Prose Poems

Inside my prose poem is happiness, happiness for all. Even the juicy parts don’t lack think material. I have it on good authority. My autistic Aunt says I should stop writing. Where are the beans? I was told in my

May the ink that flows From the nib of my pen Forever entertain you With words of love And life and wonder Lick beams of light Through clouds of thunder May the blood that flows Through the hand that writes

I will end up at the sky gates, as a thirsty spike, roving around in valleys, looking for a crippled dream. I am an almond tree, a stolen joy for a feast of phantoms. I bend to the mornings’ face,

It’s a happy day! After hundreds of submissions, days of reviews and a month full of happy poems, we finally bring to you the 5 lucky winners of Happiness Happens contest who have won prizes amounting to 100$ (each winning

10 ways to write a poem! No sentence in the glory of English language has hit me as hard as this one did. I started writing poetry when I was in class 7th. I still remember the day when this

Hello! Chester here… Missing you so, A bookworm am I, Oh, yesss, today just sliding by… With spectacles on my nose, I do both poetry and prose. Want to hear more about me … And my family…? So awfully lovely

“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind”, so said Virginia Woolf and you have truly embodied her thoughts in actions by

A word on a line joined with many and more, a story to tell from behind a closed door. A line on a page and a paragraph to make, from a thoughtful sage to the ones who forsake. A page

He was the first man your eyes opened to.. The shivering hand that touched your tiny nose.. The strong arm you cuddled on.. His love that kept brimming but never spilled.. Those eyes that made everything seem within reach.. That

You know, I just write as it flows Sometimes poetry Sometimes prose Who knows… What this life brings Who knows… When the nightingale sings Yesterday is history Tomorrow is a mystery Today is the truth Now is the reality I

She shakes it, spreading the exuberance, gushing out of its folds ’n Crevices of long-ago, like a perennial stream of jubilant euphoria- Converting matter into emotions, from the tangible to the intangible, Embodying an idyllic confluence around, fervently fluttering to

If a picture paints a thousand words Then where does that leave me A pen for a brush and ink as my paint And the words are what you all see If the pen is mightier than the sword Then

The Pen And The Page If a picture paints a thousand words Then where does that leave me A pen for a brush and ink as my paint And the words are what you all see If the pen is

In Biblical times there was a youngster name David who killed a lion and a bear. Later on, he also killed a terrorizing giant and became the second king of Israel. My oldest brother never became a king, but he

Sitting in this beautiful dark night , Framing the tale of life. When time runs out and heart needs to say so much more, And you are left with a raw nagging sore. Then reach for your paper and pen,

(1) My grandmother, may God have his mercy on her, still keeps the role of the hero; her face wrinkles are a leather book open to all interpretations; the falling of her teeth are the lost evidence on present time;

I’ve fallen in love with the poet In all its dimensions rippling across the pool of time, incarnate in its everything the rosy cheeked and wet lipped girl rattling existential verse over the clamor of a twelve car train, barreling

Nothing I shall do, to be a wisher; No wishes to make. Never mind,my friends, The”Making Wishes” prose won’t run so long. A wish precisely persists as a wish all along, Until I’m propelled by the blowing wind of wish

The Pen And The Page If a picture paints a thousand words Then where does that leave me A pen for a brush and ink as my paint And the words are what you all see If the pen is

Hours before the birth of the gem, There was an affectionate argument between them; Her father said, ”Watch my child change the state as a minister”, To which her mom quipped, ”No she’ll deliver unbiased justice as a barrister.” When

One night, one day Two different kisses One Sun, one sky Two galaxies No door from one to another No pathway through space Yet, in a daze I travel, From one to the other In this twin exit maze Days

Physically abused, Mentally accused, Emotionally scared For the ones she held dear. Her burning flesh And the positive tests Her leaking face Would always make my heart race The looks of disgrace would show on their face Without a clue,

O; happy folk, poetry is the fingers of light, descending at evening like an old farmer with eyes cut from azure. It told me that the sun has two long braids, and goes out at dawn to her grandfather’s flourishing

When I die, Bury me in those pages, Which failed to become My identity, my stages. Let me lie close To those verses, Those prose, Which never truly dealt With the emotions I felt. In my death Let me be

The Pen And The Page If a picture paints a thousand words Then where does that leave me A pen for a brush and ink as my paint And the words are what you all see If the pen is

The cough syrup and amphetamine Don’t seem to mix, in nineteen-ninety Six, and I throw up in the Communal showers, from Impurities. The sight Of the silver fish helped. Tony, in room eight, no longer Around. Dragged his corpse From

The Pen And The Page If a picture paints a thousand words Then where does that leave me A pen for a brush and ink as my paint And the words are what you all see If the pen is

I am a word, the word that came from God, careful how you use me. The creation spoke through ages with so much wisdom, and till today I am alive and live among you, I am not afraid of anyone,

As the huntsman led her into these woods Deeper and deeper they fared He carefully whispered in her ear That only of herself she should be scared She agreed that once your path was chosen And you were too far

Like the cold old mountains And the sorrowful seas Are there, forever, Immobile; souls and minds. I’m lost, Patiently lost. Like the tender fairy wind, Comes with such magnificent swift. Like the roaring river To be absorbed into the lover’s

A WALK IN THE PARK One day on a walk in the park we ran into an arc of the past with a start You ask how many years have passed more than fifty hold fast Looking back at our

Live today, like there is no tomorrow, Confessing to God, all your sins, and sorrow. Let not the sun go down, upon your wrath, In his blood of forgiveness, take a bath. For there is no promise, of tomorrow you

Ideas not people rule the world, competing for supremacy, domination. Conflicting, waring to gain the upper hand, control. Virus like as it spreads through the population Infecting all that come in contact. Ideas are insidious things, once infected nearly impossible

This is the place, a city average Where he frequents. Here lies another memory lurking on A fairy of delight, lived as a lovely lass. Now it is his place of work Where destiny brought him alike A fading odour

The idiosyncrasies of life, Are not difficult to survive. It does seem entangled like a cobweb But to a spider, cobwebs are their shed. Life sometimes has a bovine enthusiasm, Sometimes its fast pace gives me spasms. The idiosyncrasies of

I am trapped in my own little space I am looking for a door to freedom Trapped in the darkness of the past Waiting for someone to unchain me Here in the darkness There’s a thought of what could be

Success Crowns those Who are Successful! They Get to The top rung Of the ladder! Others Have to make do With milestones In life!

Trust, when you can Have Faith, when you realize. Not the two sides of the same coin Trust and Faith are mistakenly combined Cornering a space in every Human Two feelings are never found together. Trust is the feeling, Of

I see vastness In the blue sky I see the time waving good-bye I see flowers Roses and plants Tiny creatures Lizards and ants Green grass shivers Covered with dew Running rivers Are greeting you Have a deep look Have

It wasn’t too late, it was just a fate It wasn’t a mess, it was only a chance To make someone delight, not always have to fight, But to gain the light, one always has to cope against night I

One last drop of sorrow just whispered to me When all this time I have been so hollow I smelled a poison,that you could never see And the clouds just blurred my way to follow Still I could not find

She was a girl who loved colors and art The fact that she couldn’t draw tore her apart Maybe trying a different method would work, she thought As razor blades and cutters she bought She started drawing and the canvas