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Inspirational Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Inspirational

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

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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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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 |

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.


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