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Written by sanmehta in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Let's prove that the camera lies.

Put down the phone, the selfie stick too.

Take a wipe, clean it off

Remove all that makeup till it's nomore

And look into a mirror

This is who you are.

This is beauty.

Please don't hide.

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Written by sanmehta in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Let's prove that the camera lies.
Put down the phone, the selfie stick too.
Take a wipe, clean it off
Remove all that makeup till it's nomore
And look into a mirror
This is who you are.
This is beauty.
Please don't hide.

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"I feel like falling...." write a poem using those words or any variation of those words.
Written by sandflea68

Pencil Sketched Sky

The dust swept the reasons from my soul

for feeling like falling in love with you.

Vignettes played of you before life ceased,

swift feet danced on the brink in soft wind

but time erased our fallen leaves of fall.

You disappeared beyond reach of my eyes

in dusky shadows of dimly lit evening.

You became a star in pencil sketched sky

as days whispered softly in tender winds.

You won’t be there to tie my shoes -

you’ve reached your destination

of cellophaned roses upon your breast,

melting in drops upon hallowed earth,

heavens shrouded in tormented cries.

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"I feel like falling...." write a poem using those words or any variation of those words.
Written by sandflea68
Pencil Sketched Sky
The dust swept the reasons from my soul
for feeling like falling in love with you.
Vignettes played of you before life ceased,
swift feet danced on the brink in soft wind
but time erased our fallen leaves of fall.
You disappeared beyond reach of my eyes
in dusky shadows of dimly lit evening.
You became a star in pencil sketched sky
as days whispered softly in tender winds.
You won’t be there to tie my shoes -
you’ve reached your destination
of cellophaned roses upon your breast,
melting in drops upon hallowed earth,
heavens shrouded in tormented cries.

#challenge  #FeelLikeFalling 
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Written by CreativeChaos

I LOVE YOU PROSERS!

Guys, I love you! Excuse me if I sound too corny. Maybe it's adderall or because I haven't gotten some sleep last night, or maybe nothing at all. But I don't care what it is I just wanted to say and let you know that I LOVE YOU! 

I recall the past days since I met prose. All what WE been through of sweet, bitter, supports, and even the craziness, makes me feel like I owe you, all of you. I wish I can be helpful and supportive too to anyone and everyone, but as of for now, all I know and can do is LOVING YOU and THANKING YOU for everything you've done for me in all forms and shapes. 

I LOVE YOU!

THANK YOU!

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Written by CreativeChaos
I LOVE YOU PROSERS!
Guys, I love you! Excuse me if I sound too corny. Maybe it's adderall or because I haven't gotten some sleep last night, or maybe nothing at all. But I don't care what it is I just wanted to say and let you know that I LOVE YOU! 

I recall the past days since I met prose. All what WE been through of sweet, bitter, supports, and even the craziness, makes me feel like I owe you, all of you. I wish I can be helpful and supportive too to anyone and everyone, but as of for now, all I know and can do is LOVING YOU and THANKING YOU for everything you've done for me in all forms and shapes. 

I LOVE YOU!
THANK YOU!
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Cat
Written by zikeda

meow

meow meow,

mew

meow

meow mew meow,

meow meow

mew?

meow meow,

mew

meow

meow mew meow,

meow meow

mew, and

hiss.

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Cat
Written by zikeda
meow
meow meow,
mew
meow

meow mew meow,
meow meow
mew?

meow meow,
mew
meow

meow mew meow,
meow meow
mew, and

hiss.

#meow  #hashbrownhashtag  #catpoetry 
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Written by Bunny

Flowers of the Night

Flowers of the night!...

...Come open,

One and all!...

Open yourselves,

My little

Flowers of the 

Night!...

...Your petals

Drop down

On the

Tombstones,

So light,

And cover the letters

Of our latest 

Deceased.

This graveyard 

Is gaining 

Occupants every year!

...While the 

Doomed, 

And defiant

On the outside appear

To be perfectly 

Happy

With their 

Make believe 

Beat.

...The alarms from

The city!...

...The sirens, and 

Noise,

Keep them strung 

To their thread

While the Dead

In the Void,

Buried deep in

The dirt

Wonder why they

Keep on...

Sweet flowers of

The night!...

You can make it

With your prize!...

...Flowers that

Revive

The aesthetic,

Dying art...

...These bloomers

Do their part!...

...Knowing full well

All the curing

They provide...

Death and birth

Revived!...

Flowers burning

Like a flame!...

...Wonder if 

The deeper urges

Will be mine 

To tame 

Tonight...

...Or just 

Contemplate in 

Awe...

Flowers of the night!...

Come open,

One and

All!...

©

2017

Bunny Villaire

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Written by Bunny
Flowers of the Night

Flowers of the night!...
...Come open,
One and all!...

Open yourselves,
My little
Flowers of the 
Night!...

...Your petals
Drop down
On the
Tombstones,
So light,
And cover the letters
Of our latest 
Deceased.

This graveyard 
Is gaining 
Occupants every year!
...While the 
Doomed, 
And defiant
On the outside appear
To be perfectly 
Happy
With their 
Make believe 
Beat.

...The alarms from
The city!...
...The sirens, and 
Noise,
Keep them strung 
To their thread
While the Dead
In the Void,
Buried deep in
The dirt
Wonder why they
Keep on...

Sweet flowers of
The night!...
You can make it
With your prize!...
...Flowers that
Revive
The aesthetic,
Dying art...
...These bloomers
Do their part!...
...Knowing full well
All the curing
They provide...

Death and birth
Revived!...

Flowers burning
Like a flame!...

...Wonder if 
The deeper urges
Will be mine 
To tame 
Tonight...
...Or just 
Contemplate in 
Awe...

Flowers of the night!...
Come open,
One and
All!...






©
2017
Bunny Villaire

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by AtomDub

Pecking Order

Chicken feathers, a once-white-now-pink tinge, are deplumed by enemy's beak, fluttering in lazy violence as if a July snowstorm. The mad farm bird pecks the exposed flesh incessantly, some corn-fed jackhammer void of remorse. Deep red flows, first just a dot, but then a little river.

The flock takes notice, jaundice eyes incensed by the blood, and mob-lynches the weakling. Its feathers are all gone now, removed in some reverse acupuncture frenzy, and red-tipped beaks pulverize the soft flesh into oblivion. Their fallen kin is motionless save for its undulations as fowl cannibals remove sinew strings and now-pointless organs.

This is the image that races through Anne's mind as she prepares to interview at a New York City advertising agency. She is called in.

"Tell me a little about yourself...Anne."

"Well, I grew up on a farm in rural Minnesota. I graduated with a marketing degree..." and so forth.

"We could use your diverse background here, Anne."

An all-female department, an estrogen-laced cyanide capsule. Anne already senses the death rattle her first day, when they crowd around her like a zoo exhibit, noting her "interesting" accent.

"How do you pronounce 'garage'? Grauge? Ha-ha! Isn't that something?"

Anne remembers that day vividly. She was 11. A stray Longhorn hen was traipsing along the farm's red dirt road. She thought it would be happier amongst other chickens, even if they were a little different. The Rhode Island Reds thought otherwise. They mutilated the newcomer beyond recognition before its first moon. A blood moon.

"There's an order to these things," Anne's father explained. "Outsiders just don't survive. Don't fit into their hierarchy." 

The corporate hen house plots. Plots against the straw-haired rube from the one-stoplight town. They peck at her. A backhanded compliment here. A vicious rumor there. Did you hear that simple slut gave a client head? They peck, confident they'll break the skin and the blood will flow. And then. And then...

A meeting in the boardroom. The flock's beaks and talons: petty-razor sharp. Ready to tear flesh. Watch the outsider bleed out. 

Anne thinks otherwise. Anne thinks it's better to be a farmer than a hen. Anne unsheathes a butcher's knife and hacks the neck of her nearest coworker. Nicks the cervical vertebrae mid-presentation. Damn near lops her head off. Beautiful blood hissing from the opening, pitter-pattering on the tabletop like a Jackson Pollock original. Seven shrill New York screams. Then six. Then five. Then four. Then three. Then two. Then one. Silence.

Anne emerges from the slaughterhouse, bathing in the red, placenta-like goo of the damned, reborn a bad country bitch. Her eyes are clear and her mind is sharp.

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by AtomDub
Pecking Order
Chicken feathers, a once-white-now-pink tinge, are deplumed by enemy's beak, fluttering in lazy violence as if a July snowstorm. The mad farm bird pecks the exposed flesh incessantly, some corn-fed jackhammer void of remorse. Deep red flows, first just a dot, but then a little river.

The flock takes notice, jaundice eyes incensed by the blood, and mob-lynches the weakling. Its feathers are all gone now, removed in some reverse acupuncture frenzy, and red-tipped beaks pulverize the soft flesh into oblivion. Their fallen kin is motionless save for its undulations as fowl cannibals remove sinew strings and now-pointless organs.

This is the image that races through Anne's mind as she prepares to interview at a New York City advertising agency. She is called in.

"Tell me a little about yourself...Anne."

"Well, I grew up on a farm in rural Minnesota. I graduated with a marketing degree..." and so forth.

"We could use your diverse background here, Anne."

An all-female department, an estrogen-laced cyanide capsule. Anne already senses the death rattle her first day, when they crowd around her like a zoo exhibit, noting her "interesting" accent.

"How do you pronounce 'garage'? Grauge? Ha-ha! Isn't that something?"

Anne remembers that day vividly. She was 11. A stray Longhorn hen was traipsing along the farm's red dirt road. She thought it would be happier amongst other chickens, even if they were a little different. The Rhode Island Reds thought otherwise. They mutilated the newcomer beyond recognition before its first moon. A blood moon.

"There's an order to these things," Anne's father explained. "Outsiders just don't survive. Don't fit into their hierarchy." 

The corporate hen house plots. Plots against the straw-haired rube from the one-stoplight town. They peck at her. A backhanded compliment here. A vicious rumor there. Did you hear that simple slut gave a client head? They peck, confident they'll break the skin and the blood will flow. And then. And then...

A meeting in the boardroom. The flock's beaks and talons: petty-razor sharp. Ready to tear flesh. Watch the outsider bleed out. 

Anne thinks otherwise. Anne thinks it's better to be a farmer than a hen. Anne unsheathes a butcher's knife and hacks the neck of her nearest coworker. Nicks the cervical vertebrae mid-presentation. Damn near lops her head off. Beautiful blood hissing from the opening, pitter-pattering on the tabletop like a Jackson Pollock original. Seven shrill New York screams. Then six. Then five. Then four. Then three. Then two. Then one. Silence.

Anne emerges from the slaughterhouse, bathing in the red, placenta-like goo of the damned, reborn a bad country bitch. Her eyes are clear and her mind is sharp.
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Written by poetsdream in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Under The Moon

Under the moon

You shine

Under my kiss

You glow

Deep inside my hug

You are secure

K.j.a. (c) 2017

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Written by poetsdream in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Under The Moon
Under the moon
You shine
Under my kiss
You glow
Deep inside my hug
You are secure
K.j.a. (c) 2017
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Chapter 19 of Wop Bop A Loo Bop
Written by FarrellTimlake

The PH.D Thesis of Dr. Funkenstein

In the DNA of music you find

a very complex strand of nucleic

rhythms, syncopation, sugars to bind

the double helix of funk-archaic;

those basic building blocks, metered in soul,

play up in the groove of everything.

Ground breaking research seeks to find the role

these beats play in life thereby creating

the bonds of proteins to build songs upon.

Some anti-parallel strands of bass vibrations

measured in poly-rhythmics structured on

nucleo-riffs give illuminations

into very complex relationships

governing the analogues of the hips 

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Chapter 19 of Wop Bop A Loo Bop
Written by FarrellTimlake
The PH.D Thesis of Dr. Funkenstein
In the DNA of music you find
a very complex strand of nucleic
rhythms, syncopation, sugars to bind
the double helix of funk-archaic;
those basic building blocks, metered in soul,
play up in the groove of everything.
Ground breaking research seeks to find the role
these beats play in life thereby creating
the bonds of proteins to build songs upon.
Some anti-parallel strands of bass vibrations
measured in poly-rhythmics structured on
nucleo-riffs give illuminations
into very complex relationships
governing the analogues of the hips 





#poetry  #theprose  #Funk  #georgeClinton 
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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry

her mouth a live crater

spouting fiery words

traces of bedlam

on her heated breath

singeing minds

a volcano of poetry

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Written by Firdaus in portal Micropoetry
her mouth a live crater
spouting fiery words
traces of bedlam
on her heated breath
singeing minds
a volcano of poetry
#tweetsized 
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Written by Amberlight

The Frenzy of the Dirty Dance

Damn it’ woman, your life is your life, don't

    let it be clubbed into dank submission!

As you dance through life, always be on the 

    prowl, always keep your feet in motion!

You came to be danced, not the pretty dance, 

not the pretty pretty, please, pick me, pick me 

dance, but the claw your way back into the belly 

of the sacred, sensual animal dance, the unhinged, 

unplugged, the cat is out of its box dance, the holding 

the precious moment in the palms of your hands and feet 

kind of dance, the smudged disarrayed, and foul mouthed 

dance, the messy, muddy, and murky dance, the gritty, 

greasy, grimy dance, the sloppy stained and unkempt 

dance, the smudged, spattered, spotted, and sullied 

dance, the defiled, disarrayed and dreddgy dance, 

the raunchy, skanky, skuzzy and scummy dance, 

the unsightly, unswept, and untidy dance.

     Baby you're the reason why they call it 

         The Frenzy of the Dirty Dance

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Written by Amberlight
The Frenzy of the Dirty Dance

Damn it’ woman, your life is your life, don't
    let it be clubbed into dank submission!

As you dance through life, always be on the 
    prowl, always keep your feet in motion!

You came to be danced, not the pretty dance, 
not the pretty pretty, please, pick me, pick me 
dance, but the claw your way back into the belly 
of the sacred, sensual animal dance, the unhinged, 
unplugged, the cat is out of its box dance, the holding 
the precious moment in the palms of your hands and feet 
kind of dance, the smudged disarrayed, and foul mouthed 
dance, the messy, muddy, and murky dance, the gritty, 
greasy, grimy dance, the sloppy stained and unkempt 
dance, the smudged, spattered, spotted, and sullied 
dance, the defiled, disarrayed and dreddgy dance, 
the raunchy, skanky, skuzzy and scummy dance, 
the unsightly, unswept, and untidy dance.

     Baby you're the reason why they call it 
         The Frenzy of the Dirty Dance
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