A poem a day,

Can take the pain away.

It might not rhyme,

It just has to feel right.

Don’t rush, you have time.

It can take as little as two minutes.

So don’t get all caught up with your daily shit.

Just take, five minutes of each day.

For yourself.

To write,

A poem a day.

It can take as little as two minutes.

So don’t get all caught up with your daily shit.

As we shared a whiskey flask

My love took me to task

To mount an expedition

Beyond my wildest hope

A mission fraught with danger-

To save a man in a boat

She said I'd know his oilskins

By now quite slick and wet

And the shiny Sou'Wester rain hat

That sloped to protect his neck

She said that in the tempest

His hat might tend toward red...

I grabbed my oars and hunkered down

For nothing more be said

Against the tide as one we rowed

Tossed by growing swells

Faced with death, our sense grew sharp

With heightened taste and smell

As violent ocean ebbed and flowed,

With skill its hills we rode

"Put yer back in it,"

At one point, I heard the sailor cry

As the ocean roiled and tossed amid

Our frantic groans and sighs

We worked our aching bodies

Beyond what one should ask

Fighting 'gainst the rising storm

The mighty waves did crash

Till ocean calm returned once more

For me and my paramour-

Spent by the adventure

That we two had braved

A time of chase and glory

Forever we would note

The tale of how

That night I saved

A little man in a boat...

-DeRicki

My concern drops soft

Against your gentle cough

So frail in my embrace

We lie in bed of secrets laced

In and out of sleep so deep

Chased by hungry thoughts

That creep and seep

And gnaw the edge of soul in feast

Bulwark against foul demon's chase

In this space I'll make you safe

My princess chaste

My drug

My waif

I play the hero, armored in kind pledge

We fall away from ocean's edge

I claim right of diver's salvage

Our need whelmed in bodies savaged

We lie in tangled trust

My comely Succubus

At your carnal throne I kneel

Haunted by dark lusts unsealed

I run my fingers along your scars

A little sad, a little angry, a little hard-

Confused by dark emotions' brace

Pushed by twisted passion's chase

Bound by your perverse bequest

My hands 'round your neck

We slew and teeter at the cusp

Succumbing to small deaths

No saving grace for likes of us

Truth a tarnished gilt

Upon our wicked borrow

We give the monster leash

Foul imprecations muttered

In horror's grip, we come and shudder

Loath to loose my hero's claim

But in truth, we are the same

Just two Maker's broken toys

Fallen little girl and boy

No spoils to claim

No one to blame

As hero's mantle falls away

I sigh in lost illusions' sway

Hold you close-

As one

We peel

The waxing day

-DeRicki

Since when did truths

Become alternative?

Ain't that a fine "howda ya do"

And what about the words we speak

Do their meanings

Come in "alternative," too?

As in "up" is "down" and "in" is "out"

And good old "red" is "blue?"

It defeats the purpose of language

In which case you'd never know,

"I'm huntry en I liken peas

A dishes dainty sang witch..."

In this alternative universe

Our Earth is flat

The new thin is fat

And racists never lynched blacks

If that foolishness ain't enough

Here's an interesting fact-

According to our government,

Dixie's slaves were immigrants!

This is not right

Just stop it please

Alternative facts?

There's no such thing...

(Unlike Bigfoot

Or that girl from "Ring")

Fiction is fiction

Fact is fact

And never the twain

Shall be the same

If someone tells you

Otherwise-

They're playing

The "mind fuck" game...

-DeRicki

Greetings Prosers,

It’s almost here. The day many of us spend months preparing for, is almost upon us.

Some will say 2016 hasn’t been too kind to us this year. The world has been unsettled in almost every facet of its being. Whilst some of the events that have happened over the course of this year have proven the depravity and evil extents to which some people will go, l believe that these occurrences across the world have also proven the humanity, kindness, and purity some of the human race still encompasses.

The above couldn’t be more true about the community we have built here. We as a team of five, often reflect on the frickin’ amazing community we have on Prose. As a community, you have changed lives for the better, you have helped people in crisis feel like there is something to live for. You have written about the human condition and all of its pains and beauties. You’ve made the ugly hauntingly beautiful and you have made the beautiful more colourful than the colours known to the naked eye. You’ve brought pixels to life, and I think it’s safe to say, you’ve all made lasting impressions on each others’ lives, just like you have ours.

This last year has been an uphill struggle for many, and that includes Prose. Building a business from the ground up is not an easy feat, and we have worked tirelessly to make sure we continue to bring you a place of safety; a sanctuary for you all to express yourselves, free from judgment and welcomed with open arms. We have a long way to go still, but we are certain that we will get there with your support.

We’ve made so much progress as a team, as a community, and as a business in the last 365. There have been huge updates; ones that brought you the bookstore; along with huge achievements - our Letters from Prison initiative has recently been nominated for an award for excellence in rehabilitation.

Our Letters from Prison Program has touched many lives and there are hundreds of pieces to read in our Portal right now. Without the support of you, our community, this program wouldn’t be as successful.

It’s with this in mind that 2017 will bring a fresh wave of change, for the better, for us all. Paul and I (Sammie) will be spending our time setting up a non-profit for the philanthropic work we have begun in prisons. We will be scaling this into the youth offenders sector, and hopefully, the addiction sector too. This business will be separate to Prose, but will share a symbiotic relationship with Prose, and you, our Prosers. We’ve proven with prisoners that words are so powerful, they can change lives for the better, forever. We hope that you will continue to support us with this endeavour, and if any of you would like to help us further, please email me directly (sammie@theprose.com) because we know we’re going to need it.

Not only will we be working hard to change lives with words, but there will be some enhancements coming your way with Portals, and with that being said, if any of you would like to become moderators of our current Portals, please contact me using the same email address above.

Before I sign off for the year, there is one more change coming your way. It’s a brief change, but a needed one, to allow us some breathing room to implement the changes we have planned. From this day forward, there will be no more challenge of the week until further notice. Monday will bring the announcement of the winner for last week’s, but we will not be setting another for the time being.

The team will all be taking a much needed break for the next couple of days to enjoy time with our families and loved ones. Should any of you have any tech issues etc. you can still email us on the usual email address, or message us in app. We will be in touch as soon as we have emerged from the other side of Christmas.

Lastly, we want to thank every single one of you for being here. I, personally, have made life long friends here and know that this is the case for the team too. We truly have stumbled upon a kick-ass group of people, who I couldn’t be prouder to work with every day.

To each of you, thank you so much.

To my colleagues - my friends - you’re all badasses. It’s a privilege to work with you, laugh with you, and actually, disagree with you (sometimes).

From the entire Prose team, we wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

Until 2017, Prosers,

Eat. Drink. Be Merry. 

Prose.

we fit

to each

other like

chords pulled

from your guitar

with strains of

you are my sunshine

returning me

to chalk lines

scary movies

those crazy

blue vacations

warm days

me breaking

the back of it

swimming to shore

in celebration

of summer's smile

it's winter here

feeling colder than

I think I should

feeling everything

and wondering

if I have the right

not sure if I've

lost my shine

or feeling that

second wind

brush against my

a second skin

there is no worth

in second guessing

just a wistful

reminder of

roads travelled

and trains jumped

together

we get to

shake that

heavy little number

for a day or two

lost in strains of

you are my sunshine

The gavel bang a gunshot to the soul

when your voice no longer matters

Iron beds, rusty shower heads

Moments, hours, days...

They all blend into one, the final freedom

contrived by a confused crowd of strangers

the very moment your life shall end, definite-

All they wondered was how long it would take

to acquiesce the case so they may get on with their evenings

of dancing and sweet margaritas that I shall never taste upon my lips

If must I be condemned to die-

What granted but only one final meal?

As if it could replace my stolen time...

I dared of someday sky diving, white water rafting

seeing the eloquence of mountains once more

All the roads untraveled... now but daydreams in a cage

Stripped of my clothes, an identity bland

engagement ring thrown in a basket-

a rose budding- sliced off before blooming

I would have worn a white veil, simple in spring,

Watch children grow, and their own growing old with

the love of my life, rocking chairs and sunsets behind

a white picket fence, now...

Condemned to naught but these white washed walls...

How I miss the colors, how I wish

I could see a rainbow just once more

beneath this blanket as grey and bleak as the verdict

while another walks free with all the possibilities

drawing more breaths than I ever shall

No beauty in finality, no goodbyes of a family

ostracized from, for their own beliefs as

the media wants the fire of destruction,

playing out to pay their rent

as juicing grapefruit and leaving the pulp

a mush of bland, tasteless scraps

to be tossed away...

Moment after moment, doomed to counting down time

Will I fly away at the end? Feel life leaving my body?

Is there more? Will I be cycled again and again

in this same unfair life, a de-ja-vu?

Is this justice for some other life I fail to recall?

Will it burn as the poison ends the flow of my veins?

My only legacy knowing that the truth

may never be known- or known too late,

too late, for me...

itching to be

anything but me

destroying from inside

hate to have to hide

sinking, slipping

never winning

cling and climb

way too much time

down and down

a depressing gown

the need to purge

when thoughts emerge

feeling numb

craving some

fight the thoughts

the one that haunts

it screams while it rises

speaking of despises

just please donʼt say it

for it feels like you spit it

wrapped in hate

my heart eviscerate

I cant fix me

though I plea

with all of my essence

to be evanescence

replaced by a normal

someone more formal

no longer a freak

perhaps even meek

not even close to a spaz

or come anywhere close as

the strange, sad, uncontrollable

weird, unwanted, gross, inconsolable

thing that sits here and cries

and you watch and despise

and it cuts and it hurts

but I dont mind

dont mind a change in time

and the way ive always been

the pattern can be changed

because in this life

Iʼm tired of being left

tired of being hurt

but in the end it doesnʼt matter

and doesnʼt quiet make sense

and in the end I know

I must distance; towards myself

for Iʼm not use to relying on others

not use to this, to depending

because I have learned and it is true

everyone can and will hurt you eventually

its alright though

Iʼm not mad

could never be mad

just hurt

but Iʼm fine

An afterthought

A memory

Yet not completely forgotten.

Hesitation

Or procrastination

Prioritizing time.

Preference

Or alternative

Inclined to delay.

Once consumed

Completely absorbed

Now starved by neglect.