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Flesh And Bones

Terri in MI 2003


Could this be an identifier 

in case of multiple, outliers?

The answer is never expected

after all the clues are inspected. 


The bone of contention is slivered 

in the context; it’s now delivered. 

Below are samples for the experts, 

whose analysis leads to networks. 


Flesh and bones in the foible, end zones, 

transported as if by robot, drones. 

Flesh and bones transferred cases, alone, 

for anthropologists now postponed. 


Stillness of the dead calm, building care, 

sheltered with prisms possessing dares. 

Mystery calls received sincerely, 

promising forests, calling dearly. 


Would you justify observations 

in life’s quantifying, close, questions? 

Answer the query before it’s late. 

I wouldn’t stop now, or hesitate. 


T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015

Flesh And Bones




Traumatized since you rationalized.

Seems so easy.. A little out-sized,

as I look into your dull, doe eyes.

Would you really come to realize,

that all you said was internalized?


Internalized, yes internalized –

like so many of your petty lies.

Internalized, why internalized?

Out of sick humor, and your lies

your victims always internalized.


Words as lazy communications

burn in brains as toxic libations,

while awaiting your contemplation.

Your unwarranted tribulation

causes serious allegations.


Tripping into your chaotic realm

you fall asleep at the ragged helm.

No, it doesn’t at all overwhelm

as your gallows are a witch’s elm.

Your life doesn’t at all overwhelm.


Internalized, yes, internalized…

your small psyche cannot memorize.

Internalized, yes internalized…

karma visited now is quite wise.

Your evil you now internalize.


Life encountered full, wide-arced circles,

filing nuances into girdles.

Your chances lost on sunset purples,

while your laughter dies into chortles.

Would you understand this dear, riddle?


T.M. Prada

Copyright © 2015


Parallel Lines



Proper lines of communication 

signify ambivalent borders. 

Create sublime, sweet, definitions, 

scrying for sincere, dated, figures. 


Fill sentences of confirmation,

limiting phrases seldom spoken. 

Comprehending my fascination, 

capture imagination’s tokens. 


Parallel lines trail off suddenly, 

these stellar, needs blossoming abashed. 

Parallel lines sketching hungrily, 

with innuendos starkly, now stashed. 


Absorb structures of distillation, 

choking on technology, modern. 

Mindful of those pleasing additions, 

plying for nuances drawn northern.


Pillage means of tranquil, transmission 

required not from aberrant hoarders. 

Conceive concepts of adoration, 

building mountains from minute, boulders. 


Parallel lines broken in between 

petitions of pillows torn, rendered. 

Parallel lines amid verse resewn, 

deciphered, and delineated. 


Prepare your admittance addition, 

formatted in some, past quandaries. 

Quantified stolen glaciation, 

lovers rationalize boundaries. 


Stop a moment in contemplation, 

for solid spellbound, still, monuments. 

Morbidly, stalwart fascinations 

moves hearts without, forgotten torment. 


T.M. Prada

Copyright © 2015 

Parallel Lines

Maybe Just Amazed



Seldom are moments that speak, 

with the disappearing dust. 

Blinking back tears of disgust, 

I ignore seconds I’m weak. 


Coming to me in dream snips, 

it dawns on movements of time. 

Waters flowing blank design, 

washing deeds into grand tips. 


Maybe I’m just amazed now, 

that you visited with love. 

Maybe just amazed, above 

years of silence, here somehow. 


Slamming to acceptance gained, 

renewed a hope permanent. 

Innocent in my reticence, 

learning my faith hasn’t waned. 


Words echo in passages 

of my sleeping, alert, mind. 

For a minute you remind, 

not lying in messages. 


T.M. Prada

Copyright © 2015

Paradise Lost

Apples 2014


Paradise was lost the day you died, 

since my innocence wasn’t contrived. 

You protected me from the world’s foes, 

only to unleash the darkest woes. 


Death came as such icy, blasted, shocks. 

My whole world now eternally rocked. 

Closer to soul my heart plummeted, 

repeating denial, pain meted. 


Paradise died when hope with faith lost, 

my emotions trampled, raped, and tossed. 

You left behind solemn, family, 

with an uncertain, mute, destiny.


Delivered into society, 

where media worshipped the mighty, 

and blonde beauties reigned almost, supreme – 

as if they were God’s only true, queens. 


Paradise lost its dreaming princess, 

as truth’s unwilling, weeping, witness. 

Quickly gone, without knowing a trace, 

you championed and lost your true case. 


T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015

Awake Before Alarm


There’s a message in my mind.
Something I wish to rewind.
A song echoes to remind.
The poem won’t be sound kind.

I stumble remembering,
words so true.
I wish I were now coming,
back to you.

And then “Stairway to Heaven”
rushes in.
Robert Plant’s voice a given,

Awake before the alarm,
a moment lost without harm.

T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015

Follow Pathways

Anchor Lake rest stop Nov 1988


Do you take some satisfaction 

with limited interaction?

Do you enjoy gravitation 

that plays throughout situations? 


Follow pathways to understand 

until you vow you comprehend. 

Fill the shallows of hollow lands, 

before thinking of upper hands. 


Would you consider sensations 

that resist your integration? 

Would you drop your reparations 

faulty reason’s presentations? 


Follow pathways that enlighten, 

borrowing knowledge forgotten. 

Fill moments with satisfaction, 

building simple lone monuments.


Did you pause in recollection 

or think lengthy contemplation? 

Did you stop in pure wonderment 

in your fiery concentration? 


Follow pathways seldom taken. 

Do it without hesitation. 


T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015


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