Best Prose Poetry
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!
and I...
i think of you.
March 29 2015
Armand
Our lives are not immune to the impact of time,
nor is our mind between the tensions of love and hate.
That's why I curse this wanderlust heart -
still searching for that wandering star.
without a guide - without a love to call my own.
I try not to look back, but sometimes certain scents,
remind me of things that saw me as a minority.
A summer heart misplaced in winter's wickedness,
a child frozen in the passages of a stolen childhood.
Ingredients of my life are a juxtaposition of flavours,
finding purity among diseased hearts,
fighting against principles of corrupt minds
and I hurt nobody - until they pushed me,
it was never about the physical - but the mental.
Silence is different in adolescence -
suppressed into a protective bubble,
you reject the harshness of existence.
My small hands could not hold the burdens,
so I was mute as demons slayed my father,
his anger drowning my brothers into darkness.
Tears of my mother, dehydrated my soul,
so I grew like a tree with broken branches -
sometimes naked, sometimes an abundance of green.
Even in an obscure world of nightmares,
my heart was a light bulb, full of dreams -
but misplaced in a place of misunderstanding.
I adopted silence in the violence,
because I struggled with reality's fabrications.
Fatherless,
I found acceptance in the war on the streets,
where love was poison, but hate brought prosperity.
Only surviving due to my father's name,
yet I knew it was an unwinnable game.
My hands were pacifying guns,
so I learned to exist without bullets.
I was a black sheep in a strange white herd,
opposing shepherds who couldn't tolerate me.
A clean soul in a dirty social order -
a peaceful heart seeking a place to call home.
Silence is a choice in adulthood.
I used to ignore the pain from unhealed wounds,
but today the inner child screams and shouts,
because oppressors can no longer mute my tongue.
Death taught me not to be bitter,
stubborn fingers how to bleed ink onto paper -
showing compassion in an ugly world.
If life was so simple, we wouldn't look at it differently.
Our perceptions are based on what we have learned,
what was, what is to come and what we search for.
Where you end up depends on how you deal with the past.
Voice: Jason Williams
***
I danced!
Whirling air around me, particles of sundust
in tornadoes and hurricanes following me in awe
I danced.
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,
I danced.
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
I danced.
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 live
I don't dance anymore
But I write. My words, my lines, they carry me now
My legs are useless, my arms and emotions
Carry me
So....
I dance again, in words
I dance.
***
1st Place in contest: Practiced Passion
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
November 9, 2016
FOREVER ADELINE
Acknowledgement:
A big thank you Sam Scott from our Poetry Soup Community,
for your splendid narrative contribution.
Synopsis:
A story of unrequited love that began in childhood.
Despite the passage of time, his love remained hauntingly
painful even after she fell in love with another.
Aloft on wings of rhapsody, together spirits soar
Wild, untamed and sensuous, just like a lion's roar.
HOW LONG AGO IT SEEMS THE TWO OF YOU FIRST MET
AS TIME IS RENDERED MEANINGLESS
OR TIMELESS, BETTER YET
Though in that Timeless moment, along came winds of change
Love swiftly rearranged, but what it WAS, remained
Oh, Adeline, so fair and bright,
Eyes, like stars, shine with delight,
Oh fickle heart, now you await
your new love's sweet embrace
Blinded by the callous cad, you foolishly don't resist
In the quench of love's allure, Time does not exist
His loving lips will not reveal your new love's promiscuous charms
Intoxicated, unrepentantly, he sways to others' wanton arms.
Across the bronze Sienna shores and blissful sea breeze skies,
He ever trails your hungry heart through
his own saddened eyes.
Oh, Adeline in Twilight's Hush,
where shadows dance and play,
A tale of love and longing
When Night succumbs to Day
Oh, Adeline, will it be
mere friendship, he would fain?
To be just a deliverer of love notes,
a job he will disdain
Oh, Adeline ~ Sweet Adeline
At every glance - a secret shared,
his every word - love unsaid,
In every touch - a fire dared
HOW LONG AGO IT SEEMS ~ THE TWO OF YOU FIRST MET
AS TIME IS RENDERED MEANINGLESS
OR TIMELESS, BETTER YET
Chansons ne sont que chansons
Quand on écrit de l'amour
Comment d'écrire des chansons
De la femme qui est l'amour?
English translation from above:
Songs are just songs
When we write about love
How do you write songs
Of the woman who is Love?
OH, ADELINE ~ SWEET ADELINE
by Maria Williams ©
Background garden images taken on our recent visit to the amazing
Hunter Valley Gardens, Sydney, Australia
Musicians
Harp - Rolando Cristaldo
Violins: Fátima Benítez
Celeste Osorio
I wonder from all the seasons,
which one is me?
How do nature's elements
define my identity?
When clouds reflect judgement,
it does not matter what they think,
I do not reflect what they see.
I've seen petals blossom through concrete,
felt the turbulent tears of Everest's crumbling peaks
and I know
I'm no master of destiny, but I believe in fate.
As butterflies depart in the season of diversity,
I see green crumble from crimson to brown -
still they dance in the wind.
As the earth beneath me hardens
within the
secret garden of my mind,
weeds die, like frozen spirits.
I allow erratic winds to whistle,
as my soul sleeps silently,
unaware of the snowstorm
cold does not define me.
April showers soften sleeping meadows,
the fireball in the sky, hints upon his return.
I ponder how nature's palette will paint
her poetry upon this season's empty canvas
we all fall, but we keep the faith for re-growth.
The soul rejoices upon sight of the Gemini moon,
blooming through the constellation of twins,
adrift in tranquil warm air, under serene blue skies.
Surrounded by an abundance of kaleidoscopic petals,
their delicate fragrance, becomes my poetry,
an expression of character and personality
I ponder, maybe this is me.
Silent One
Simple musing
27 May 2019
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
I Cry".
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.
7-03-2018
For Silent One's, eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late.
Are Flowers for Picking?
I question myself,
silently standing beside
the quaint wooden kiosk
in the centre of the square.
My eyes scan the freshly
picked assortment of roses,
carnations, lilies, and orchids.
The array of colours tempts,
softening niggling doubts
arising from tender pity.
I enter the hospice, briskly
making my way to her room.
Her haggard face lights up,
slightly masking her fragility.
A wan withering rose…
I swiftly hide my pain
behind a loving smile and
the fresh flowers in my hand.
-------------------------------
Placed 1st in Brian Strand's
Pick 1 Contest (April 2020)
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
Asked me
Babai, What is life?
I have said to him, "Dear, You are my life ."
(Father means BABA, BABAI and Mother means MAA in Bengali language. Gurujjee means spiritual master in Indian society)
'There is no silence in poetry.'
As I swing back and forth,
surrounded by an abundance of petals,
I still remember being a stranger,
in a foreign land.
Sun shone so strong that day,
as I traveled through the 'hustle and bustle,'
of pastry shops and fruit stalls,
until the path became narrow and dusty.
Soldiers stood guard in tall towers,
as pious ones prepared for prayers -
but my footsteps of fate,
were only devoted to you.
As I entered through an iron gate,
anxiously anticipating our first glance.
I admired fragrant blossoms -
until your scent drifted past,
like a sweet refreshing tepid breeze.
Innocence of your soul reflected,
through those almond brown eyes.
Shyness of your sleek smile,
created an angelic visage -
pious ones supplicated in service,
but it felt like I was the one in heaven.
So many poetic thoughts came to mind,
yet I could not find a metaphor to justify it -
yet poetry can never remain silent.
As your eyes told me a story,
that has yet to be told -
I saw you hiding in trenches,
dug deep into your heart -
so I spoke to you in a language,
only you would understand.
Promising to take you away,
from all the trials and tribulations,
plaguing your mind.
One day when our hands lock,
we will gaze towards horizon's hued tones,
lost in the delight of twilight's twinkling stars,
till sunrise illuminates through our eyes.
Together life will become beautiful,
as we venture from Giza's pyramid,
to the temple of Artemis.
Watch as our footsteps wash away,
along white sands of Boracay beach,
as we bathe in its calm 'crystal clear' sea.
Yet nothing will be as beautiful as you.
'Poets are patient, but their pens are not.'
Simple Musing
Silent One
25 May 2020
Is there a way you can show me your silence?
This world is deafening to me
Can I find the words that I'm seeking..
Dream of a quiet place with only you speaking
Teach me to hear with my other senses
draw down all these distorted fences
Want to listen through the day with you
the whole day in a quiet song of you
just of you
learn from your solitude
I want to., now and forever
know what it is to feel through only those few
the touch of your hand
replace the fragments of a symphonic band
Invite me to your silent world
show me the other side of sound
a place where tranquil peace is found.
~~ Dedicated to a great world poet and friend Demetrios Trifiatis ~~
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)
June.28.2018
Eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late
Sponsored by: Silent One
Spiritual law of attraction: one can only receive by giving. One has to become love, if to know love for reception. What we hold in our consciousness is who we are and what we attract. Walls are all we think we know...better to live from a clean slate. Letting go opens our hands (hearts) for spiritual grasping. We are born dying obviously. It is not for death but our only way to life. It is illusion, the doorway not empty, not a space to pass through, but, in fact, a dimension of less encumbered being~ one dies to live dies to live...there is never lives to die. No darkness in creation...if anything, there is only self keeping out the light.
I know its hard to imagine now
But some day you’ll be the key and not the lock
The exception not the rule
Some day you’ll be a source of strength to others
Even though today you feel so weak
You’ll be a voice amongst the starlight
And they will listen when you speak
I know it's hard to imagine now
When you’re feeling broken & so small
But one day you’ll be a mountain
And your pain will be worth it all
~ Louise Simpson
The sun cries for us, its heat fades away
snowflakes sprinkle round its orbit, yet go unmelted
it feels like evening, but its yet noon
time never changes its pace but now runs from a rifle
daylight sadly pretends, just to soften night's mockery.
Blood has substituted the rains
death has defined our borders
humanity is rendered homeless
and politics, given the borrowed authority of a landlord.
Life is cheaper than wine
tribal dominance exhibited in a show glass
for love to become an expired product.
Unity is deprived of its oxygen
from a gang of beasts, spare headed by religion.
Genocide celebrated, killers protected
understanding and cooperation, required from the affected
silence and denial, demanded from the afflicted
marginalization defended and grievances rejected.
The edge of the cutlass strikes harder than racism
Indigenes in their own homes hit worse than xenophobia
hope is lost, drowned in the sea of Impunity
faith is locked up in a cage underneath evil's valley
decades of cries to the heavens
the tears flow down to meet more affliction.
The sun rises, but presents in dark red
setting hours later to the notice of no one
a people bounded on falsehood
a large home of smaller fenced habitations
as everyone needs protection from everyone
and where space becomes too small for the stars;
but when distinguished into different galaxies,
it beams brighter to be a better decoration.
An unbearable course too small for the river to flow
makes nature justify its split into tributaries.
Enemies can no longer be in one home,
so live and let's leave, or leave and let's live
is the only policy left for us all
and the survival anthem for this beautiful garden
no more suitable for community germination.