there was a time

I was afraid of the dark
afraid to measure empty angles

of a January afternoon
when winter slept in the stillness

of my hands
the way its cold blue pause

burnt my fingers
as if I'd touched the sun


& there was a time

I used my heart to cover my face
when the wind bruised cheekbones

in shades of merlot
swept my hair away

like crumbs from a new year’s toast


it was midnight

when I first held his eyes

as color fell from the sky
& a shallow breath of a breeze

fluttered on my lips


it was 12:38 when I touched 
the fabric of a low-slung cashmere moon
ran hands over the curve of its smile
heard the moans of morning stars

from a melody of bed sheets
& the fragrance of musk escaping between thighs

I was naked in the dark


& I was not afraid












lah  1.11.12 ©®

Don't make me

Kiss you so

Passionately

And

Deeply

That when

I'm done

With you

You'll forget

Your name

K.j.a. (c) 2017

The men decide to come at me-

A badge, a whispered threat.

So many move around to see-

A sudden deep regret.

My hijab sends a panicked sign-

Religion sets the tone.

A plane takes off that once was mine-

I'm stuck; now it is gone.

The men have placed me in a room,

My children start to cry.

"Do you have bombs to make a boom?

Do you want us to die?"

I try and tell them who I am,

And that they have it wrong.

Instead, they offer to me, "Ma'am,

You need to play along.

The thing atop your head tells us

A terrorist is near.

Now, don't you try and make a fuss-

We want to make it clear-

The color of your skin defines

A nation of unrest."

My daughter's and my son's designs

Are beauty at its best.

I stand and ask what right have they

To hold us from the plane.

The men have little else to say,

The whole thing starts to drain.

At last my husband joins us there,

But they treat him the same.

They ruffle up his velvet hair;

They do not ask his name.

They confiscate a "weapon" in

A pocket- plastic fork.

They say, "Where are your people, then?"

He says, "We're from New York!"

About this time, the questions stop;

A white male with a gun

Unloads it on us- pop! Pop! POP!

We have nowhere to run.

Injustice never seems to fade-

But look at what they do-

Remember terror knows no shade,

Be free, Red, White, and Blue ...

the tiny window

into the past

is still covered with grime

or perhaps

it is the past 

which is filthy

with painted lies

that rotted over time...

i like you

i'm not needed

and i believe that i want you

i'm not good for you

and i sometimes find the world boring

why would you want me?

its all another brick in the wall

i'll just hurt you again

there's so much i want to tell you

you'll want me dead

and i want to tell you everything

i'm a martyr of our failure

but i don't know anymore

i was never for you, was i?

i differ from you, but that's fine

this human is unstable

we could put in the effort

why bother anymore?

i want to spill it all

you'll hate me for this

an emotional waterfall

emotions are useless

i guess i'd want to meet you

you would leave me there

and tell you everything

you'll shut the door

i guess i'd want to smile for you

there's pain behind my eyes

i guess I want to hug you

you'll never accept

and cry right there

only wasted tears

but there's never enough time

do you want me gone?

and i don't think it'll work

i guess we both won't care

just tell me when to leave

i hope you joke about my insecurities!

but i don't care what the other says

i see you and i saw potential

i saw defeat yet i see renewal

i see what we can be but i saw the consequences

it's up to you, all i can do is watch

and it's so hilarious that i bothered writing this

Good morning, Prosers,

It’s the Prose Challenge of the Week: Winner Announcement! Last week saw you all re-writing the nativity story. We had shed-loads of superb entries to read, so thank you everyone.

Before we find out which one of you takes the $100 prize, we just want to remind you that Challenge of the Week is on a brief hiatus. But, stay tuned, as it won’t be gone for long!

Back to the winner of week fifty-four. We have read all of your entries and thoroughly enjoyed every single one. There can only be one winner, however, and after much deliberation the champion of the challenge and our winner this week is, @JamesMByers with their piece “Nativity Nuance.” Congratulations to you, we will be in touch shortly to arrange transfer of your winnings!

That’s all for this week, here’s to a week filled with all things Prose!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

And lo, Palestinian government's hold

Extended to checkpoints about.

In charge, Vera Baboun, a woman extolled-

The first female mayor with clout ...

Her place over Bethlehem filled her with cause-

A city where poverty shone.

Yet so many obstacles' unwanted pause

Rebuked her desire to atone.

The hopeful arrived, Rachel Checkpoint, the place,

In thousands and thousands each day.

They called it "300," a foul, rotten space,

Insertion, for jobs they would pray.

And still there were many, so many, indeed

The barbed railings caused quite a stir.

Those desperate hands clenching on, forced to bleed

In this way would daily occur.

So many desiring employment within,

But the walls and powers around

Refused those who waited, downbeat in chagrin ...

But the masses stood fast to their ground.

There Joseph held out for "the ticket to life"-

Permission to work in the land.

The line smelled of feces and urinal strife;

He reached out to hold Mary's hand.

The bicycle held her remote, tattered shape;

Her belly spoke, "I am with child."

Above all the shouting, she could not escape;

The people were all going wild.

Her faith filled her spirit, though they were denied,

And Joseph looked back with regret.

A scene full of sorrow, she quietly cried.

Her water broke, leaving her wet.

A brief stint of anger, the child was not his,

Yet Joseph had promised his love.

The two would soon marry, and sadly, like this-

Around them, the crowd gave a shove.

The terrified look on her face broke his trance.

Beneath her, the soil told a tale.

The walls kept them outside of Bethlehem's glance;

He prayed they would still yet prevail.

As Mary looked on, Joseph parted the crowd,

Insisting they gave them some room.

She slid from the bike, as they were not allowed

Inside there, her heart full of gloom.

A mixture of fear and emotional joy

Came on her as they found a spot.

A voice whispered, "Soon will arrive here your boy-

A savior for those who have not."

While Joseph pushed on to an alley ahead,

She listened beyond the crowd's wrath.

"The child you are birthing will raise up the dead;

A crown for all nations, his path.

His name shall be wonderful counselor, king!

The light of the world; Son of Man.

And food to the needy and hungry, he'll bring

By gift of the prophecy's plan.

Above, God exalted had chosen your womb;

His Spirit selected your worth.

Oh, glory to you and your soon to be groom!

The messengers herald his birth!"

Now Mary broke down in a heaving sob's snare,

Her mind finding such a new peace.

Nobody believed her; her innocence bare,

Her child had been given release.

For months she insisted no man stole her youth.

The world cast aside her soft pleas.

Believe it or not, the voice offered her proof.

She shared this with Joseph in ease.

He loved her, accepting her ludicrous speech.

And then the voice spoke in his mind.

"Now, Joseph, take heed for your Mary, in reach,

Is truthful; the world has been blind."

A trash dump turned over with old cloth and wood 

Became her hotel in the street.

The shelter provided the two understood-

They had nothing with them to eat.

A Muslim man came forth and offered his aid;

A couple of shepherds did, too.

Together the magical scene they displayed

Gave charity far gone renew.

The Jews and the Muslims had long been at war,

And still they were human design.

The grace of that moment would be sung in lore;

The birth of the child was divine.

A couple of rats, then a dog and a cat 

All gathered; the crowd came to see

The boy who compelled them to quiet their spat,

Imparting on them joyous glee.

The stars in the sky shined a brilliant bright light;

By now the dark followed the sun.

A beggar announced this was their holy night,

And people felt kinship as one.

The news reached the mayor who came to endorse 

A standard for setting the stage.

She pulled out her cell phone- a picture, of course- 

This image would make the front page ...

the once empty road of the writer

now a haven for those who cut soul,

spilling ink as pens are sharpened by

raking against old wounds. we gather

in the portal and scatter words, 

strobe our thoughts and make bright

all our nonexistent places, moved by 

the shouts and whispers of our brethren,

scrolling smooth before satisfied visions,

crisp and seamless. I can touch your 

thoughts here and I can feel the pain

become numb as it leaves for good. 

we are all broken in the same way, a

symphony of hearts personified, quick

to purge and listen. though there are no

doors or locks, our frailty seems secure,

watched over by the builders who carved

a home out of space. I raise my pen 

like a glass. and I toast to Prose. and

drink myself. tomorrow I will empty

the bottle in a parade of words celebrating 

that we are here. 

Collected words following from the hearts of many. Ideas and emotions are bravely shared and preserved for all to see. 

Through you I see perspectives outside my own. Beauty or pain where I didn't think to look. A safe window to the outside world. 

Help me to grow. Help me to expand this writers mind in this literary cocoon of support.