Poems classified as: Prose Poem

An out of the box genre of poetry that is written in prose instead of verse. But there is a difference! Prose poems maintain poetic qualities of grand imagery and emotional consequences. Being a fusion of poetry and prose, this genre is an interesting narrative to read. Prose poems can take you deep in the theme with its story-telling. A great genre to explore!

The Bride

The Bride prose poem

I had just jumped out of a puddle of water and Then walked through the garden before I entered The living room of my house I don’t remember how old I was then but I know I was small enough

Inner Beauty

Inner Beauty prose poem

Some days, I sit and dream of being something beautiful. I dream of being the sweet flower in every person’s garden, Or the little butterfly that every child loves. I dream of being the magnificent peacock, flaunting every gorgeous feather,

Temple Of The Heart

Temple Of The Heart prose poem

Sitting here by the fireside in the shadow of a golden light I reflect on my life and once again the poet writes… Just like a sacred journey back to The Temple of The Heart these are ancient times somewhere

The Piano

The Piano prose poem

In front of me are eighty-eight keys, Waiting in anticipation for music to be made. Gently, I place my hands on the ivory, And arpeggios and scales alike flow like a river. My grandmother sits beside me, Beaming like the

Democracy

Democracy prose poem

Along the way to Washington, a red Indian is still holding in his hands his scalp and a quiver filled with stock exchange, while not comprehending why European prisoners carried old Athens on the ship of Columbus and settled at

Epochs

Epochs prose poem

Epochs// (1) Sometimes, time does interchange. But my grandma, who’d moved from her poor house to live inside my skull, is still throwing seven stones at the cellular phone, wakes me up each time a light emerges from the end

Insanity

Insanity prose poem

(1) It is insane that while your heart jumps at evening on the strings of a harp, while your beloved lady’s hair flies with every breeze of jazz, while you wash up at morning under showers of gardens sounds, but

Southern Snow

Southern Snow prose poem

I know him since he surprisingly visited us at our infanthood quarter. At that auburn day, we’d just filled up our pockets by our fists, snatched warm embers from the fireplace and from a dragon dwelling inside the tale, then