Old Prose Poems | Examples
These Old Prose poems are examples of Prose poems about Old. These are the best examples of Prose Old poems written by international poets.
The world in black and blue,
no visible outline, the colors
blur. Headlights bright red,
and the people covered
in smoke as I stand in the back-
alley surrounded by old graffiti
stains and a half eaten tuna fish
sandwich. The alley cats
devour the carcass leaving
the bones and eyes behind.
I look at the eyes and I see
my mother pan frying
batches of leftover
salmon, a once in awhile
treat, then back to smelly
tuna daily. I give my mom
credit, her cooking skills
mask the awful aroma just
enough for me to eat with
ease. I still wonder what
mystery meat I ate back
in high school, looked like
tuna, smelled like beef but
tasted like chicken. I get up
and leave to a corner
bodega shop where they sell
beer and passable pepperoni
pizza for a late night snack.
Then I chill at the coin laundry
shop next door, I should’ve
brought earphones with me.
JERICHO AWAKENING
Deception has always been
A strategy and ally of injustice;
Veiling its ruthless deeds,
And shifting attention
From aged-old atrocities,
While living and percolating
Behind invisible Jericho walls:-
Let not the reality
Of new Jericho borders
Blind and deceive us:-
Legislative freedom and unity
For so-called refugees,
Remain at hand, and
Our struggle to be masters
Of ourselves continues;
We being caged and considered
Refugees in this, our homeland!
Wake up, my people!
Wake up!
It’s here again!
Deception has always been
A strategy and ally of injustice;
Veiling its ruthless deeds,
And shifting attention
From age-old atrocities,
While living and percolating
Behind invisible Jericho walls:-
In today’s political drought,
Drying out justice and equity,
We are in as much profound need
Of raining clouds of liberty, as would be
Nature in times of drying pandemic drought:
Hey!
Wake up, my people!
Wake up!
It’s here again!
I spoke to the sea,
a calm breath
though a gale raged
inside of me – both my
sails shredded, I begged
for mercy:
“Thou art the greatest world current,
what brag would be a wretched notch
like me!? Devourer of coasts!
Reshaper of vast continents! Bane
of man’s mightiest fleets! Countless
formidable have foolishly challenged thee, and now
lie silent in your crushing depths...were I
added to such esteem numbers,
a bald-headed, gray bearded, toothless
old dote, it would be a disgrace~
better toss me high into the
air, toward that island over there, for
unlike you, Great Wet Majesty, crocodiles
and lizards have no pride; then there
not be shame of yours to hide –
promise, never will I return….”
and this, dear children, is why
grandpa cannot take you fishing --
Manila the Imperial City of the Philippines
It is like a mirror reflecting itself
What you see in Manila is you see the Philippines
There you see high rise glass building
The modern mask of modernity
You see commercial establishment
The breathtaking Mall of Asia
The century old China town is here
Manila is different for me
I see Manila the old walled city
I smell the fresh noodles of Ongpin
I still see the largest Rizal park along the bay
I still witness tourist attraction horse drawn calesa
I still like the hopia of Binondo
The age-old long line stalls of pawnshops along Escolta
Maybe the skyscrapers are the other version book of Manila
And the places I went in is the old version of Manila
Though the city changes, I still like the old version
Which version you are in
It's up to you for your choosing
My memory of Manila is eternal
Not to forget the Binondo Bridge whose ancient
Now being constructed modestly
This is the past and the future
Common denominator of history.
Deception has always been
A strategy and ally of injustice;
Veiling its ruthless deeds,
And shifting attention
From aged-old atrocities,
While living and percolating
Behind invisible Jericho walls:-
Let not the reality
Of new Jericho borders
Blind and deceive us;
Legislative freedom and unity
For so-called refugees
Remain at hand and
Our struggle to be masters
Of ourselves continues,
Lease we be caged and considered
Refugees in this, our homeland!
Wake up, my people!
Wake up!
It’s here again!
Deception has always been
A strategy and ally of injustice;
Veiling its ruthless deeds,
And shifting attention
From age-old atrocities,
While living and percolating
Behind invisible Jericho walls:-
In today’s political drought,
Drying out justice and equity,
We are in as much profound need
Of raining clouds of liberty, as would be
Nature in times of drying pandemic drought:
Hey!
Wake up, my people!
Wake up!
It’s here again!
I know the mechanics of Time --
easy enough to add and subtract.
Division a realm we can calculate;
but, when it comes to continuity, it is
an age old question -- Our human heart,
an imperfect perfect example: beats can
be quantified; but feelings have a strange math
all their own...often outside of
measurable reason. Having no
consensus on
which
one
can count....
Precious moments with soft music on the road,
Beside the green hills, upward to the tallest mountain
Scents of some spring roses, and flowers,
My beloved bird on the rosy flowered branch
Rose Aroma jealousy-flame of inner fire
Spring cool smooth breeze under an old tree flowers
Aroma Jealousy getting on
Is it because rose tree is shorter?
Or of the color, pink rose!?
Or the odorless white flowers!?
O O Oh..
Shared cherry blossoms bless the soul
Made my heart peacefully land
On calm drizzle cloud smoothly
Slowly moving to the beloved direction
Just all I want to fly from right now
Yeah to fly
My all dream since childish childhood
Deep far and so closed!!
I wonder.. of this..!!
And that precious dream.
Love knows no enemies,
They all belong to hungry hate;
Whose fire of hell is losing,
Its fuel going to the tank
Of found love:
Found love,
Filling to the top with peace,
And Satan’s basin is full of holes.
No bloody hands to wash with love,
Just the washing of old tired dirty feet;
Come, let us break and share some bread:
Let us feed and serve one another in love’s need:-
Morning breaks like thunder through the roof
Spilling drops of honey on the bed
And I woke up with a song in my head
It is not the rhythms that I want to hear
It was so strong that it caused the people to fear,
And the morning join with the
Evening and the symphony begins
Come and play the violin for me
And set my spirit free, play the music of old
And make my feel bold, get the saxophone
And the trombone, the flute and the base guitar
And arrange the musical pitch then meet me in front
Of the pole on the hill before day break; you must not be late
The morning dew falls solemnly on the tip of my lips
Forcing me to compose new lyrics , the words came out of no where
And my heart began to fear, I don’t know how they would take
But this is how I see it; if they continue to reject my offer
I will give you something even better, a piece of paradise
On the main land and a brand new song to carry on
I will take back my wealth from the Middle East
and transfer it to you to make your dreams come true
and when the morning dew wet your feet
you will know that your destiny is complete.
Join the marching band and help me sing a different song
Yellow Words—Used 10 times in the poem
Under the warm yellow sun
floating on the calm Yellow Sea
fishing for the sweet tasting yellow fin tuna.
My mouth waters at the thought of
tuna steaks slathered in spicy yellow mustard
while my old yellow lab snoozing on
my bright yellow rain slicker will have his share covered
in a yellow egg yolk sauce.
I tie the yellow lure to the leader anticipating
a rugged fight with the ferocious tuna.
A wayward yellow canary, blown to sea by the wind,
lands on my cabin roof. Perhaps I will have good luck.
I wear my yellow tinted sunglasses and look to starboard as
I prepare to stalk the elusive tuna.
Barely covered head to toe, he stood shivering in the shadow.
Waiting, looking through empty eyes, families dressed in their Sunday best. Walking in and out of the restaurant across the street, not sparing him a second glance.
But he didn't mind; all he wanted were leftovers from the dustbin, because his hungry little sister, back in their dark, cold, rusty home, the old dusty lorry awaits his return.
Waiting to ease the pangs of hunger and for his skinny arms to keep her nice and warm through the dark, stormy night.
We often question the rapidity of TIME,
especially when our lives don't seem to shine.
We sometime whine as if the hour glass was
committing a crime. But before we grow old,
when TIME has taken its toll, we must cease
to protest and confess that if truth be told,
our blessings are far too numerous to count.
At some point, life always gives us a bounce.
Moreover, as the sands of TIME continue to fall,
and the seasons of life ebb and flow, may our giving
far exceed our receiving. Therein lies one of life's greatest
secrets. And often it takes TIME for secrets to be revealed.
What shall I tell you about…books piled high, watery eyes, a day burned up, my birthday coming up. Shall I tell you, I have one more year before I’m officially a senior citizen and how the gray and wrinkled look at me and laugh because I’m too young to be north of 60. My hair dyed dark brown, almost always a big toothy smile, no cane, loose hips. I can see some smiling at that last little quip. I know you're winking on the other side of the screen or perhaps it's an allergy or old contacts. What shall I tell you about…the cheer in a Winter t-shirt and red skirt, long brown hair. I still have the photograph to prove I uplifted Pop Warner. What shall I say…I love a great storm but not destruction and death. I think many of us think this way. We look outside for the excitement, which may or may not come. Glad it didn’t, but sad for those who were gobsmacked by it. I will tell you some random things…like my library sale. Thought I’d buy one or two. Brought one bag. Filled it up. The prices insanely good. I remember the days where I’d buy one book. It was most precious. Each life is duly precious…each and every one. Each and every thought and moment. Fill your bag up.
Did we let you down?
no Disneyland.
Instilled the outside.
Past experience judging decision.
Expectation eliminating comfortable choices.
Listening to old folk voices.
The highway to heaven or hell.
To Leeds.
Playing out wishful imaginings.
It doesn’t stop.
The road is wide.
Keep driving, searching looking for the beautiful people.
Your people.
The true.
The genuine.
The loving.
Embrace them with all the experiences.
Life is there.
he was a narcissist, egotistical and puffed up
I wanted him to leave, she groused, but he never would.
No one would help me.
this is her weekly lament.
I prayed he would go off with someone else.
I have her on speaker, so I do not have to reply.
She thinks I am still listening.
He was stuck up and pretentious.
there is a pause….
But he did leave you, I reminded her.
God did help you.
She has been twelve years a widow.
Why she cannot let this go, I have no idea.