Best Prose Poems | Poetry
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The Best Prose Poems
From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.
We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.
Seven! I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.
Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race. I entered with Lisa.
You gave me that look. Oh that look! And you left without a word.
At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically. How it made you giggle to make fun of it.
It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance. You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.
Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.
Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.
At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.
Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.
Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.
Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.
I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke.
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.
Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?
Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice.
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.
Not everything is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.
I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!
i think of you.
March 29 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
Silently he sat in darkness, flinching at the sight of light.
Which created a glow reflecting on his balding head.
His cold glare did not help my nerves,
so I simply stood there observing his silence.
His philosopher beard's tendrils seem to crawl forever,
some hidden behind his buckled knuckle hands.
Wizened victims of one too many a fist fight.
When you looked closer, they exposed branded tattoos,
a timeless reminder from his perturbed past.
He was a man whose ship had never sailed,
maybe too afraid to sink within uncharted waters.
Yet this pilgrim had walked many a path for several decades.
Burning many bridges along the way, until his feet became weary.
To many, he was an 'old dog' that should have been put down
a long time ago - yet he had never requested to live this long.
He didn't seem like a religious man, but he eagerly anticipated death.
An emphatic glance into his lackadaisical drowsy eyes,
revealed hidden sorrows built up through the generations.
Every wrinkle on his sullen face seemed to be an emblem of pain.
He looked tired, worn down by life and defeated by humanity.
A fighter who had fought and fallen many times,
but always returned to the ring. Begging to be punished.
His body had now become slender and emaciated,
it seemed a strong gust could blow it away.
It was evident he enjoyed to pretend, but I knew his game.
Especially when his idle facial impressions struggled with
the sound of bones creaking in sluggish movement.
He started to whistle a tune, it was familiar,
but I couldn't put a name to it.
As he rubbed his eyes, his cheeks crumpled.
A wry smile, crippled by decaying teeth appeared,
as his lethargic lips spoke with a burdened tone.
“Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once. Someone once said that boy! But, let me tell you, no matter how many times you toss that coin, it will never land on the same side."
A sardonic expression appeared on his face.
But, I could see he had a story to tell,
but his tongue seemed to refuse to dance
with the desires of his heart.
Silence was still my guide though,
but unsure if it was due to tact or fear.
I wanted to know about the wounds engraved on his heart,
and the agony ingrained in his soul.
Following a deep sigh, he began to speak, but now in a subtle tone.
I can't tell you about smiles,
but I sure can tell you about tears, boy.
They called me a coward, because I didn't go to war,
but I've been a prisoner of war all my life.
And I've had more blood on my hands,
than any 'son of a gun,' solider, boy.
Its always been me against the world,
to save myself I lived a life of manipulation,
but I never meant to hurt a soul,
unless they deserved it and too many did.
After a slight pause, his tone sounded more intense.
"I was born on a night when the heavens cried.
I've asked GOD, why did the angels hide when I arrived.
Instead he sent the grim reaper to take my mother.
I didn't even have a chance to feel her skin.
I've never been able to call anyone mother."
He was now staring at me, I could see the rage in his eyes,
so intimidating, I turned my head towards the floor.
His tone now fierce, I could feel his wrath.
"Life is full of second hand emotions, broken dreams,
forgotten promises and bleeding hearts!! Regretful memories,
of haunting ghosts, whose spirit voices torment my mind!!
And you want to hear something nostalgic, boy?
Try being beaten every day, for just existing!!
Try being seen as the cause of death!!
And then they wonder why..."
He wipes away intrinsic tears,
trembling, he lights up a cigarette.
"we done here boy"
and then the silence returned...
Walking away in somewhat of a daze,
instinctively I remembered the song;
Old man look at me now....
Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.
1 November 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
Voice: Jason Williams
Whirling air around me, particles of sundust
in tornadoes and hurricanes following me in awe
Each night I wake and feel my legs
The ones that once carried me and jumped so high
The ones that took me away from a world I didn't want to be in
Creating a dream,
The music colouring a world with brushes and pencils
With moves and muscle, practice and pirouette
A world I thought no one could take away
When my eyes are closed I dance
My mind paints my body whole and healed
A unicorn, a world of faeries, a galloping horse
A world of dreams, veiled and away from hurt
I live again
I don't dance anymore
But I write. My words, my lines, they carry me now
My legs are useless, my arms and emotions
I dance again, in words
1st Place in contest: Practiced Passion
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
November 9, 2016
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016
I forgot myself today
as melancholic melodies
overwhelm each beat
of my wandering heart.
The sanctimonious sun deceives
as a bitter breeze breathes
against sullen silent surfaces.
Recycled emotions penetrate
with a repetition of deep sighs.
My spiritless soul strays, but is
happy to be lost in lyrical lament.
As the Nightingale chants its
continuous regretful resonance,
the tip of my tongue aches
to whisper your amorous name, but
holds back knowing you can't hear.
Without your enchanted vision,
neglected eyes perish.
Without your perfumed presence,
senses remain scentless.
Without your tender touch,
fragile petals won't blossom.
As a cascade of sandcastle emotions
infiltrate stubborn sierra barriers.
Violent tears erupt,
demolishing hardened walls.
What used to be bitter breaths and
spiteful sighs are now regretful cries.
Your silent goodbye still haunts
as the lips grieve for one last kiss.
I forgot myself today,
but have not forgotten your love.
The Silent One
29 November 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
As I sit watching fusions of saffron and scarlet hues
elegantly charm the horizons.
Silently, fluffy lush clouds float by
like a magnetic field drawing me closer,
in hope they may lead me to you.
So I ponder
maybe love is like the sunrise
so many see it - yet so few feel it.
Just the thought of my beloved,
leads to these poetic fingers bleeding.
As they drown in an abundance of words,
that can only be soothed by her luscious lips.
For these sentimental eyes yearn
to caress her tender skin.
So, I set upon the path to discover,
if it shall lead to the realms of my lover.
A path that I have once trodden upon before,
but the soul demands to travel upon it once more.
After all I'm only human,
the love she planted in my heart still remains
and how can I love another,
when the heart refuses to give permission.
Time has kept us apart.
I float to her like a butterfly,
and shall float until I reach her province.
For this not just an infatuated sensation,
you may hear in a fairy tale or sung in a lullaby.
Her love is the only sensation of infatuation,
as she holds the formula to my alchemist heart.
I know I can't simply take her heart,
it can only be given to one.
But without her the world is cold,
and I live for the day she will wrap me up
inside her heart and never let me leave.
For the love she gave, is still the only one I crave.
I long to walk together amongst bluebells and ambrosial roses,
roaming through an oasis of enchanted blossoms.
Her arms will become my sanctuary.
To create a masterpiece of serenity,
to achieve an eternal state of tranquillity.
I hope before first site of twilight,
her perfect vision brings justice to this write.
In a world full of expectations,
I may lose the passion to exist.
Just one beautiful gesture,
will help me to remember how to smile.
For, I know her radiant eyes will provide clarity,
the warmth of her kiss will be my remedy.
The Silent One
8 November 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
Placid rain gently kisses unblemished windows
as leaves fall in an Autumn breeze.
In the distance cinereal clouds congregate,
converging upon the city's royal citadel.
Oblivious to the storm, adrift in cultural fiction
she sits immersed from the ambience
of the scent of new leaves.
Hypnotised - tranquil words enchant her mind,
as her eyes nonchalantly embrace each paragraph.
Her heart is at peace, relating to each character,
some that make her smile - others that displease her.
Jealous winds blow abundant rain,
like bullets shooting against her window.
Attempting to distract from her infatuation,
but her spirit is an unconquerable fortress.
The world is forgotten to her,
as her soul performs the role
of her favourite character.
Observing to learn through them,
so she can learn about her self.
The final page,
the last sentence,
leads to watery eyes.
For the peace and beauty
she experiences in books,
she does not find in life.
5 October 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
There once was a bum. He
was the neighborhood drunk.
He had a unkempt demeanor.
His salt and pepper hair had not
been washed in years.The
clothes he wore were ragged.
His shirt had giant holes in them.
He looked twice his age. In his
drunken state he cursed every-
one that came his way.His smell
was so horrible you might as well
say he showered in whiskey.That
didn't bother this young missionary
who lived nearby.Every day she would
bring the old bum food and clothing.
She would offer him shelter as well.
"Hi sir . How are you today?"
"Why don't you just leave me alone.
Can't you see I don't want to be
bothered."he stated with a slur.
"Sir I'm going to leave your food and
your clothing right here". As she said
those words she bent down and placed
his things on the ground.This was their
routine for well over a year.But on this
in particular day the ole drunk appear-
ed to be coherent. He was sober.As
the young missionary approached him
she said, "Hi Sir. How are you today?"
"I'm fine ma'am. How are you?"
"I'm well Sir. Are you hungry today?"
I brought you some food and water
and some clothes and shoes."He
shook his head no.
"Ma'am I don't want anything.How-
ever I do appreciate it so. I'm going
His statement took her by surprise.
"Sir I didn't even know you had a
"Ma'am I do indeed have a home.
I'm homeless by choice. I want you
to know your kindness will not go
She knew it wasn't right to judge but
she thought to herself he has gone
" Miss I stopped believing in God a
long time ago but your loving kind-
ness showed me God today."
"Okay Sir.I'm going to leave these
things and I will see you later.How-
ever the next day the old bum was
not in his usual spot. And sad-
ness overwhelmed her spirit. That
old bum had become a big part of
her life. She grew to love him very
much. As the days went by she con-
tinued to look for him and he wasn't
there. It was as though he dropped
off the face of the earth.Today was
a beautiful day and she was at the
corner, in the spot where the bum
sat.Deep in her thoughts as she be-
gan to walk she nearly bumped into
someone. As she was about to speak
she saw this well groomed middle
aged man with dashing good looks.
" Hi Ma'am. How are you?" She recog-
nized the handsome stranger's voice
"Sir is that you?" She asked just to
make sure her mind wasn't playing
tricks on her.
"Yes Ma'am it is me. I just came by
to formally thank you for all of the
kindness you showed to me. I was in
raggedy clothes and never once did
you show disgust. You see I am a
millionaire that had lost his way. You
see my wife of nearly thirty years got
ill and passed away. In that moment I
lost my mind because my home didn't
As he finished telling his story little
tears began to fall from her eyes.
Through small sobs she said,
" I'm sorry for your loss. I will con-
tinue to pray to God on your behalf."
" Ma'am your prayers is why I stand
here today.If God had not sent you
my way I would probably still be lost.
Please don't cry for me I will be okay".
He reached in his pocket and pulled
out an old business card and handed
it to her.
"Take my card. Feel free to call me any-
time. All that I have now belongs to you.
Do you remember that day when I told
you that your loving kindness would not
As he said those final words he turned
and left, leaving the young missionary
Copyright © Alexis Y. | Year Posted 2016
What has become of me?
Like a madman laughing in the rain,
wandering through fields of barley,
where ghosts whisper my name.
Hesitantly venturing forward,
reluctant to turn back,
loved ones desperately hold my hand.
Time is no longer a friend of mine.
I'm aware this path shall be my last,
but I'm smiling - satisfied,
knowing the pain will end.
Reminiscing seasons gone by,
memories are like rose petals,
softening each step -
my mind is at peace knowing
thorns can't cut me any more.
Images flash by
my first kiss, my last tear,
words spoken, words lost in silence,
and how the wind danced at sunset
illuminating golden crops.
Birds sing songs of goodbye,
tomorrow there will be no sunrise.
My heart will never again
harvest upon nature's rewards.
Scarecrows watch over barren fields,
suffocated by absent hands.
As each breath becomes shorter,
my soul prepares to depart.
But I'm lost in thought, wondering:
Will it be celestial lullabies,
or dancing with the devil?
2 January 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
Hope, A Little Remained
She walked the creaking floors of the rat-infested room,
trying to remember what tragedy had sent her to this shabby place.
Her heart felt the desperate pains, that lost love sends in aching waves,
praying her sleeping infant does not wake and cry out from its feverish thirst.
He paced the cold cell, languishing in deep misery, heart shattered,
each step an eternity echoing curses, a testament to his broken pride.
Although thousands of miles apart, he felt her loss, never-ending sorrows,
dawn would come, priest would take his last confession, yet Hope remained.
For Silent One's, eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
If I had a pretentious brain
which acts faster than my heart
Maybe then,I would abhore this soul
which spreads freely through each verse
Maybe then I would impress you
with my intellectual grammar
and sophisticated words
I would scrutunize
each and every coma
dot and exclamationmark
believing I know best
But I would never let that happen
I'd rather stay at bay
Writing firstly with my mind
and not my heart
leads only to an asylium
within the being of myself
Poetry is my voice,my shadow
The sacred shrine of great escape
Each stored emotion processed
within a yesterday
Poetry is the inner of my existence
breathing softly,bleeding deeply
exploding in death,love
passion and romance
In every verse a whisper
a thought that I would scribe of
a silent cry expressed
Maybe in a tomorrow
you might pass by me
Tread your footstep on my ink
and spit saliva in my face
But maybe in a today
a broken -hearted fool stops by
to find comfort in my world
Maybe a prisoner,a tramp
an insane soul or outcast
would pick these scattered scribbles
and gather them as whole
Maybe through each criss-crossed puzzle
finds a narrow passage
which leads his faith to home
Maybe a little child
whose blissful giggles
depends on little words
would turn the dusty pages
of silly rhymes I penned
Rhymes which know the moons
stars,faries,and the magic land
Rhymes which know each fantasy
and how to be a friend
And maybe He would smile
Maybe He would laugh
Maybe He would dream
Maybe He would grow up to write
the most eloquent sonnet
there has ever been
Or maybe He would grow up
to write simple words
just like me
about daises or dandelions
and expressions to be free
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014
i sit lonely.
the crowded restaurant is thick with sound
i pick away at it
moving back into the stagnant silence
of my own comfort
the air is nasty here
it telepathically abuses my thought patterns
a far cry better
the loud hum of food
marching to the vacant crowd
a decorated plate joins my table
strikes a conversation with the cutlery
there is no call from the governor
as i attack my food
fork knife teeth
a paper plane flies in
a swipe of my plastic
makes quick work of the bill
than human eyes can catch
i hate this part
i parley my way through
too many bodies
all the while staring
at a concrete maze
never making eye contact
with a single soul
i do that
i always do that
keep the entrances of my being
away from those who would stare me down
attempt to engage me in conversation
with a desire to lock eyes
if they looked in they would burn
i’d be held responsible
the only environment i feel safe in
my therapist will be proud
almost an hour today
assuming i see her again
i am covered in my own dew
my breathing sporadic
i line up an array of pills like good soldiers
as i continue my attempt
survive another day
it will take hours to regain my sanity
all the while questioning the purpose
why must i assimilate
back into the dungeons
they call society
it behooves me
find one reason
join the rank and file
plug back into a horrendous grid
i had escaped
ignore my voice
slowly regain my footing
hope they’ll take hold
attempt to return
into the vacuum of my existence
i sit lonely.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2018
I come to the garden along, while the dew is still fresh
on the meadows. Early in the morning do the bird's sing
praises of roses and peddles. I cry, because there is no
refuge finally from the pain.
Yet long ago, a child was born, to become king, and yes
there is hope, just for believing in his name. Where is this King!
when I'm hurting and alone? He's just a prayer away, don't give
up, for he's Alpha and Omega, which means, just be strong!.
So they sent me to a place, to turn my life around. I cry, be-
cause, I am somebody no longer am I bound.
Now I know that Jesus is my refuge and no more drugs is
there for I. Thank you Lord, for the method, that's "Why Must
Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2009
When I think of India, I think of dark eyed beauties,
their foreheads painted with decorative red dots,
and I see them moving deliciously in beautiful bright costumes
as bangles dangle from their slender wrists.
When I think of India, I think of a culture steeped in history and tradition:
folkloric music, myths, and dance, and the influence of the Hindu religion.
I visualize the rich and poor alike bathing themselves in a river called Ganges.
I see an olden time when mighty elephants, colorfully decorated,
carried men atop their backs on elegant elephant seats,
and I recall pictures in my geography studies of the white sacred cows
freely roaming the narrow streets of Delhi.
I recall a novel I read: Rudyard Kipling’s engrossing tale of a jungle boy
and also other novels depicting a clash of cultures
as the British imposed their rules on Indian society.
I think of current movies showing the seedy side of India
such as one named Slumdog Millionaire and a movie to contrast it,
the romantic Bollywood delight named JabTak Hai Jaan.
Furthermore, I recall the grace and good nature of the Indian people
depicted in a film called The Best Ever Exotic Marigold Hotel.
When I think of India, I think of the Taj Mahal, Kama Sutra, and curry,
and also I recall horrible stories of Bride burnings now banned and by contrast,
the good works of Mother Teresa, who labored there among the poor, and
I think of the man who is probably the most recognized by Americans
as a good and strong example of leadership: Mahatma Ghandi.
All these things are the sum of what I have learned about India in my lifetime.
But what do I really know of India?
What I have learned recently relates to poets I have come to know at this website
and who have shown me through their poetry and their communication with me,
a more personal side of the Indian people that I never used to know.
Through the poetry of Ravindra I have learned the love of an Indian for his heritage
and how he emulates his father‘s work through beautiful translations.
From poets like BL and Jag, I’ve learned more about
the deep and philosophical nature of the Indian poet!
Through great friendships with people like Kashinath, Yesha and Yasmin, and Guatami
I have come to learn about the actual personalities of dear Indian people
whose life experiences, struggles and desires are not so different from my own,
and also I am able to enjoy their eloquent words as they describe
their own emotions, passions, and love of nature through their poetry.
Perhaps their culture adds a flavoring to their words and phrases
that is a bit different from my own,
but in the end, we are all alike beneath the skin.
Whether from India or any other country, we are, all of us,
becoming a part of a global community
in which our differing backgrounds can be accepted
and even better - celebrated!
Thank you I say to all my poet friends whose words enrich my life,
but in particular, today I thank my friends from India,
for helping me to really see how beautiful you are
and to understand your country better through knowing YOU.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
You sat there crying with tears rolling down you face
Asked me why I didn’t show you any compassion
All I could say was that:
‘I’m just a man’
I should have wiped away your tears and held you tight
Told you I loved you and everything will be all right
Yet, I showed no emotion,
because ‘I’m just a man’
All the answers to your questions, I couldn’t find
I was impatient,
because ‘I’m just a man’
All those times you would scream and shout went unnoticed
I thought you would calm down after the silence
I never meant to hurt you,
but ‘I’m just a man’
I can still remember the day you said goodbye
I was so confident you would come running back
I wish I wasn’t so arrogant,
but ‘I’m just a man’
I saw you walking the other day with another guy
I can’t help but be jealous,
because ‘I’m just a man’
I saw you smile and you seemed so happy
Finally, you met someone who understood you
Who will show you compassion and hold you tight
You deserve a real man, not someone still a boy
But how could I understand,
when I don’t understand myself
I was an unloved child who lost his childhood
Nobody taught me how to become a man
Nobody told me the difference between right and wrong
Nobody taught me how to love and care for another
School didn’t teach me anything about life
Now here I am again all alone,
dealing with the ghost of the past
Even though you don’t think so,
I did love you deeply
Guess I didn’t say it enough,
because ‘I’m just a boy
I hope you have forgiven me
for the times I hurt you
‘I’m not a man’,
‘I’m just a boy’
The Silent One
9 September 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
It was a rainy day so I flipped through a stack of comics
My Amazing Poet series
Finally I picked the fabulous Five
I liked the picture on the front
Yanny the Zen Master with long black hair
Becca the Creative and Beautiful with her mythical pen
One of my favorites sultry Eileen known as the Emotionator
Anne the Philosopher was right there beside Eileen with her magical smile
Then to round out this team was Vicky Victorious calling from the wilderness
In this edition they were battling the Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack
who had kidnapped Newbie Timothy Hicks
As I read their words I was in awe of my Heros
They made me cry
They brought me to new worlds
Filled with adventures
Sexy had new meaning
Tears became diamonds
Winds swirled inside my head
All the emotions of the rainbow
I longed to write with such clarity and strength
I tried to flex my poetic Muscles
Worked out every day
Then on the back of the comic
A scrawny poet sat on a beach
Beside the girl of his dreams
He is writing for her when along comes a muscular poet
The big poet kicks metaphorical sand in his face
The the scrawny poets girl is whisked away
Underneath it says
Are you tired of having Metaphorical sand kicked in your face?
Are other Poets getting the girl?
All that can change
Join the Andrea Dietrich School of Creative Poetry
She will have you writing like The Fabulous Five
You will never be afraid to flex those poetic muscles again
So I cut out the back page and sent my five dollars
The address is PO Box 88888 Inspiration California
Now all I can do is wait
What will the future Hold?
Note there are many Poets here who would appear in my vast Amazing poet series.
Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack are not Evil nemeses they were chosen for the roll
because of their names( also I love their work.) I hope you enjoyed my little tale.
Some of the younger poets may not be familiar with the Charles Atlas ads that used
to be on the back of comics, the rest of you I am sure will get the joke.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
Listen to poem:
SOME STARS SHINE BRIGHTER
Some stars shine brighter
Some waves crash stronger
Some winds blow warmer
Some days are lovelier
Some friendships are eternal...
During our lives we meet a lot of people
But some will conquer a special place in our hearts
They'll be the ones for whom
We'll fight a little harder
We'll cry a little stronger
We'll cheer a little louder
We'll worry a lot over
They are the ones
That will always be there for you
Laughing with your happiness
Holding you during your tears
Some are in the same city
Others on a continent away
The distance doesn't matter
For we carry them always
In our minds and in our hearts
So they're never really far away from our thoughts
So my dear and sweet friend
Thank you for allowing me in your life
For always be there for me
Thanks for being my rock
You've a heart of gold
The most beautiful soul
Your light shine thru your poems
Your care and attention thru your words
I'll be always here for you too
Cheering for you every step of your way...
Take care of yourself and come back to us fast...
And... never forget...
To just be yourself
Because you're simply perfect
Just the way you are...
...and very much loved, my dear friend...
Love you, Darren
March 28th, 2017
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2017
As his mind drifts upon silent shores of uncertainty,
he ponders what was, what is and what is yet to come.
He wonders why no one understands the pangs of his soul,
unsure if his thoughts are heard, as they float away with the wind.
Misdemeanors of his mind are plagued by battles within his heart,
deliberating whether the seed of his creed will bleed or succeed.
Before him lies a path infected by vermin devouring dead crows,
behind him a collection of unchallenged emotions from a forgotten childhood.
25 June 2018
Example for eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
Standing in the heart of this city
in awe of spectacular lights illuminating tall buildings.
Millions of strangers rush to and fro.
Who would've thought I would be here of all places.
But here I am feeling misplaced
in a place where no one knows your name.
I fasten the winter coat tight
to keep my heart wrapped warm,
because this city of strangers is so cold.
People wandering like bad actors struggling
to play their part with faces lacking expression.
Concrete towers seem to imprison me
in a place my soul does not belong.
I walk the same path monotonously,
wondering where it all went wrong.
But here I am feeling lost and alone .
I'm smiling but only to keep the dancing tears at bay.
I can't be someone who I'm not,
nobody seems to appreciate that I'm misunderstood.
And the dream that brought me here today,
now wants me to return home.
As my naked breath freezes in the air,
for a moment tired eyes close.
A smile sneaks through reminiscing Chamorro dreams.
Bathing under a blazing sun whose rays
glow through clear azure skies.
Crystal sapphire seas invite my soul
to immerse in tranquil waves,
peacefully admiring pestrel and
shearwater birds soaring high above.
I can almost hear warblers chirping melodic songs
of home, perched on a parade of paipai and coconut trees.
Scents of colourful plumeria and hibiscus petals
draw my senses closer to my heart's province.
Old foot prints have now washed away.
How I long to walk on sands of my forefathers,
where loved ones await with open arms.
A major honor to collaborate with Silent One
12 January 2018
Copyright © Akkina Downing | Year Posted 2018
Love’s Luculent Light
Beyond the portals of time exist immaculate immortals incarnates of light,
helped by the Angels to seed sempiternal love into our earthly existence.
In Perpetuum within the gardens of bliss where love is benevolently breathed,
upon its creation a vortex of golden light emanating from the veils of eternity.
Beyond all that is, love travels through light and finally rests upon my face,
as the pores absorb its ecstatic ever essence, my body resonates in ecstasy.
Beyond the realms of reality, my love spreads throughout the infinite voids,
until it gently falls and rests on your flavorous face... thus a new love is born.
Jennifer Lopez - Feel The Light (From The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, Home)
Eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late
Sponsored by: Silent One
Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018
She longs to take possession of her heart, but she quickly forgets.
He used his flattering power to gleam the pages and feast.
Like the wind tossing the spider holding tight on a single web.
She retraces the steps in her mind, her soul dares not sleep
to be shattered by silence. She wonders if it will work,
are they destined to reach for spring sunshine, a bouquet of wondrous
beauty and sweetness. Like an eagle caged, she stumbles
and thought about the man in her heart. Her spirit calms a heavenly trust.
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2018
I flew over Bryce Canyon my wings fully spread in a gentle glide
as I marveled at the view below. It wasn't the first time but it always
felt like it. I flapped my wings to ascend even further and consume
even more of the landscape. The weather chiseled rock that always
reminded me of sandcastles children sculpted at the seashore.
I loved the fragrance of the pine trees that neatly grew amongst the
rocks and the white and golden blend of colors that jutted here and there
against an ever changing sky. I suppose if they could see me - humans
would gasp at the sight of an Angel and me well I still gasp at all that
God created for the pleasure of mankind.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
I can still recall the look upon His face
Each thought still makes me go to that enchanting place
The vernal air was floral sweet and honey breezed
We roamed along Venice's zigzagged lanes and cobbled streets
On our secret rendezvous,We hugged affectionately under pastel gothic galleries
Greeted by the aromatic smell of freshly brewed roast coffee beans
Strolling along the pigeon-filled piazza San Marco
We wandered hand in hand,in the serenissima ancient floating land
Street musicians played their flutes.as We sat on a roof-top wooden terrace
We glanced at merchants sell hand-blown murano glass
by the picturesque Doge's palace
We ate a snack , then walked away towards the old opera house
which now has risen from its ashes.
We sauntered forward through little alleys
from where He bought me ,a gold painted venetian mask
To my surprise ,He had another gift,a wrapped up scarlet sheer laced basque
I peered at him through my dark lashes,He raised his left brow and flashed a smile
Expressed his charm in playful ways,in a flirtatious endearing style.
Boarded at last on a black gondola,cruised the lagoon and the canals
A few light kisses,a few soft brushes,waiting the bell's toll whilst in his arms
There we lay in waiting beneath the bridge of sighs
We sealed our kiss and promised lips,to the harmonic sound of chimes
He leaned on me,I welcomed Him,our spirits been entwined
Above,the sky has changed its colour,I watched the sun set in his eyes
All I am,I gave to him,my enduring heart- His sacred shrine
All that He is He gave to me in once upon a time
Not for the contest,but thanks for the 'Lovemaking in an ancient place contest,inspiration'.
This post is inspired by Ancient Venice and the tale of 'The Bridge Of Sighs'
The tale goes-If you kiss your loved one with the bell's toll of St,Mark's Basilica,
at sunset,beneath the bridge of sighs,the couple seals their love forever.
There is another tale to it,a sad one,but preferred to share the happy one : )
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014
I asked to my father
Baba, What is life ?
He politely said to me, " Life is Duty . "
I asked to my mother
Maa, What is life ?
She said to me with smile, " Life is Responsibility . "
I asked to my teacher
Sir, What is life ?
He said to me with love, " Life is Education . "
I asked to my spiritual master
Gurujee, What is life ?
He said to me with confidence, " Life is Devotion . "
Today my son who reads in class nine
Babai, What is life ?
I have said to him, " Dear, You are my life . "
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
( Father means BABA, BABAI and Mother means MAA in Bengali language . Gurujjee means spiritual master in Indian society )
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
I reflect upon a word -
To understand more fully what it means,
I think of what it conjures up for me -
childhood times -
those times when I believed all I was taught
from silly things like Santa Clause
to sacred things
like God and true religion.
The way I accepted and then reacted to
my mother’s definitions of what was wrong and right
I think is how I might define
my instincts ….. of innocence.
Having learned well right from wrong in my youth,
my instinct was to feel shock or dismay
when I saw others doing things I deemed immoral,
especially when the doers were those that I looked up to
inside the parameters of my own church.
However, my tolerance for others’ evil doing
increased year by year,
Even in my youth, I never judged them outright.
Those girls and boys that slept around through high school
were judged inside the silence of my mind.
I never shunned them.
A few more decades passed.
Religion’s walls around me were wearing down.
I never did cement the cracks in my walls’ foundation
as did some others in my community -
others who sought to strengthen their own walls
with instincts of innocence espoused inside
the sanctity of chapels.
When was it I let my childhood instincts totally crumble?
Generally more tolerant than many of my friends
that I grew up with, I saw “other” people
with eyes that rarely blinked at what I deemed to be audacity.
Those with different customs, or with strange new religions
I have accepted in my life and tried hard not to judge.
Some things, however, I cannot tolerate.
Societies that put their women down and
people who abuse the weak, emotionally as well as physically,
Never will those actions I accept.
Now I ponder this: Are the instincts of innocence simply tied
to what we learn as children?
I have seen select groups of people shunned
by both the religious and the non-religious
simply for the fact that they are different!
And from whence comes the idea in a child’s mind
to make him think that someone should be shunned?
Do our instincts of innocence simply come
from that time of life
when we looked up to our parents as our Gods,
accepting their every teaching as Gospel
and feeling fear to ever go against them?
Many things we learn are for our good, and
societies would turn to chaos without some guidelines
akin to the ten commandments.
On the other hand,
as a child, I was innocent.
My instinct was to trust in strangers.
Then I learned better.
My instinct was to cringe but say nothing
the time I was inappropriately touched.
Thankfully, since then, I have learned better.
In some instances, I would say,
our instincts of innocence
should be laid to rest!
For a long while now, I’ve been seeing
a small but significant segment of the population
that differs in their sexual orientation or preference.
Those who taught me in my youth
that I ought to be as meek as a child
still point today to ancient Scriptures
as the way for all to keep their innocence.
But my walls have fallen down.
I stand here in the rubble
unsure that I've done right or wrong
in letting many of my childhood ways of thinking
collapse so utterly.
The instincts of my thinking adult mind tell me that
I am not wrong to stand with those who want their right
to the pursuit of their own happiness
despite the fact their actions are denounced
by the very teachings on which I was raised.
Can we ever really lose completely
those thoughts developed from our early teachings,
which led to the instincts of our childhood innocence?
At times, I cannot be completely at ease
in what I have let go of and in who I have become,
for the instincts of innocence
still dwell in the caverns of my mind.
For Kai Michael Neumann's "The Loss of An Innocent Mind" Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Three pounds a month they
ask, save the Tiger, save the
Panda, save the Jaguar, save
the rain forest.
Three pounds a month for
the children's hospital and
for the save the children's
fund, the RSPCA, RSPB,
Cancer research, just, only
three pounds a month, now
my pockets are empty with
all these donations.
Our governments, they also
donate, mainly to the
FAT CAT SOCIETY
yes those poor sods who
caused the majority of man's
suffering with their greed and
Please just three pound a
month for the Daniel
Cheesemans poetry fund.
Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010