Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership




Narrative Inspirational Poems | Narrative Poems About Inspirational

These Narrative Inspirational poems are examples of Narrative poems about Inspirational. These are the best examples of Narrative Inspirational poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

KINDHEARTEDNESS

i am kindhearted
because i been doged out before
i know of disapointments
when your heart hits the floor

i am kindhearted
because i believe in dreams
when someone has a hope
it's a sin to be mean

i am kindhearted
because i've been left out
i guess i was'nt cool enough
so i did'nt have the clout

i am kindhearted
because of every kind of abuse
i don't wish my fellow man 
to suffer being used

i am kindhearted
because i know what homeless is
the weather was my wife
and my sufferings were our kids

i am kindhearted
because i believe in Gods love
look how far i've come from
and the things that He has done

i am kindhearted
because i survived it all
i may not be through with my troubles
but i have strenght to withstand a fall


Details | Narrative | |

"Sacred Season"

A dream

To hear the whippoorwills' sad urgent  call
I was very glad when I was a lad
But now twilight nearing new season's fall
My Essence of truth my consciousness calls

My tears being not of my former years
For sake of humans I now turn my cares
As compassion of true identity
From sacred place calls from infinity
 
Within unlimited aspects' of me
A great white throne in the distance I see
Around sacred bend a familiar friend
Silhouette of me as my God I see

No more desirous of earth's vain glory
The mind's wilderness of exploratory
History recedes illusions of me
My ego thoughts I just had to be

Totality of Love I see as me
Enter into God's synchronicity
I now see my God as I now see me
As sacredness of the reality
 
As Sacredness calls a new season's fall
Recesses the former whippoorwills' call
As new life calls I now realize it all
New life is in the  Sacred Season's Fall

Mystified as I liquefied I cry
As in spirit of love quite high I fly
Above consequences life's  densities
As spiritual tears replace human fears

1-12-10


Details | Narrative | |

Faces Along the Way

Life is but a winding road
Filled with faces along the way
Coming in and out of your life
Coloring your every day

Yet most spend just a moment
A fleeting glimpse before your eyes
They giveth not and taketh not
And cause you barely a rise

And some stay just a moment
Earning a thought upon your mind
Triggers for countless memories
These are the most common kind

And fewer still stay even longer
And commune with you a while
Leaving behind dearest memoirs
Of sweet tears or a special smile

And rarer still those faces grand
Building mansions in your soul
These are the faces of a lifetime
Whose virtue you do extol

And know that you simply are
A feature filled soiree
A portrait in collage 
Of the faces along the way


Details | Narrative | |

Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus

Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus

Seated at a table by the stirring water,
My eyes absorb the shore of Asia.
Minerets and aged worn stone
Stand haphazardly along the banks.
Istanbul is a lady with secrets
She'll lure you with her unrevealed virgin beauty,
Then seduce you with her ancient lovers.

Grilled sardines filled my charger
Fish pulled from the strait just minutes before,
Lay garnished with parsley and mint .
Red pickled turnips and warm flat bread
Are the implements that help feed me 
And scoop up the humus,
Turkish nourishment for my soul.

The empty plates are cleared by a handsome waiter
With dubious intentions I feared,
But I was flattered none the less.
A bowl of yogurt was placed before me,
And my admirer arrived with a comb of honey.
He held it high above the creamy cloud and let the heavy ochre
languidly pour atop the milky whiteness of delight.
After his seduction,he left me alone to my pleasure
As I lapped at the sweet and sour heavenly temptation,
that parted my lips and elevated my being.

As I recovered from my rapture, two eyes caught mine.
The heathen that destroyed my diet approached the table uninvited.
He pulled up a chair and sat down across from me.
In his hands, a cup.
He offered to tell me my future.
White, small, as fragile as an eggshell with the top lopped off.
Within was a dark tea with floating leaves.
In a chivalrous attempt at English conversation,
He handed me the libation and the offer to read the remains.

I, alone in a man's world, unmarried, and of a certain age,
Did not need encouragement and I accepted his offer.
I drained the tea in one gulp and returned it to his hands.
He placed the cup in one palm , then turned it upside down,
Allowing the remaining fluid to drip out around the cup and onto the table.
Once the cup was upright again he studied the leaves, then he spoke.

His voice was soft, at times , unintelligible
His reading was honest, and truthful, and painful.
His prophecy, amusing, and entertaining
His vision and it's accuracy were astounding.

Fifteen years later, the leaves delivered on their promise.
Long fluid lines inside the cup foretold of a marriage,
To a man who  would cross a sea to find me.
Two shorter drippings were the children that now delight me.
The  tea ring that he was able to complete around the cup ,
Was the warmth of a love that would soon envelop me.


Tea, anyone?





Details | Narrative | |

When Our Poetry Muse Beckons

Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.

Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”

Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine. 

Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):

	Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
	Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
	Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.

Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it:  morning, noon, evening, after midnight.

Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about 
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.

I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.

I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is: 
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited; 
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me. 

Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.

Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.

This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of  
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”


Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)


Details | Narrative | |

My White Lace Tablecloth

I washed my white lace tablecloth and hung it out to dry
The bleach did the best it could-it was worth the try
'Though no one else can see, the stain still remains
As old as time itself 
Stubborn as mildew rot

One false step, one careless word forever etched in time
Travels the universe, endlessly
In search of a place to rest  
What would I not give to reverse that step
To retrieve that hateful word

Tread lightly in your daily walk, o'er hills and valleys in between
Plot well your steps and weigh your words
So you'll have nothing to regret, like the
Unkind words carved deeply upon your heart
I wash my white lace tablecloth again, again and again!
~*~
10/09/2007


Details | Narrative | |

My story

My feelings use to be bottled in 
so I didn't know where to begin.
I picked up a pen and let my story begin.

Do I write because I'm right
or for others delight .

Do I write out of fright
or do I write because there is enough light.
If my beats aren't tight
Lord let my words still take flight.

I'm not a fighter I'm a writer. 
That's why I will only fight you on paper 
where it's much safer.
I will always fight for what I believe in.

So to all my haters,complainers, 
intimidators,and all debaters. 
This will never stop me 
because God's spirit is within me. 

May the words I now utter
melt hearts like butter.
I don't know where this might go,
but I'll keep writing 
and watch it grow.


Details | Narrative | |

The road to a Championship

    Early one morning a group of rookie's and veteran's ballplayers emerge onto the prac-
tice field destine to began an grueling season of hardwork and a dedication to an common-
goal of Superiority.  They come out of the locker room after the coach has given assign-
ment's and now everyone minds are on one accord, one agenda and together they all say to
themselve's. "The road to a Championship began when the priority to be the best", "is know
from one and all roads to success is gear towards teamwork and passionate loyalty to suc-
ceed at any means there is".  Loyalty to push on through the inclimate weather, hardwork off
the field as well on the field is approachable only when a championship atmosphere surrounds
itself with ballplayer's and not attitude's disrespectful to the cause of the challenge's to be-
come the best at what you do, and do the best at what not to do.  Teamwork is a do-able part
of the puzzle, but there's more to it then that.  There is hunger, and then all the pieces falls
together when that hunger is fed an astronomical desire that fill-up the body and your minds
with offensive and defensive individual's that love's victory and enjoy's a desire to not finish
the race in last place.  So out emerge's a champion in his relationship to his fellow ballplayers
and to his family as that of maturity and that of unlimited resources of the uncoachable en-
tangable fortitude that seperate the advantage's over the disadvantages that make his or her
teammate's reach the level of sportsmenship unseen and redeem as the fans come to see a
player that value's himself and value the diffucult task of Sunday to Sunday ability to be not
only a scholar athelete but also The road of a Champion is what make's him love to compete:



Details | Narrative | |

Old Soldiers

He sits in a wheelchair pushed to the curb.  The people around him move aside to assure he is able to see.  His shrunken body  a shell of what it used to be.  His breathing labored, aided by the tube that extends from the oxygen tank attached to his chair.  On his head, he sports a blue campaign cap with VFW stitched in gold.  He is one of America's finest, come to pay his respects.

Behind him stands a younger woman who has guided him there.  A daughter perhaps, fussing over him, adjusting the robe in his lap, assuring his comfort.  He shows no resistance to the attention, but simply sits and waits.
  
In the distance drums are heard, soon to be joined by the sound of horns.  A stirring march riffles over the crowd, and an electricity grips their senses.  Soon the call of cadence is heard. The measured tramp of boots, perfectly in time with the music. It grows louder until at last, a military formation looms into view.  Uniformed soldiers, marching in perfect rows, perfect columns, gleaming boots, ribboned chests, weapons at rest on their shoulders.  The crowd stirs.  Small flags are waved.  Cheers erupt.  Pride hangs thick in the air.

The color guard approaches.  Banners held high, snapping in the breeze.  Some spectators remove their caps while others cover their hearts.  Children, hoisted to their fathers shoulders, clap in excitement.

The old man tugs at the woman's sleeve and motions for her to come closer.  She leans down and listens as he speaks, then asks "are you sure"?.  He nods his head.  Walking to the front of the chair, she removes the robe and, grasping his outstretched hands, pulls him slowly to his feet, where he stands with her assistance.  Those around him watch as the frail, stooped body, with some difficulty, stands more erect.  They see the pain etched on his face, and the tear that escapes his eye as he offers a salute as the flag passes by.

Suddenly, the cadence count stops, and in it's place is heard a command .  A command  normally reserved for when passing a reviewing stand.  "Company, eyes right" the guidon bearer bellows, and with that, he returns the aging veterans salute, a sign of respect for an old soldier.  After all, it is his flag.  It is his country.  He bought them both many years ago.


Bob Quigley
Jan 10, 2012


Details | Narrative | |

Stage Fright (for Frank's contest)

Jake took to the stage, limping with a leg brace
And more than a mere trace of fear on his face
The humorous speech competition was on
He’d made it to finals, prior contests he’d won

Jake’s lifelong bout with muscular dystrophy
Generated sadness and much empathy
He shook and stammered as he started his speech
Competitors thought his composure he’d breach

“Stage fright is shared by many,” the boy explained
And as he began, his eye contact seemed strained
We wanted to rush to his side, offer aid
Little did we know Jake’s point was being made

He’d soon have us laughing at the “crutches” WE use
To gain confidence when stage fright ensues
“I’m picturing you all naked,” he laughed, smiled
Soon his sharp wit had us rolling in the aisle

His strength and courage built fast as he spoke
Jake finished up with a memorable poke:

     “You thought I would fail; I read it in your eyes
     Seeing only my handicap, I realize.
     Those who can’t see beyond disabilities
     Are mired in self fear; YOU have MY sympathy.”

Out of four thousand entrants, Jake took first place
Impressing us all with his wisdom and grace
Oh, how we all cheered when his win was announced
Jake’s humor skills were by far the best pronounced

Today Jake coaches a college debate team
Having mastered the art of building esteem


*I was fortunate to see Jake give his amazing speech at the national collegiate speech and 
debate finals in Niagara Falls.  Like many others, I had feared he was truly 
experiencing “stage fright.”  But he used his humor to make us see that people often exceed 
beyond the abilities others think they have.  If he didn’t see himself as “disabled,” why 
should anyone else?  And what tremendous success he’s had in his career!  His message had 
a profound impact on a lot of other college students.  


Details | Narrative | |

Tadhana

I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it

Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…

Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.

Tadhana…

shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…

She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it

He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves 
just somehow seemed to soothe him

People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...

She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…

He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…

The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back

He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam

Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?

Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her

and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles

She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun

and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart

It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else...
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger

Tadhana.

Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.



** tadhana is a Tagalog word, it can be translated as fate/destiny/kismet


 July 25, 2010 


Details | Narrative | |

Sweet Purpose

I have come to the point of decision
And I have decided in favour of love

Wisdom is not solely measured by experience
But more by capacity for it
I have glimpsed deep into history
I have sieved through its successes 
...for the soundest advice I could find
Most profound I have received from the greatest achievers in its archives

I am a Student of Life
I am a Wordsmith of Optimism 
And I am a Mason of the Castles of Dreams
This Trinity of Purpose for me goes hand in hand, side by side
Each benefits the other
Issue is, they set me apart from the others

Here I am, young when I should be intoxicated with the fads of modernity
Fortified with skills that are eager to pay the ordinary wages 
But nay, I am not to be beleaguered 
I focus ahead to perceive the greater rewards at the summation of days
For I place most value on the greatest wealth: WISDOM and HAPPINESS

I have come to the point of decision
And I have decided in favour of love

I choose to commit my heart entirely
To the work I love best
For it is this calling that shall liberate the sanctity of my humanity
The world I dwell in fathoms not a shred of my quest
For it views life through the lenses of reality

True as it may be that my work suffices not to endow me 
...with common currency in these economic times
The rationale of my perception discerns far beyond this temporary mist

Let them roar their throats in laughter at my perceived stupidity
But it is their children and their children’s children that shall benefit most 
...From this shelter of thoughts and dreams that for them I build

I expect no immediate remuneration for my onerous undertaking
For I rationalize it as a selfless gift to humanity
Hence I shall tap deep within to give all can give
I am determined to build this Shelter of Thoughts and Dreams
I have the basic skills hence I commit my willingness and ingenuity
The Good Gods shall present the mortar and bricks

The fear of failure has been permanently exiled from boarding my being
As my eyes are fixated on the prize
I am ready to pay the price


Details | Narrative | |

Love Never Ends

I wept upon the news deployed
For now within, exists a void
My heart has stopped, it’s turned about
For life with love is now without
Now cast away, the physical form
I await the fate, to be reborn

To one day greet you there, again
The Gates of Heaven then let us in
Hand in hand, we move ahead
As souls permit, though bodies’ dead
A smile to you I then will give
For past our deaths, I know we’ll live


Details | Narrative | |

You have to prove

Someone once told me that my dreams wouldn’t come true
And for some reason I believed them too
So I just stopped trying
And ended up all alone in the dark crying
There was no ignoring the pain I felt inside
But I didn’t show it because of my pride
But in spite of everything else
I decided to start all over myself
I accomplished so many things it was unbelievable
So now the word on the block is “Aaron made it, that’s impossible”
But  that’s where you wrong
I’m standing on my own two feet and I ain’t gonna fall
I’m that helping hand that’ll answer anyone’s call
All of my achievements are adding chapters to my book
So before you fix your mouth to say she’s failed take another look
I’ve grown up to be what I wanted to be
And not some black person they see as charity
So the next time someone says your dreams wont come true
Just think of it as being a point you have to prove


Details | Narrative | |

Prayer Cried Out In The Storming Waves

Prayer Cried Out In The Storming Waves



Fought the waves, the maddened tumbling sea
doomed ship sinking swiftly beneath me
Prayers to God,to every saint I ever knew
no desire to reside beneath this ocean blue

Midnight's stormy fury soon moved past
ship gone, me clinging to a broken mast
Fear, the kind that eats into your soul
rebuked my every hopeful, impossible goal

Prayers renewed with sad desperate pleas
Lord, let me survive these angry seas
The waves beat me about with great delight
I am tired, give me strength to fight
Master,find all the good that rests in me
save me, to do all that you may please

Prayer ended, my legs and arms do so tire
as the last ember was burning in my fire
Hope raced forth in a bright shining light
dawn broke forth from that darkest night

The rays hit me with a soft, sweet breeze
so calm,so very calm my soul was at ease
A single gull flew over my bobbing head
Hope cried out,you live,you are not dead

Land must now be very close hereabouts
So tired but that did not stop my shouts
Thank you Lord,this gift I will never forget
I believe,even though I am not home yet

A rescue ship's horn was soon blasting away
saved I'd be on this fine glorious day
Soon I was safe, safe on board her deck
I knew then faith and prayer saved my neck

Captain said, saw your flare just before dawn
thats when we raced and really poured it on
I was so confused and my mind it did so stun
I had no lifesaving flares and no flare gun!

Robert J. Lindley, 05-24-2015

Note:  Was it a dream, my memory tells me I lived it.
In another life so long ago.


Details | Narrative | |

The Beauty in Belle

There once was a girl,
Who's name I can't tell.
To spare her the pain,
I'll just call her Belle.

Belle was a beauty
And all the beasts could see,
She was everything in a girlfriend
That they wanted theirs to be.

Belle was so trusting,
Because she was never treated wrong,
But little did she know that
Her innocence wouldn't last long.

She had two friends,
Sasha and Trevor,
And a boyfriend that she thought
She'd love forever.

Her boyfriend, Sam,
And Trevor were friends.
So this fearsome foursome
Had fun to no end.

The youngest of the four
But the smartest, she thought.
But what a friend was
Was not what she was taught.

Trevor and Belle
Would hang out all day.
She would try to be like him
In her own boyish way.

You see, the Trevor I speak of
Was King of the Beasts
And everything he wanted
Was laid at his feet.

And, although curious,
Belle stayed true to Sam
And that made Trevor feel
That he was less of a man.

One day, in a summer
5 years ago,
Belle told me something
I needed to know.

She told me what happened
The day that she ran.
The day that will forever
Be burned in the sand.

She told me what happened
When she looked over her shoulder
And saw him walking towards her
As the room grew colder.

She told me her tears
Were no match to his power.
She told me what made this beast
A coward.

She told me she screamed
And hollered and yelled
But her cries were soon muffled
By his lips, dry and pale.

She told me how she felt
The day that she was bruised.
Never in her life
Had she felt so used!

I asked her why she didn't fight
Or get tough like she does on the field.
She just said I'd never know the 
Weakness that I would feel.

I couldn't help but to cry for her
As she blamed herself.
Belle had always wanted to be
The beauty on everyone's shelf.

"But not like that," she said to me,
"Not with one of my friends."
She let a tear roll down her face
As she spoke of her life's end.

Some may ask why'd she tell me;
"What made her come to you?"
I simply look at them and say,
"You don't know Belle like I do."

I know this story in great detail
And if you look real close you'll see
The tear I shed while writing this
Because...Belle is me.


Details | Narrative | |

Atlantis Lives

Atlantis Lives

Transformed by time/ yet held in our hearts/
The truth we seek to be revealed by those who
Travelled before our time/ with hope preserved
In tomes unread/the ancient ones did tell of precious
Dreams and values deemed a right for all that passed 
this way/shall once more see what poets knew to be 
held fast in living truths/the strong shall share with 
those most meek/ to build a life we all hold true and
 seek the path as told before/pray not repeat the
 wayward way that doomed before our planet
slept/fatigued by rules that vaulted greed above
the souls of you and me….

________________________________________________________
 Tribute to Carolyn Devonshire’s  book “Colonizing Atlantis, The New Earth”
 A wonderfully amazing journey through time, which has me believin!

 With a stunning introductory poem by our friend, James A. Fraser, The Highlander!
Titled “Atlantis”


Details | Narrative | |

New Start for Captain Mazy

Wading through flooded streets as hurricane rain poured
A man fell into the flow when sharp thunder roared
As a journalist reporting live from the scene
I saw lightning crack through the sky, heard the man scream

“Is he homeless?” I asked the emergency crew
The director shook his head; the answer he knew
“He lives in our park now, but served in Vietnam
He saved his entire unit from the Viet Cong.”

The team pulled him from the gutter to the shelter
I brought him tea, forgot I was a reporter
I asked why he’d screamed, his memory seemed hazy
“Did you hear the bombs drop?” asked Captain Bob Mazy

The emergency director took me aside
“We call him Crazy Mazy,” he did confide
He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder
Can’t live with the lives he took following orders.”

When Hurricane Kate passed o’er the Gulf Coast
I’d seen much destruction, but remembered Mazy most
His story I broadcasted and vets contacted me
The donations poured in; so many gave freely 

Soon we’d accumulated twenty-five grand
Just enough to buy Mazy an acre of land
Then people from his home state gathered one weekend
To build him a home, much effort they expended

Several social workers set up counseling services
To meet all his needs, everyone made concessions
Local stores gave him clothing, food, even a job
No longer “Crazy Mazy,” he was now just Bob

A gentle man who soon overcame all his fears
On Memorial Day, he was greeted by cheers
Accolades he’d never heard when he returned from Nam
But attitudes had changed and people’s hearts had warmed


Details | Narrative | |

Silver Strands

Slate gray streets made even darker by cutting raindrops
Umbrellas popping up everywhere, people seeking shelter

But I stayed put, wanting to get drained with the rain,
then I hear this tinkling voice that says, “Don’t you just love it when it rains?!”

I look at her wearily and her eyes actually gleam with laughter
Oh geez, this lady was my total opposite.  I was brooding, she was brimming.
I power-up my go away vibes, but she was like a darned magnet…
Was I the ferromagnetic one, or was she?

She gushed on the metaphor of rain in her life, and I didn’t feel like drowning.
Listening to her amidst the onslaught was so refreshing, making me thirstier…


There we were, two drenched souls, sitting on the pavement, chatting up a storm.
Of all her descriptions of rain, one in particular stood out for me…

Pearl drops strung on silver strands …

She said, “Rain for me would be silver strands streaking an otherwise somber sky…
pearl drops strung on silver strands, broken by the heavens to share with us.
See how precious it is?” Then she continued on with the metaphor for pearls…

Her words felt like windshield wipers to me, and I could see clearly now
By then, the rains had softened, and a lone pearl drop landed on her eyelashes
-that made me look closer at her eyes… her beautiful, wise, yet cloudy eyes…


I have never looked at rain the same way since then.






For Andrea's and Susan's Silver Strands contest



Details | Narrative | |

The Ghost Dance

A shaman prays, the Spirit hears
While a Seventh Calvary regiment waits
Unarmed, a tribe endures a Union's hate
Their animosities, and their fears
As the blue coats begin to circle...
Their wrath begins to circle.

That shaman saw but a single Spirit
That was split between different beliefs
He could accept the white Spirit Chief
But the white men would not hear it
They would not blend their God
With the red heathen God.

Anger explodes behind powdered shot
Spraying death from muzzled shame
Cruelly winning their ill gotten fame
Painted heroes claim a tainted spot
History claims the Ghost Dance...
As death claims the last dance.

A Dakota creek runs darkly red
Forever silencing the Ghost Dance
A chanting shaman dies in his trance
One hundred fifty Sioux lay dead
Now, only blue coats remain...
Only the blue remain.

A creek ran red with Union shame
When a shaman called the Spirit Great
And that Spirit did not hesitate
He fell on Wounded Knee and came
To take His people home...
His people swiftly home.


                                     Timothy I. Brumley



Details | Narrative | |

Eat Pray Love

On the edge 
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter 
tip-toeing in pink sneakers 
her small hands fragile 
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand 

They were outside in the karesansui 
washing and raking 
rocks, when the school 
heaved, convulsed 
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven 
voices rising inside

So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow 
for bread and drinking water 
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration 
of precious onigiri

Hooded and white masked they walk 
three days and bed-less nights toward 
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever 
transformed 

The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage 
and automobiles 
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men 
and women gather
albums for the living

And after sunset Miyuki moves 
her little girl away 
from a white-taped blue-bagged 
lifeless form 
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light 
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten 
thousand times too high 

And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops  
rice to carry back to neighbours 
moved to higher ground, un-opens 
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only 
everything  he has 

At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night 
not used to wearing 
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair

And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home 
to unknown love and losses there 
they turn and gaze toward the east 
awaiting still 
spring’s warming breeze 
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn 


      ~~~~~~~~~

'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'.  Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.



for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'

by ~Soulfire~ 

 


Details | Narrative | |

African Child

" From the debt of my heart"

The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.



Details | Narrative | |

Mountain Solitude

*


In solitude of the edge of day, there is a crimson blush along the hills

And a world switches direction, ......as if to tumble into eternity

Where shadows of the mountains, high, hover silently, over asphalt roads,.....
     bend and curl, and morph their shapes... to follow curves of earth

When the shadow of a lonely pine becomes longer,.......
                                        than ever the tree was tall

When my own silhouette, so dark and stretched, and long,......
                                        seems to walk between earth and sky

In utter harmony at end of day,  my arms seem longer,...
               long enough,... to reach the evening star
                     






Details | Narrative | |

My Soul's Journey

A Spiritual Narrative

Love Is to be, or not to be, you see
The soul’s choice to be , is made freely
Love , the source, of course, of which souls partake 
To be love, from above

You were created to be, not, not to be
Your being is precious, of one piece, will not cease
Please run in this race, keeping the pace
There is one in all, therein is gall

Best of all, there is no fall
One not mature, Oh dear, hath fear
Maturity excluded, love is eluded
Ah, but Love’s grace intervene,  and I shall wean

From mother’s milk, to father’s meat,
Meanwhile, Love’s grace, shall take the heat
With my serpent mind beat, I shall retreat
Into whence I came, I’ll return again

Back into my sacred heart, is from where I start
To re connect, above, with love
 And with my mind seeing, my being
The soul, I have made my goal

My soul recognizes it’s home, no more need to roam
For the mind illusion, was only outer intrusion,
Of a mind of fleshly strife, trying to create a life
Twas only a dilemma, of the mind, in structured time

In the  temporal line, an immortal
Out of it’s portal, become mortal
Without it's connection, of love’s direction
But upon careful inspection, in love’s direction

The narrow way, comes into play
Though few there be that find, for eye of the mind,
Is so very blind, a need of love to be re-align
To a sign, of truth, the mind aloof, will always goof

A soul that has found it’s heart, has found it’s start
So very smart, Love’s booth is it’s cart
Once found from, will never again depart
For I am love, as a dove, spewed within from above

The dove above, is my Father Love,
And I am being of plenty, for I am Love’s entity!!!

johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com


Details | Narrative | |

Four Hours of Eternity - 3

I woke to the sound of sizzling bacon, the aroma of fresh baked Muffins and my Beautiful Lenore in her bright green Teddy. "Nubbies", I said, "what time is it." Lenore said" for You it is 3:30P.M., June 27th, 2013. You are in the O.R. at Dartmouth Hospital. For me it is time to bring YOU to Eternity for a short time."What are You talking about; Baby." I died last night before we had time to go to the Bridal Suite. I do not want You to go through that pain again. Please come with me to the railing on the starboard side of the ship."Below the shuffle board deck?""Nubbies, just
trust me." As we walked outside, I noticed there was no air,no breeze, no sea lapping against the side of the boat, the sun seemed pasted in the sky. Where is Mom and Dad;where's my Ma, Where is everybody? Harry we are frozen in time, for last night and today; never happened for you. I asked the Lord to give us this time together. I was 3 months pregnant when I said "I DO" I want you to see JoAnne Naomi Grow up. Now
 Full Moonlight Stand on the railing with me and when I say 3; Jump. 1, 2, 3. You would think we would plummet into the Caribbean Sea, but we splashed into the Full Moon. The sun was warm,the birds sat on my shoulders, singing a song of Life Forever. The Peace, Serenity and Tranquility was unearthly. I then saw GOD and the Son of Salvation hugged me and in a Mezmerizing Voice said Welcome Home.
                                   To be Continued 
I want to apologize to those of YOU who are punctuationally  bound to Poetry I do not know how to punctuate people talking. I know I'm suppose  to use "" marks Sorry I LOVE YOU ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Liege...Harry


Details | Narrative | |

MAMA CRY NO MORE

MAMA CRY NO MORE

The most tender I have ever known
The world of never you created
Best example of love a lesson learnt
Mama cry no more

Stranger no more am I to this world
Mama I have learnt its tricks
The hills are lower now, the tunnels are brighter
Mama cry no more


Mama let me dry your tears
I will pop the toaster, crunch the flakes
Spread the marmalade, bubble your bath tub
Mama cry no more


The jet is ready, your ticket at hand
The line will dress you up with the queen’s taste
The fruits of your labour, its time you had the taste
Mama cry no more.


Details | Narrative | |

I drift into the night

I dream about a day that may never come,
I watch my life unravel, simply come undone.
My feet begin to drag as I walk across the floor,
Still I cannot wait for what the future has in store.

I go out for a walk as the sun is getting low,
The sky explodes in colors as I watch it go.
It kisses the horizon and then it goes away,
It seems to mark the end of just another day.

I stand upon a hill as the light begins to fade,
I think about the day, decisions that I made.
Light begins to falter as it all goes dark,
I feel this spark growing inside my heart.

I look into the valley as the darkness grows,
I see the sparks of fireflies they seem to glow.
I hear the birds sing they soon will retire,
I look up at the moon it appears to be on fire.

The stars up above look like diamonds in the sky,
I watch the lights on planes as they streak by.
I think of the darkness filled with all these lights,
They seem to be like beacons to guide me through the night.

I lay upon the grass and gaze upon the stars,
They sparkle so bright in a sky dark as tar.
I close my eyes and imagine I can fly,
Travel to the moon as it rises high.

The day has give way to the wonders of the night,
Everywhere I look, I catch another sight.
As time flies by, I wonder where it went,
A breeze blows, carrying a floral scent.

I climb from the hill it’s time to go to bed,
Visions of the night still dancing in my head.
Soon tomorrow shall become today.
The sun will rise and the stars will go away.


Details | Narrative | |

The sparkling blue gem

Scaling the skies and beauty of her wonder world A fairy saw a sparkling thing down in a valley Intrigued she flew up to it Mesmerized she was, when she saw it A big ,sparkling ,blue gem with lustrous shine Thrilled by its luster ,she touched it And woof!!! Her magic wand disappeared She lost her wings and all her powers In desperation ,she touched it again and again But to no avail Disheartened she walked up to the nearby brook With her head in her lap ,she started crying Suddenly she heard a soothing music The music of rumbling, ruffling brook Freshly scented spring air wiped her tears Dusky splendid skies brought her smile back A new world was unfolding before her Elated she was, when she walked on the dewy grass Her eyes shone, when she saw a small pink flower, growing under a rock Her heart skipped a beat when she touched the bark of the tree Intoxicated by this beauty, she wandered around And unknowingly reached back to the vicinity of the blue gem On seeing it again ,she felt that it’s beauty had increased Again mesmerized by its luster, she touched the gem This time with an enlightened heart and a beautiful mind And woof!!! Her magic wand reappeared Her wings and powers restored Since night was befalling on her She with an elated heart ,flew hastily up to her abode Resting on her couch ,she felt something stuck to her feet It was the fresh dewy grass Holding the grass blade in her hand She smiled ,as she knew She had learned a lesson that day Had seen a new world, a world beyond her magic and had learned to keep her feet grounded….
.


Details | Narrative | |

The Old Rugged Cross Suffered The Worlds Greatest Loss

 

My favorite of songs is The Old Rugged Cross.
   The most tragic of days was the worlds’ greatest loss.
For sinners that day were all given their chance.
   His Father in heaven could not even bear to look not even one glance.
Forgive them He prayed as His life’s blood ran down to the ground.
   Can you picture Him there wearing that thorny old crown?
On that hill so far away, sad but precious memories were made.
    Born of a virgin mother in the tomb He was laid.
Death could not hold Him, death would not last.
    Three days in that tomb, so long ago, death too it would pass.
He arose and was seen by many it was said.
    Our Savior arose from the grave and no longer was dead.
As He gave His final words to His apostles and friends.
    He ascended to the clouds but they knew they would see Him again.
He made us a promise He would rule once again.
     I feel that day is coming we’re reaching the end.
The prophecies that abound.
     With each new day they seem to be coming unwound.
Are you ready my friend for the Millennium Reign?
     Are have you sunk to wearing the mark worn by Cain?
Sacrifices my friend we all have to do.
    Just look at Jesus and the sacrifice He made, was made just for you .
So on that hill so far away I kneel at the thought.
    With His precious blood my cleansing was bought.
And what have we learned, or did He die just for nought?
    I look to Jesus and His love I have sought.
He must come first in all that we do.
    And when the day comes you’ll see I speak true.
                       


Details | Narrative | |

Climbing Levels Of Spiritual Enlightenment

learning from the past turning the dark into light grasping a lesson from our Father climbing levels of enlightenment The Almighty presents us with lessons each and everyday it is our job to acknowledge the lessons and grow from them Although presented in different ways we all go through the same lessons in life I call it "climbing levels of spiritual enlightenment" if you grasp the lesson presented and live by that lesson you will begin your climb if you fail to live by that lesson you will tumble back down over and over hence the lessons will be presented to you once again until you achieve them The lessons are not always pleasant as the flesh cries out in pain as I climb and fall throughout my life the agony is soon replace with delight a little pain to receive a blessing from our King What appears to be a failure or a loss with no way out is simply a hidden blessing , a gift from our King...... It's time to start climbing!!! lets grow strong..........