Poetry Writing Contests discussion

This week we're going to push the boundaries of poetry and craft prose poems. The only rule is that it has to be in paragraph form, written like prose, and just as deep as normal poetry. This form can make it hard to maintain your rhythm and sense of poetry, and should make for a great challenge.

If you're confused, some examples of prose poems can be found here:
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poems?...

Time Period:
3-2-17 through 10-2-17

"Hearts"

Those convinced of their heart’s ferocity have never had their world taken away from them, and those boasting of their heart’s fragile nature have hardly ever witnessed a true tragedy in life.

I don’t know from where this notion began. But hearts are not strong, and neither are they fragile. Hearts are rather persistent. They have learned the art of perseverance. They keep beating. They keep carrying on. Just like the kind of love affairs that never end.

—Akif Kichloo

"The Motion of Death And The Inertia of Life"

Sometimes we do the kind of things we do out of a quiet desperation. Sometimes our hearts point to ways which are not in the right direction. And there is no tonic left in our gin to keep us light. There is no air under our sails to keep us moving. And the only promise that no one breaks is the promise of the earth-sized holes under our boats to make sure we drown.

In those days, the reality compounds us. So what do we do but let ourselves fall apart with lightening silence? The thunder is never heard. There is nothing left inside us to make that sound. Only goodbye letters and romantic ideas for suicide notes.

But we live on. Even when the motion of death feels more appealing than life. No matter how paramount inertia is on such days, we breath and hope for better outcomes. Better results. Better futures.

But not all of us. Some of us do succumb completely to our misfortunes. Some of us do strike in one swift motion— a strike to end it all. The trouble, still, is not in our choice, but in our very lack of it. What ever we choose or don’t get to choose, I hope we find a peaceful place to rest our head one starry night. Whatever we do, I pray the light returns to us the next morning forever more. Because if there is one thing I have learnt in life, it is this:

If only we’d live long enough, life itself does teach us how to live it

and at the end of the day, no matter how well or miserably we think we have lived, we have lived a brilliant life. Each one of us.

—Akif Kichloo

That's amazing, Akif!!

So this'll probably be terrible, since this is my first attempt at prose.


The goddess of stars was ever so beautiful, and the moon and sun bowed at her feet. She could always be found dancing in the stars, or guiding a child in spiraling circles through the sky. Many called her a queen and hailed her above all, because she was beauty and light and power incarnate, and had a flare about her that drew them all in like moths to a flame. And the goddess, the empress of stars, found all things beautiful to be so alluring.

And when she grew bored of the spinning child or her wide-eyed admirers, she decided the most alluring and beautiful thing of all was disaster.

Here we go again:

Each person I've ever loved before broke a shard of who I am off and used it to stab me through the heart. And after a while, it became nothing more than a beating pincushion. What they never realized was that I learned that each broken shard of me cut like a knife, and I made those painful imperfections into my greatest weapons.

Well I tried, but I'm thinking prose isn't my thing :P

The point is to try ;) and I really like them!!

Thanks <3

The world is fishbowl shimmering in the heat and sun beats down on bare backs by the pool. Goldfish-like, we swim, eyes wide, leg-tails flicking back the water. Man was not made to swim. Man was not made to fly. And yet we do it. And yet, we tear out of our natural oxygenated world just for the challenge of it, for the precise moment when everything is silent and perfect below the water and our lungs contract against us. We arch our backs coming up, we tilt back our heads to the wavering sun and breathe in the air, more appreciative than before. We understand what it is to be without. We hold hands and laugh and splash above the water, and dive down below with puffed cheeks. The sky is still and the air hangs swollen with humidity, the water inside and outside of us all at the same time. We dance a wet rain dance, glimmering droplets flying to the sky.

Fully clothed, you stand to one side.

Bookcrazy ~ And I'm still singing hallelujah, hallelujah~ wrote: "That's amazing, Akif!!"

Thank you <3

I loved your poem as well :)

Thanks so much :)

Wondering Wanderer

Sometimes I wonder if we dream. Or if we exit the world of reality, only to find a different reality that exists in our heads. Sometimes, I wonder if dreaming is our actual world. If we only really exist for less than 12 hours, and by staying up at night, I am slowly killing myself. Am I dreaming, as I write this? Is this world just a figment of my imagination?

I've heard that every human being sees the world a little differently. If I were to walk the world, would the person beside me see it as I have not? Maybe our minds are making this all up, allowing for perfection in the minds of others and ruin in the mind of me. An Earth that's dying, an Earth that's time has run out for it to wander the stars.

Some say it is impossible to know. Know whether all of this is real, if our world is fake and our dreaming is the actual world. Maybe, when we all get swept up in the vacuum of time, when we all pass this world, we'll be brought into a wandering world. A world that is free to wonder in, free to wander in. A world so different from our own. My own.

And I am fated to wander. It is drawn across the stars, for me to wander until I find answers. Whether they come to me or I come to them, I will wander until I can wander and wonder no more.