Long Prose poem Poems
Long Prose poem Poems. Below are the most popular long Prose poem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prose poem poems by poem length and keyword.
Poe the master of the macabre &creator of the first fictional detective, C. Auguste Dupin with much to say in his essay 'The Philosophy of Composition' It is said Poe viewed poetry as his true calling and highest art form, seeing it as the rhythmic creation of beauty.This long poem reputed as his poetic masteriece is full of dramatic dialogue thus reads more as a prose poem .I prefer his shorter 'eap' style list cinquain where L1 is a statement followed by rhymed L2-5 that amplify the statement with words introduced by 'in the' by the ' of' inspired by sililoqy in this form in the conclusion of his essay Poetic Principle.
Words,verbs,adjectives,aimless,past times made present, amalgams of verse unshaped,until imagination's birth bursts from the spring of my maturity to awake,arise as ideas and fly free on imagination's unfettered wings ,blown to and fro to settle where they will with nowhere to hide, buried deep within long forgotten dreams until becoming clear ,as words floating like petals on a stream;a fragrance that lingers within, as a passage of light to my soul, inspiration to make me whole.. delineated as a pattern of thought ,a ribbon of inspiration as a verse.
Suh tumultuous discussions within ,these images strive for life just as a new-born wriggles from the womb. I merely provide the mute, as multiplied, thoughts trained by the subconscious becomes a workaday drama.The inner made outer.Inherent originality conceived,perceived,crystallised, beneath the now ..in relief.
Professor: Setting is inducing trust that as a writer you are not volatile, nor giving lesser detailed thought about those knick knack, mundane also. can you give me an example Johny?
Johny: Certainly , can I ask the narrator type?
professor: say, camera setting...
Johny : genre?
professor : prose poem, light hearted or serious, both will do.
Johny : here you go....I bought floss and Hydrogen per oxide from the nearby pharmacy. I wanted to pick up my medicine too, but they were reluctant, altogether, seemingly so. I had to bypass.
professor : why so?
Johny: the only audible sound was a song..."when you say nothing at all."
Surely , verily a cranky setting! tired too!
As the counseling session was declaring, they begin as a parent asleep, raise them up asleep and send them to school asleep. Dreams ahoy!
We are nothing, but a whisper of time,
Prose, poem, chapter, or rhyme.
Nothing, but the thoughts in my head.
Happy, creative, sad, exciting or dread.
The tale continues, the journey no end,
We’ll meet again, foe, family, or friend.
In a whisper of time, love that I choose,
Is all in my mind, to win, draw, or lose.
The beat of a heart, makes us all whole,
But a generous spirit, is a gift to the soul.
Sun is energy, rain makes gardens grow,
It takes sun and rain, to make a rainbow.
Fear, in a moment, can stop a heart.
Can bring us together, or tear you apart.
Moments you take, rewards you will reap,
A step at a time, you’ll bound and leap.
Fear not the future, regret not the past,
But live, in the present, and make it last.
Find your real love, create your fine art,
Develop your mind, it’ll all play a part.
The Creator is there, to cushion your fall,
Once more arise, stand strong and tall.
You are a rainbow, A whisper of time,
Prose, poem, story, or rhyme.
Joanna Davis
LOVE AND ROMANCE Mono rhyme
Love and Romance always get Majestic Entry
to Fiction, Prose, Poem or Rhythmic Poetry.
‘Love-Romance’ entwined! Specific Symmetry
drawn on Passionate Poetic Geometry.
Love-Romance reactive in Organic Chemistry
Amorous Glow: Romantic History.
‘Lost Love or Betrayal’: Horrific Wintry.
‘Endless patience in Love’: Sophistic Gentry.
‘Hopeful on Refusal’: Optimistic Sentry.
First Love is nothing but Artistic Artistry.
‘Blindness on deep dense Love’: Mystic Mystery.
‘Win heart of Beloved’: Fantastic Victory.
‘Love ending in Wedding’: Authentic Registry.
Line ending with two rhyming words. Syllable count 12
02/12/17
First Place
'Your Best Mono rhyme Poetry'
Contest by William Kekaula.
(a prose-poem)
He was very young, he knew that he relied on others to think,
live and survive, although survival was an unknown planet in an
as yet, unread comic book.
He spent much of his time in that garden.
There were people who joined him there,
they were the 'wooden' people,
the 'underground' people,
and those who arrived from an unknown planet.
It was there that the underground-people whispered advice
to him to stop talking to the wooden-people.
They (the wooden ones), would not reply to him,
and looked through him as if he were not there.
The snow-people liked to play,
but went away in the middle of a game like puffs of smoke.
He liked some of the people from the unknown planet,
but some were more like wooden people,
and some were like the snow people.
The underground people never showed themselves,
and never went away.
Gradually over the few years that it takes for a child
to become more unaware of impossible things,
he became less conscious of these beings.
On his first date he fell in love with a snow girl,
after that encounter he became himself a wooden person for a while.
Later he would whisper advice to himself as if he were
an underground person.
Many years past: a slow realization dawned upon him,
he now knew that he was one of those people from that
unknown planet,
and that this world was but, an as yet, unread comic book.
Shafts of light pierce the gloom inspiration speak Those pictures in the mind paint my private space A well within-images, in the mind dreams and visions and things not known. in visualised expression rivers,rivers stream from my mind spring forth images,to find Within the soul of my experience Unconscious seeds of tomorrow's joy, waiting the warmth of encouragement lay dormant, seeking inspiration's light From this confusion, the mosaic of ideas harmonizes, First an outline,then in silhouette,each unique line,a perceptible signature, and more personal than diary.This spontaneity releases the extrovert squeezed out as rain in an arid world Artistic inspiration paints itself., .A confusion then evolves into the particular scattered here and there,colours everywhere. succinct,complete of itself, never to be reproduced it stays unique,of me,for all to see
Shell like and thin,without and within,whose surface naturally co-incide.Straight rays from the eyes,horizontal,perpendicular,grace with beauty personified.
Simplicity,intricacy uniformity .Quanitified.inlets of beautyevident,entertaining the eye glutted with variety.A plainspace,pleasant to see,scroll and volute in symmetry,surprised by mimicry to avoid regularity.Simple,distinct enjoying with ease, in cone form or pyramid will ever please.Allegory,riddlewhere angles amuse,magnitude ill-shaped,adds greatness to grace,a broken line to enhance each face.Lines entwine,twistingthen un-wind.Serpentine,well composed adds variety to art,waving,dotted or straight,elegantgrace in our eye will impart.
Off beam,along the circles rim then a creative impulse on the spur of the moment drops of poetic essence spontaneous and prolific from the workings of the heart to distil into another’s mind.A painting with words uttered one by one an experience of the wind &rain of ordinary life.This intimate invitation to stroll within & behind the veil, ’neath inspiration’s triumphal arch, there to share and participate in the raw reality of the creative drive of another. A vision enhanced by mutual experience of each. One thing leads to another,translating awareness of new & deeper meaning.Time germinates the empathy orchestrates the chords as together we explore new world’s of the poetic.
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps an immaculate conception of words;too swift to comprehend,see or recognise.The moment is there and then is not.Gone with the wind the seed of idea remains, to germinate and gestate,fanned by a mental fragrance of elation.Slow,self-transcending a word into a phrase, a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme rides a waterfall of cadence,into a chasm of verse. Terse or long, the sonnet becomes a little song,struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon my page;a bastard-born of pain in the realm of the mind,replete with thoughts inspiration thrives,discerns over- spills,to reveal then configure and emerge:a fragrance to dwell,stay and perhaps haunt another