Short Prosaic Poems

If confetti mated spaghetti would it produce graffiti or prosaic mosaic?...

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In your withered smile
My poems lose rhyme
Words scramble in prosaic time....

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prose brings prosaic mind
juice-less words to find
the readers
two features
rhyme, non-rhyme each kind 


-February 09, 2020 Chattogram...

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a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song...

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a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song...

Read More

a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song...

Read More

a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song...

Read More

There once was a sister most prosaic
Who's love for her kin was most archaic
  She turned a blind eye
  To horrible lie after lie
And ignored her sibling's mind of mosaic...

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stark
ingrained 
       statues 
prosaic 
inexplicable 
simplicity 
         unsettling
perspectives ..
confusion ...
the
metaphysical ...
    made
      known...

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eye catching
dried flowers,
prosaic pictures
yet..
aroma less:
living 
      out of
          season,
bringing
       light
out of dark,
Summer
    into Winter..
colour to a
           smile...

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Inhales prosaic air
muse probes breeze 
Filtering depth 
as image melees 
Drum snares the heart 
beating out dull pain 
Osmosing spores 
form finely tuned rain
Patters tap source
concept ignites
Erupts into thought
exhales and writes
...

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There once was a poet from Passaic*
All his poems were rather prosaic --
   He'd heard it worked nice
   To throw in some spice --
~ 'Twas expired, now his penning's archaic


    
   


*Passaic is a town in the state of New Jersey (USA)...

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inspiration
        awaits an
             interlude
to flash 
        and sparkle,
an opportunity
          for bravura
foreshadowed 
          in half-closed 
                   eyes
an otherworldly 
                moment..
a prosaic
                coda
now lives...

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shading
    & shadow,
    tricks of 
the eye:
a prosaic
         fragility,
a frenzied
         reverie,
a transparent
            fantasy
         of
             impulsive
         devices,
threads
         of fancy
to flatter
         the eye
to decorate..
         our day...

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Progressive penetrative phenomenon 
Pertaining to particular peculiar powers of perception 
Psychological prosaic persuasive predictions
Probing probable peripheral presentiment


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
Alliteration contest by Barry Stebbings
One stanza of four lines only
© 4th December 2017...

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I know that if I ever do lose it,
It will be your fault.
I have acid stirring in my belly.
I'm a blind hound,
Running from the hitting stick.
Then there's you, the prosaic flower.
Your unimaginable summits.
Award winning expectations.
Higher than clouds.
I aspire to win your admiration,
Greedy for your grace.
I'm talking about popcorn, of course....

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EXOTIQUE
romantic liasons
in
an
emotional life
pf
beating heart
& eyes
with tears

breatless
then melancholy
a discernible
thread
in a
fascinating fantasy
surrounded
& adorned
with a
sense
of the
dramatic

a faltering
freedom
vibrant
yet eccentric
&histronic
disolved
into
the naturalistic
&
transformed
to
a prosaic
identity...

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Two lonely souls met together
On a troubled river wave -
Looked at the stormy weather,
"Let's hold our hands to feel safe!"

They shouted to each other
And looked for a salvation,
And talk to one another
To find a consolation.

But both perished in the water
Though they were close to bridges.
There was a prosaic problem:
They spoke in different languages......

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Poetic depiction
prosaic description
Vowels come in colors
the rest black and white

They call to us orphaned
they call to us nameless
Our pens but a lifeline
that save with each write

To romance the serpent
to anger the saint
Each word symptomatic
our feelings acquaint

A bard or a preacher
their weapons the same
Whose caliber loaded
—to praise or defame

(Radnor Pennsylvania: June, 2022)...

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“Do you ever,” she asked,
“write a poem 'bout someone that
you wouldn't show 'em?”

I had to think on that one.

“Not really,” I finally answered.
Her gaze begged for more.

“My poetry's true
while the venom I spew
tends towards the prosaic
and souls sympathetic
to my in-the-moment
human condition.

I'm lucky like that,
havin' snake handlers in my life.”

“When's the last time you danced
on a rainbow?” she asked....

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I harvested a small handful
of beautiful dandelions
arranged them in a special way
that their mini-globe candelas
illumined a yellow aura
surrounding the nosegay cluster.
Their subtle, invisible breaths
exhale a perfumed atmosphere
that becomes irresistible.
And she who shall hold this bouquet
is impelled to whiff its essence;
to discover its true purpose;
and accept this prosaic gift
of my undying love for her....

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Perceptive,prosaic pictures, intuitive 
elegant images developing in simplicity.
A long lasting snapshot,candid,succinct 
and to the point.A gift of self expresion,
close-up and personal,a bright winged
muse,eye catchingly shaped from 
imagination,as is moments in paint.

Listen to me recite my PS anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro..

catch my short forms @strandpoet on twitter...

read my kinsle ebooks on Amazon...

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One Of Those Mornings
When if you listen hard enough
You can hear emotions…
Feel the presence of heartbreak
Sense the essence of the universe 
And feel the pulse of the oceans

A morning when crystal 
Cannot describe The clarity
Nor can be described 
In prosaic prose…
A morning When one’s heart
Is full to bursting 
And one’s mind is thirsting
Hell bent To sip the scent
…Of Jasmine and Roses…


71 words

...

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The limits of which you speak
Have gathered upset underneath
Pens that prognosticate
Stolen imagery, a thieving magpie
Dreams her dark blessing
 
She has no care for truth
Her only penchant is exposed
Writhing worm food arteries
Blood dangles from her beak
 
Binoculars address a signpost firmly 
Capturing a prosaic ring tone
That reminds you what day it is
 
Simulated law school cases murmur
To falter or plunder, echoing newsreels
Raising family beacons asunder...

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Foolish youthful emotion rides waves
divorced from tempered reason,
a swirling vortex craves
hot passion for a summer season . . .

Spent fires prelude life’s bitter mosaic
by lies to self first born, prosaic,
shards of broken resolutions pieced in patchwork mirrors 
where glittering alternatives reflect and pierce like arrows.

Release me from regret and self-doubt;
let the childlike spirit arise and shout.

© September 15, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson...

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