
He said that the plaque's lettering was not anything like cursive..
Then he wrote in cursive "Once upon a time"
I wrote: "there was"
He wrote: "a Granny"
I wrote: "Who had a Chihuahua named Princess"
He wrote: " They were so alike that they both even had the same spoiled look on their face.."
I wrote: " Princess wanted a new coat and a new harness so we went to PetSense to shop..Princess wanted a rhinestone studded harness and a sequined coat..Of course, she got what she wanted its no joke"..Ha!!!Ha!!!Ha!!

Cody came away empty handed..Ha!!!  

Just for fun...

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

For you, My Love

“For you, My Love”

I watch you sleep
Dark limbs entwined in sheets
The strength you show even while asleep
Makes my heart skip a beat
You are the one I’ve come to love
The one who exhausts me in fiery passion
The one who knows how to make me purr

Bless the day we met
At the carnival two years prior
Avoiding the crowd 
I walked right into your arms
Spilling my chocolate milkshake 
Over the front of your white coat
As I looked up into your hazel eyes
Saw the sadness replaced with light
Time stood still
You said something 
But I could only hear the sound
Of your heart beating 
Getting hold of my senses 
I jumped back fumbling in my purse for tissues
With a “your coat is soiled, sir”
You replied velvet voice “you owe me for damages, miss”
My mouth still hanging open 
We exchanged business cards

Anyway, long story short
We found each other
Love found us
Our exchange of rings at the altar
Promise of a lifetime of love and understanding
Holding each other in the palm of our hands
Kissing me awake with your loving touch
It thrills me thinking about it
You are my shelter
My home

Copyright © Shining Bright | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Patiently Waiting For The Right Answer

A friend to her, for decades from the innocence of children to the adventures of teenagers and even the stupidity of best friends all well shared and enjoyed to a point the gods ask why the wait and beg for the next level. He sees all the possibilities to make her the care-taker of his heart. Thinking he's the only one with eyes open he made his confession attached with an honest recommendation to his amazement she looked at him and said "you are so nice, but like a brother to me'. Switching to the next damsel who's no where near cold but soft, tender, meek and charming. He allows her control the pace and lets her gentleness maintain the tempo. Feeds her with poems and makes her drunk with happiness with hopes going higher, reaching the moon she looked at him and said "sorry! I am not yet ready". He jumped into the next wagon having an available space for a beauty and meets a potential 'second half' pretty, quiet and an introvert. Worships her right from day one letting lose the net of affection, half in magnitude of his efforts will strike the tenderness of a millepede but it got her scared as she looked at him and said "I just had a heart break; I'm so sorry" Watering a fresh new flower growing in a familiar garden just close by, makes him grow in creativity as he engage in constant words exchange and creating wonderful serenity around her. Huge investments and time well spent coupled with passionate research in equipping his machinery of jokes and laughter sums up his passion and carefulness in his latest trial which seems worthy of the medal. Constant updates on his outlook and becoming the number one specimen for fashion were not enough as she looked at him and said "You still have no swag" So many disappointments made him stronger, wiser and smarter not even a forest of wild beast will make him turn his back to the beauty and escapades of life. The moment he tried to pause, the period he wanted to take a nap; the Queen bee passed by. A simple hi and a conversation led to series of memorable meetings, having in mind, the worst is a "no" and her welcoming countenance, a proof to nothing yet, he asked with no expectation in mind then she looked at him and said "Yes! Sweet heart. I want to be your girl"

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Bleeding Curiosity

Where my love goes
your mystery cannot fade.

Yet my curiosity can wilt without your active support,
contagious nourishment,
never-ending flames of wonder
that this love
you could persist with me.

How could we possibly not share our lives,
mutually disinvest of mysteries
that would fade dampened?

Yet without active curiosity
mystery fails hopeless to know more,
even though love’s thirst for internal history
and self-creation stories
becomes too easily quenched
by cooperative post-climatic adjustments,
aging continental plates
earth-quaking our chronically mutual myths,
and their before and after logos shocks.

Where my love goes
your history could not fade,
yet dark fading curiosity of aging eyes and ears
and minds
can blend these my well-deserved contentment
feeding flame’s remorseless desire to continue this co-blind mystery
of love’s deep and blissful well-fed curiosity.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

his touch is a drug

his touch is a drug
he saunters through my mind
i fill my lungs
breathing in his smell
his legs
his wrists
his shoulders
his skin
are beautiful
his eyes like the sky
he hides beneath his hat
beneath eyebrows
behind glasses
behind beard
behind dry wit
as if to keep out the
his wild hair
tangled and tousled
tells the truth
that he covers
his touch is a drug
and i want him

Copyright © Brandi Elizabeth Brown | Year Posted 2014

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 |



You took my breath away
Words I cannot say
You silenced my voice
Gave me no choice
But to be silent!
Say nothing at all
If I slip I might fall
Into that cycle that
Causes me to whisper
Forces me to reveal
What I refuse to.
Silence is golden
Maybe not, but silence is all I got.

By PatriciaMitchell-Nunn

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell-Nunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Unconditional Love

In the warmth of a massive cozy bed, I lie
Enjoying the freshness of a washed sheet
Lost in a make believe world
Lovely enough, I can’t wake

But while in the deep of my fantasies 
I am suddenly awakened by my little one’s silent echo!!!

Her turns and sucks, 
Her little hand-full tummy, rumbling
Yet again, wet diaper.

Oh no!!! Why now? 
Sleep never felt so lovely
But I just can’t ignore this growl
Am I not her supper-mom? 

Sleep-walking; I grab some warm milk and fresh diaper
For who came from me, same flesh and blood!!!

Copyright © chocho diva | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


Kill a smile with a kiss
The demise of it will visit you in your dreams
Never will I let you
Drown in a pool of angry thoughts
I will be your unexpected smile
Every time I bring u roses b4 valentine
A wet poem I would recite for you

I would make you my 1st rhyme
your heart-beat will rhyme
Twist my beat box
Into a love song
A cartoon I would paint in your heart to keep you smiling
Your twin smiles I would define in vernacular
Though I speak no language from Peninsula
My parents will define your beauty as African splendor
Black mother nation
Smile please smile

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


Those spoken words that can't be taken back come back as incendiary 
attacks.  How many rough relationships must one go through before one 
finds smooth?  Is it me or you? Don't be fooled. We are the key ingredient 
that our kids feed on. Do they grow strong or limp along?  
Is there life out there? Is there hurt after mistakes?  
Is the Lord's day really all that great? What about the other days of the 
week?  The world continues spinning,  this concept of us is 
revolutionary.  Together we find balance in give and 
take, the reorientation of space so that the stars you look upon don't crumble 
and fall. Heaven is two feet from the ground.  A morning fog we walk through 
daily.  Good quickly dissipates and we're left wondering how heaven drifted so 
far away. What happened to Sunday?  How did the Sabbath move from 
Saturday?  How did we become disenchanted?  Separate but equal,  so 
political our lies are believable.  Can I count on your vote?  Sure (not really). 
Stop gerrymandering.  What's mine is ours. Erase the lines that divide. 
Come close to close.  Let me peer through you, stir that ocean inside of you. 
Let our problems fade in the distance like a pier five miles away.  
Rise above crosses and steeples above the morning mist that evaporates 
when the sun first kisses it. Let me hold you in my heaven till noon, 
lay with you in evening, give you that resurrective feeling at the first stroke of 
midnight.  Your dark knight with whispers of goodnight, choir preaching, have 
you heard a good word? Even after all that we see reaches oblivion,  
I got you. Going to ride it out until the waves become smooth. 
If still waters run deep, sit down so I can quench my thirst in your 
baptismal pool. Dive into your postrapedic positions and serenade you with 
what is coming next. Rain falling on violet painted window sills on the inside it 
sounds like a lullaby. We've mastered this concept so hard to come by. We 
can't do drive-bys,  can't duck and hide. Us and we go together the way 
summer follows spring. What you take away, give it back new. Be my 
solstice,  a day that separates and joins seasons. My soul sister,  soul mate 
and soul date: expiration of forever and a day. Together you and I with 
mountains to climb,  storms to soar beyond, and a heaven to get into, 
mornings to walk through.  No more gerrymandering.  A hope you can believe 
in. I am T.S. Lewis and I approve this blessing. Let's make it smooth.

Copyright © TS Lewis | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Are You The First To Be An Ex

There are some colours that can never be repainted, marks that can never be removed and stains that can never be covered. Move on! My past loved one, don't hold unto my shoulders as though nature formed us together. We've once crossed that bridge but even before reaching its middle we had crashed into the river and were swallowed by the rocks of its depth. Do you remember, at first we built a garden coloured in trust and grassed with unbelievable care? But we converted it into an Oven where love and hate mix and our problems; I'm the only one trying to fix. Unfortunate episodes of our heated drama was already counting at thirty and six. The beautiful songs of our hearts we remix as sadness and anger feasts. Why shouldn't I leave and prevent my heart from an avoidable accident? But you stick around only to suffer from self torture. My new and bright countenance makes you wanna have sex with other male colleagues, I flex. It's barely two weeks that makes you perplexed well; it's your problem b'cos I'm not bothered if you're vexed. Are you the first to be an ex? Just move on, my dear past lover! It will be the height of folly and the worship of loneliness if you visit our world again.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


What is it about me
that I cannot place you
in the picture painted by the years
the life has already spent?
Do you merely lurk,
and leave at a much later time?
you are staying

If you may.
I pray.
While I find a place (for us)
in the picture of eternities,
the gods must be 
themselves amusing.

Ah, the grand scheme of things -
                            a forgetting.
A familiar spirit we feel -
                            a remembering.     

(Note) This piece was inspiredly written for the beautiful souls - even the 
strangers - I have met along the way and will still come upon in my lifetime. To 
each special one, you have stirred quite a familiar spirit within. A remembrance 
of forgotten past, I suppose. Thank you for letting me peak through your 
soul's window. The veil of forgetfulness has never been thin as now to me. You 
have so given me a gift I shall treasure in the moments I may tend to forget 
who I truly am - a being with a soul.

Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.

Copyright © Molly McCarthy | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Listening Closer to Myself

I give to you...
And you gave to me...
A rash, a fever, headache and the Flu...
I told you not to go without a coat...
And now you’ve got a very bad sore throat...
With fever and pain in all your muscles...
Coughing and sniffles, with draining from nostrils...
Tissues scattered all over the floor...
Bottles and pills from the drugstore...
Chicken soup is what I recommend...
But a sandwich also you did command...
And how about some chips and a nice cold brew...
For days I made you a priority...
Your every whim took seniority...
And then it happened, I started to sweat...
Became lethargic, and better yet...
You were over your bout with the Flu...
As I plopped my body onto the bed...
You stated you were going out to get something to eat...
So I could get some well deserved sleep...
As you closed the door, I heard you say...
Call me when you get better, OK ?
And that’s what brings me here today...
Perhaps I should listen closer to what I say...
" You should take better care of yourself ! “


Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Gator Bait Series 4th At Your Discretion with Intention

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Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Journey of Love

I still remember the day
When i met you for the first time,
It was the day of exam
When we had no time.

Yet we became friends 
With our unmatched trends.
Along the journey with few bends,
I didn't know when we became close friends.

With a blink of an eye
We fell in love with each other,
It was the most beautiful feeling 
We had than any other.

A little complicated, yet we were
deeply attached and devoted,
But destiny had something else in its mind
As it was already decided.

Our relationship lived for three years
That left me in tears,
I don't know what mistake i had committed,
For which we got separated.

Each day that i spent with you 
Was like a celebration for me,
Even today i cry with a pain in my heart,
Thinking of 'you & me'.

Copyright © Sujish Kandampully | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Gator Bait Series 2nd Crossing the Line

It’s that time of year when I think of you....
And all the strange things we used to do...
We were young and cast our fate to the wind...                                                  
Regardless of the message that we might send..
Out to the world , cause we didn’t care...                                                                       
And that’s what brings me here to share....
You treated me just like a queen honey bee..                                                                
And I believed and worshiped thee...
We shared our ups and downs together...                                                                        
In thick and thin and stormy weather...
What was mine was mine and yours was mine.....                                                         
And we never ever crossed that line !
I assumed it would always be just you and me...                                                            
As no one else appealed you see....
My friends said you will break my heart...                                                                       
But I told them that, I was just too smart....
As I remembered , what I was taught....                                                                         
That no one could control my thought...
And then it happened I lost my heart....                                                                          
My bracelet, my watch and my college  ring...
And then you did that awful thing...                                                                               
You lied , you cheated , you  had stolen my bling...
And that’s why now you aren’t around....                                                                       
Plus no way... will you EVER.... be found....
Cause I live where the GATOR is king......                                                                        
And...like no one steals my BLING !

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Shoveling I-Cycles

He said he planned to freeze to death.

Did he mean to have his body frozen?
Stored to hatch again later,
leftovers out of time's deep freezer of waiting.

No, not that.
He responds with undeniable dismissal,
this would not be his investment in future plans.

I hope and believe that I will choose
when to freeze my death.

I remember his hope
stepping out into Connecticut's perfect nor'easter,
stern at onslaught,
like pilgrims and nearby islands of granite
states and histories,
but then dragging more gracefully out
into lacey fluff
floating toward quintessential kitschey views
framed from inside
by silent flickering orange flames
licking coal black constitutional wood stove
New England casual propriety,
radiating waspish welcome warmth,
but with appropriate restraint,
while I remember to step
onto my snow covered front porch,
evenly blanketed front to back,
as if devoid of shingled Cape Cod roof.

This would be a good connected way too die.
Shoveling snow in Promised Land's
evening post-storm quiet,
waiting for far off snow huffers and blowers
to finally rest.

Without anger or disappointment.
How could we become a better time and place
to re-enter timeless freedom of empathic light?
Fearless deep enriching flight
into nesting night
of death's diastatic elational surprise,
floating out as in
to continue WinWin play
as recreating love-life
by day
and regenerating CoLover's Love of love ourselves
each climaxing full-moon night,
speaking through nor'easter' wind
of light redemption
and bright winged mythic co-reception.

If I were of his fearless content mind
to fade in frosty sublime light,
now would be my time
to threshold off
into enculturing adventures
of co-relational Earthen Love,
holding off my WinWin Climax re-transformation
until this night's threshold,
freezing away from carnating restraint
of graceless angry fear of lively shadows
and losing ego's permacultured golden age
to flow into disincarnate freedom
full as loving tic elating grace,
recomposing Earth's Tribal Golden Embryo,
a grand transitional opera
in four snow-bound limbs
of crystal-frosted dancing light
elating pure true resonance.

He planned to freeze his death
to love Earth's Paradise, 
echoing co-radical Presence.

My warmth becomes distracting
to this Bodhisattva Revolution
into cosmic-conscious decomposition
of Gaia's delicious musical comedy
sung full-timed operatic pretension
until cold brings time's threshold
storm inviting steadier-state contemplation,
love Beloved freezing Presence,
free at last to climax multicultural Elation.

Funny, now, to remember
his pre-climatic drama,
requiring death
to embrace love's timelessly available freedom,
when each breath engages sacrament
baptizing love's diastatic promise,
then purging Passion Stories back out
to feed Earth's ravenous trees of upside-down rooting wisdom.

It's all so intensely rich and deep,
shoveling snow,
remembering a friend
who chose to freeze his living,
celebrating a dance of Full Moon dying
to prehend already present EarthArising Presence.

CoMessiah breathing in Connecticut's normative normal
natural business 
nor'eastern Paradise Transition,
shoveling deeply within
newly laid embryonic blanketing womb

I hope our kids won't worry or ever fear
that we've chosen frozen to death out here
over all our over-heated operatic flame
of life in quiet reConnecting home.

He said he planned to freeze to death
to sit with passionate Earth's Tribe,
co-rising Time's elating love, 

Even so,
I hope he misses me
as I miss him.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Love and Seasons

You gave out your heart but only got back half in return. It's only a small scratch, and you climb back right up. It's okay, you say, whatever it takes as you fill up the emptiness with lies regrets and sin. After winter pasts comes spring, where life begins and flowers (love) blossoms now you're more cautious, handling your half with care. Alas, things aren't meant to last he breaks it unevenly and takes the bigger half. The ground is kind to you, and you don't want to get up. It's okay, you say, whatever it takes as you fill up the emptiness with false optimism, despair, and apathy. Because seasons do not stop for love and years will go by with springs and winters. Your weary soul has losts its identifier you no longer shiver with the cold, and flowers look like snow so when you felt the warmth again you thought it wasn't so. Was it spring? Could it be? You look out the window, trying to find more clues But it all feels the same, and so you decide against it and lock the door shut.

Copyright © Bre Varzena | Year Posted 2015