Short Prose Poem Poems

writing a prose poem
randall edson said im good
should be enough,man...

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A short-lived blossom of Spring like a mayfly that lives for the day,the pathos of beauty so fleeting,a few syllables that remain,where less is more and the image livesits life forever, in memory....

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Bronze blackened by fingers,tactile traces,three dimensional visual joy.Ideas from a prison freed ,imagination illumed displayed forever as movement in still life.Touch a dream,for and by us ,be touched...

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Wordless lines,indelible impressions with imagination set free to flower in the mind’s eye.Images rather than words remain,colour & space released,set apart,the extra from the ordinary,a moment seen and then heard....

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Thought pictures,a whispered voice,ideas fly free on unfettered wings of forgotten will,drift to the surreal, an illusive pastime of creativity in reflections of afterthoughts of yesterdays in tomorrow's imagination...

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I am the real thing..copy I am not;I paint ..in the here and now..what I see..unique as it appears to me-whatever is meant..form is the content
impressions..from within-so to begin..this secret,for free..know how to see...

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this pretension of self-consequence,by no means unpleasant,...perhaps ..sufficient and in itself agreeable enough .A sensation of pleasure Every sentiment complete,perfection ..where grace and spirit are united in a conceptual moment....

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A POINT TO MAKE
Points, to make a point expressions by impressions, lots and lots of dots a paradigm in paint, impressionist it ‘aint.Unique yes, inanimate I guess, poetic proportionate pictorial pointillistic perhaps, our eye fills in the gaps....

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Elusive, scenes,reflections of the commonplace,the fugitive ephemeral, somewhat surreal linger long.Nothng is what it seems ,moving masterpieces ,fleeting,as is,impressions.Translating nature into art,sharing the experience again.again..and again...

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I see her often,solaced with beauty,the rich sweet softness of her eyes, that all my senses now apprehend. Elixir of all vertues, handmaidens, Pandars of the bodies pleasure. That Virginity a virtue,kept by modest chastity ‘til willing and desirous to yield....

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Thoughts over and done with we see,touch think and feel that which always is may spring forth as stark silhouettes against the sky,unveiled our words then evaporate upon the wind unremembered ,forgotten, lasting retrospectives awaiting,waiting another tomorrow...

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Follow me through this journey
There's no hurry
We are on God's time
And that's everlasting
So make peace
Set sail
And wash your cares away
In time, you will see the bay
It's full of serenity
That's all it needs to be
Follow me...

~ Author Mara Prose...

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The scene,translucence transformed now seen and heard.Each inflection
injected with pregnant pause where accent and dialect and emphasis brings clarity of thought.Voiced alone,words once dead,  black on white,now rest within the hearer’s ear.Once imagined sounds,a unique reality....

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Two lovers,Oskar&Alma lie intertwined as lovers' do,stranded in each  others arms upon a tempest.A parable no doubt.She nestled ,content.. asleep.. ..He..awake stares without..into tomorrow and beyond to see  perhaps..a love story that can... no longer be

The Tempest by Kokoschka...

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Colour intermingled in the Spectator’s eye.Divisions that juxtapose and complement,I would suppose.A static quality of light captured one Sunday on the island,La Grande Jatte. An ‘as is’ moment ..dot.. by dot..an afternoon promenade of activity,frozen forever as a ‘still-life’ shot....

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A awakened conscience ,hides beneath a mask of futility,transfixed by myths,struggles with inner strife and imperfections of conceit.Filled now with hope,diffidence is replaced by pride,our sensibilties embrace innocence,sweet and terse our arms bring love near,awakened ,ideas fly free....

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A sense of the scared,where the spirit finds liberty.An everchanging  interplay in perfect counterbalance.This reciprocal aesthetic of reflections synthesized in a balanced vision.Shadows and light,intense contrasts,circles, and squares juxtaposed in a filtered dynamic of visual pleasure...

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Emotion & feelings,active, no longer passing fads of intervening years. A latter day passion,now fading from view along the different path I now stride. Hastened by love,poignant,as a moth to a flame to paraphrase a truth. Willing to take a risk,each aspect leaves its mark as sunlight upon the mundane....

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A romantic,wistful view of the past in the music of colour,veiled by meaningful
shadows. Enigmatic roads to nowhere, old footprints in the sand, a longing for 
yesterday..today.Remains of love, moments in time... in that perfect world of nostalgia.Stylistic short stories in paint... with ..hidden narratives....

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Too soon this life expires in death's tempest's certain storm.Yet to go away can be to arrive.Too often to forget life's reality is a perspective out of true.This tragedy of living ,this tragedy of being and yet Faith's continuity lives within ,the vernacular dies away ,orphaned and alone and truth seeps into our heart....

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The imaginary musings of my mind, experience past & present lingers long,dusted off, re-opened,viewed from time to time, retrospective perspective changes all; maturity's long-sightedness squints aghast, then savours the mellowness of memory; a tear,a smile washes nostalgia's face.Today will be yesterday, gathering dust....

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Beauty is something we see with individual eyes,only time can reveal imperfections of conceit.Deep within our soul resides attraction ,waiting,asleep yet longing to be aroused.Our need to be recognised,reciprocate and hold close.A certain something,intercourses between eyes,a novel read by a glance ,might last a lifetime....

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While life was in its spring, a stream in full spate down memory lane from a bygone time and place that experience articulated into voices of poetry.Love and desire,whose shadow ripple on rich in melody, a poesie of flowers floating on summer air and yet..such conceits can be but a bittersweet fancy 'twixt verse and poetry....

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the unconscious a source of images&action  in disguise& gesture with slips of tongue interpreted with simile& metaphor of  libidinal desire listening to the unsound  made loud out of view of id&ego impulses exposed as universal symbols in  the repository of memory by the fiction of  dream&myth transitioned  into the realm  of reality...

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The rhythm of life,spontaneous and easy,lively & special a touchstone
of the ephemeral.An all embracing delight imagination made manifest of stray objects.Inspired informality,of leisured elegance,a pervading atmosphere of a coherent whole.Quiet& simple charm in divine eloquence,perfection in simple
continuity to bring a shared rapture....

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