Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Narrative Lost Poems | Narrative Poems About Lost

These Narrative Lost poems are examples of Narrative poems about Lost. These are the best examples of Narrative Lost 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 | |

New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behind,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...


Details | Narrative | |

And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 
money.

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.


Details | Narrative | |

Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 


Details | Narrative | |

The USS Indianapolis

It was in July of 1945 
  And the USS Indianapolis
Had a crew of nearly 12 hundred alive
  But a Japanese sub fired and did not miss
 
American sailors had completed their job
  Delivering parts for the first atomic bomb
Some sank with the ship, others in the sea did bob
  No food, few lifeboats, ocean deceptively calm

Surprise attack, no distress signal had been sent
  It was four days later those floating were spotted
The survival rate was just 25 percent
  With hundreds of sailors’ bodies the sea was dotted
 
In the movie “Jaws” as Captain Quint had related,
  “The sharks came cruisin'. So we formed into tight groups.”
Six men per hour were killed while for help they waited
  All were lost but 316 Navy troops

Some victims died of exposure or starvation
  But far more were killed by the sharks that had attacked
These men lost their lives in service to our nation
  But bomb parts delivered had a deadlier impact

One of the last ships that was sunk in World War II
  The Indianapolis had turned the war’s tide
With a mission carried out by a courageous crew
  Victory was soon celebrated by allies worldwide



This is an entry for the History Poems contest


Details | Narrative | |

The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013


Details | Narrative | |

Reporting Live across the World

Reporting live on the soup, with Americas MOST. WANTED. POETS.
 Standing here with our host John, 
With an exclusive update on criminal poets, captured and on the run.
Switching over to you John,. "Thank you P.D., lets give thanks to all the 
P.M.W. tipsters, and our lovely F.B.I. agent Andrea Dietrich (Andy) & U.S. 
Marshal Shirley Harrison (S.H.)

Capturing 1 infamous fugitive Nikko Palmario, a comment crusader going contest crazy. 
Christopher Brantley, still at large U.S. Marshall (S.H.) says, "This brilliant fugitive leaves no 
trace." A dangerous poet posting comments longer than his poetry. Leaving a distinction of 
excellence in any short form.  P.M.W.tipsters Demand to be brought down to poetic justice.
P.M.W. Tip, led Marshall (S.H.) to the most notorious blond bombshell on the soup.
Captured on her vacation Linda Marie Bariana, lost control of her blond moment.
Paralyzing her laptop with sand. Covering to other crimes with to much poetry rhyme.
Her # 1 crime, entering a dark poet contest, to bad for this SWEET HEART who shines.         
Wanted in all nations Lynette Chachere a realistic poetic criminal against reality & dreams.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says"Our sweet Lynn, carries a weapons against all Enigma wonders."
A shameful crime to bring down a poets spirit with an intervene of her intense poetry.
F.B.I. Most wanted poetic lunatics, Billy the Kidster, with a Mental Poet Disorder.
A maniac on the rampage, a poet who lost it, with a crime slamming himself.
F.B.I. Most wanted viscous fugitive Christopher D. Aechtner, alias Vomiticus Grammaticus.
This former Canadian elusive bad boy, topping the hot list, a harmless poetic threat. 
Dakarai Cobbs, a 30 year old soups spot robbing thug. F.B.I.(Andy) Says "We offer 1 million
For the capture of this accused space invader aka the Sonnet man.
A poetic gang banger posting out of control, with a drive by of 130 hits in less than a month
Nathan Dilts, at large with the biggest search in poet history. 
A terrorizing poet implanting each poet with frightening thoughts and images so twisted.         
Making his followers absorb his evil poetic plots, while connecting center of dots.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says he is a mastermind with explosive & twisted thoughts.
Marshall (S.H.)Says "there is nothing we won't do to take his Poet License away.
  ((sorry no room for the Poet Destroyer))
Back to you P.D. "thank you John, there you have it soupers a few top criminal poets."
Reporting live on the soup P.D., all across the world enjoying our poetry security


Details | Narrative | |

He's more than just a friend, { He is the One} 1

The pressure and pain in each other's family of another friend that slips away and now
you find yourself in need of someone to talk too.  And in each family and every of the
thousand's that you thought was your friend is never the same.  "He's more than just a
friend".  When one need to be uplifted and the need of the same thousand seem some-
what drifted, the one that truly is in need gets lost in the shuffle.  And that shuffle is re-
onerated by one's pride and greed, that same someone shall never have the proper
necessitie's too satisfied that need.  The Lord Jesus Christ promises friendship mix with
courtship would always equal a divine relationship.  "He's more than just a friend", for I
once was lost but now I am found, the one's in need of an uplift will not find it, because
the idiosyncrasies we compound in our live's is due to the burden's that we allow to keep 
us down, we turn to someone who we thought was that friend, only to be disapointed time
and time again, the price of which is discarded by the poor.  "He's more than just a friend,
maybe that's him you hear knocking at your door".  If that be him....then let him in, a
friend indeed is he, clousure than any somebody that you will meet having church on any
street.  Muhummed nor Buhda can be your friend.  For they were not annoited on the
criteria of love nor do their belief's allow's being friendly to folk's that marches to the beat
of a different stroke.  Now if you are still in need of a friend and you're not ashame to
call upon his name.  (Call Him) He would come to you from all direction.  Just believe, on 
that day of ressurection, more than just a friend got up and got out, SHOUTING!!.."All power is mine". 
"So now all everyone".  "COME"
And meet a real true friend.  Believing on Joseph and Mary's - Son.  {He is the One}.


Details | Narrative | |

Straying Juvenile

My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up,  you brought me "pain"  fully
I myself struggled through  constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold 
Today I had to repair,  Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way




I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools

I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul

You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well

You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief

I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack

The offer that they offered me,  was one,  to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took"  or read it in the news

If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid




Details | Narrative | |

New Paths

A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
Getting piqued,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...

The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Walking confound,
Silence profounded,
Sight astounded,
Passed through burial grounds...

Seeking for another way around,
Noises resound,
Spirits surround,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...

Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...

Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Plans propounded,
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...

However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...


Details | Narrative | |

Thunder and Lighting

Love is prominent but lies are still troubling the arch in my back is still aching  thru my core/ To calm to peaceful Today not enough appreciation from you
You make me feel less important.
 How many more audition do I need to perform for you?
 Your Personality changes like the weather negative energy creates “Thunder and Lighting” 
   Your Ego is higher then the altitude in Denver 
You are the weather that changes everyday I never knew when its cold are warm 
Today I was prepared for a Sunny day / But  like the weather you change unpredictably have me puzzled just wondering Why?
 I was not prepared for your  precipitation/ you never allow me to grasp your feelings never appreciate my love  you was only  obsessed with yourself and not my heart.  When its cloudy or rainy outside my vision gets a little blur and  fuzzy when you are around.

Meteorologist Predicate Sunny and warm air with the chances of early morning cloudiness’


Details | Narrative | |

[IN]SANITY

I've counted the bars of my prison walls. 3 sides of 10 bars; 30. One solid wall,
cold, wet, molded concrete.
I've lost count of how long I have been here,
I hardly remember when I got here, but, it’s been winter
for a long time.
I've forgotten what it is to move in grass and amongst other bodies.
I am chained in here,
thick steel cuffs chain me to the wall.
I've counted the faces, whose names I can't remember,
and then lost count of them
as they flash and flicker, fast forwarded in my mind.
I've been motionless for a long time,
I’m not sure I even remember what movement is.
I’m not sure I can even remember to move.
I’ve forgotten who I am, my name, how old I am
how tall I am, my features, likes and dislikes;
there are no mirrors.
I’ve been nameless for a long time, and there is no one else
here in this vast blank expanse but me and these bars,
and one wall.
I’ve realized I don’t even know what I am
and that panics me, but I know not what this feeling is?
What Is feeling?
I’ve thrown myself at the bars, clawing at the nothing
that lies behind them.
What Is nothing?
I’ve discovered there is a name that echoes and echoes In the vastness,
how do I know that name?
Is it mine, yours, theirs, his, ours?
I’ve remembered, the memories crush into me,
a weight I had not known for unknown amounts of time.
No go away! Again, please...
I’ve tried to forget,
but the white walls are somewhere out there, waiting.
and I? Why, I do not even exist.
[IN]SANITY


Details | Narrative | |

Torn

I can’t change/You can’t change/We are Two separate/ people with Two separate  hearts when did this road shred apart/ 

I can’t force this love anymore/ I am lost in deep thought / Emotional pain hurts/ but  when you Add mental games/ and a teaspoon of lies/ It’s just ugly as a newborn cries for help

 This broken heart lingers woman/ I am tired/ Trying to piece this love hate relationship  together/ it’s so torn in  pieces I can’t pinpoint the location/ we are too far apart / Now  longitude and latitude can’t place us together/broken hearts/ Frustrating tears/ 

Now it’s  two separate lines/ two different directions/ do you see my reflection/ reflect off this glass mirror/ Now look at my torn face as sweats falls off my face/ Tears in my eyes a whale can swim/ It’s frustrating to find a answer/ At first I couldn’t sleep/ lonely night  became very dark / but now start to feel like Morning’s  are my best sunshine


Details | Narrative | |

I Forgive You

Dearest love,
We are here tonight on this very tentative and frightening occasion
to commiserate and forget, celebrate and remember, but most of all
to choose that path which will lead us to the rest of our lives.
It seems unfair that life provides us no map to guide us nor compass to lead us.
All we have is ourselves and the intuition derived from experiences
and hopefully the courage to take the next step.
We have been through paradise and hell together.
We have shared intimacy like none I’ve ever known
and indifference I wish I hadn’t, and we lost our way.
We are indeed veterans of a long struggle during which
our hands slipped apart and we were drifting alone in places
separate from each other’s hearts,
blame, resentment, and escape became the fog on our separate paths
and all along the way we wished we could reach out
and find that hand that had so warmly guided us before.
We met others on our path that were lost as well
and even though their hands were not quite as warm
it was at least some comfort not to be alone.
But somehow, someway an old tattered piece of paper
with the way to a lost love burned hot in our breast pockets
with the memory of that warmer hand and warmer love.
Now the fog has broken and we stand here at this crossroad
reading the lines and expressions of a face we’ve known before,
but instead of joy we’re afraid and our affected efforts to say hello
expose the pain of our separation…I have missed you so
for no other has given me the height of elated emotion
nor the comfort of an embrace that whispers “I need you”
and the physical communion of a love that once was not lost.
I share the responsibility of letting your hand slip from mine
as you do mine from yours…long ago we met at another crossroad
for the first time and we fell in love because we were attracted
to that special mix of emotions and compassion that made us feel cherished.
So we stand here again and I want to embrace you and tell you
how very much I’ve missed you, but I’m afraid and the only words
that are on my breath are “I forgive you”, I pray you feel the same…




Details | Narrative | |

Broken home

Remax can sale you a home but can't sale you happiness. I never visit the state of Georgia but things do get a little peaches. See this what happens when you eat finger food and take out orders. I never receive your Southern Hospitality/ I couldn’t even receive a  plate of food you cook/ you can finally see now when I walk away out your life forever I don’t even have a single word for you. Only thing you will receive from me is this middle finger. You was taught at young age to go to School and learn in Class. But surely class can’t teach you “CLASS”!!

 A moment silent   things were so quiet and  complicate in the beginning I thought we could have reconnect /But just like the chips to connect four they don’t always stay in the same order. You had play a handful of games and this when the “Battleship” games has to end. Now I hope you feel the water rise from your sinking ship and allow your tears to fumble into your lap.


Details | Narrative | |

My Fantasy, My Husband

My Fantasy, My Husband July 25, 2011
As a child I had a dream, was’ such a fantasy only a princess in a fairytale surely 
dreamt such things! In my heart he dwelled; this prince my dream, my fantasy I 
knew so well. My mind filled with thoughts of him day and night for our souls 
touched in the night as I lay dreaming.
Life happens and everything in it for a reason. Having lost so much my baby in 
heaven, my boys gone with their father, my heart’s broken! I lost all that I ever held 
close now memories for this princess who once had a dream.
He exits the elevator and comes my way. I hope he stops to talk even if my boss 
said to stay away from him. Once more, I have begun to dream and my fantasies 
have come back to life. He dwelled in my heart as a child when I lay dreaming. This 
is my prince, my fantasy the one whose soul touched mine. My prince and I shall be 
his princess!
People say we are too different; he would not ever marry you. Life and 
circumstances are all against us. He is a wealthy, smart doctor. You are poor and 
have no degree. What could he see in you or could you have in common? 
Soul mates now together as one in my dream, my fantasy my fairytale alive and 
true. My husband, My Prince surrounds me with love not caring what others might 
say or think. Together as one, I continue to dream and share all life’s fantasies one 
by one.
				                    Debbie Knapp /Princess


Details | Narrative | |

A Killer Addiction

The hooks went deeper,
A phantasmal itch.
Guiding him steeper,
More soul scars needing stitched.

Needle a quiver,
Injecting a mark.
Gambit so clever,
The results were stark.

Collapsing in a pile,
Upon a dirt floor.
Nightshades bile,
Straight to the core.

A beautiful view,
With violent convulsions.
Tearing his sinew,
All to feed his compulsion.

In this small dirty shack,
His mind a euphoric mess.
Retribution at his back,
Twisted emotions, taken roost in his chest.

He cupped his face with,
Scarred hands of leather.
Salt tears drip,
With revulsion and pleasure.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never..."


For the: What Do You Make of This? Contest.
-The first image of the eye with a skull inside the pupil.
(03/11/13)
-Comments/Criticism appreciated


Details | Narrative | |

Fragment

There was scent of a fire in the call of the wind from a few blocks away, I could smell it today... someone burning a pile, in this first day of fall Leaves and debris, with smoke on the bend It darkened the sky of the September light with fragments of char, as dark as the night It drifted our way, and into the breeze, and it lifted the ash that caught in the fray, bits fluttering down then, onto our lawn, with fringes of gray A scrap from the classifieds, of newspaper ads A fragment, not burned, with a portion so sad just a singe on the edge, on the fringe of my day A scrap now was pending........and I dreaded the end I read someone's query, and my worries were tossed to the smoke-singed sureness, of a pet that had been lost ~ For those moments we had owned her, she was lost and alone Hungry and howling, on that cold autumn day It was a star-crossed encounter, a dachshund we had found We would feed her, and bed her, had asked all around and a with a few passing days.....she had found a new home. Here in our hearts, becoming our own A name we had chosen, she came when we called but today ...now I know, she is not ours, at all... The wind off the river, pushing paper and leaves fragments of yesterday fluttering our way......... Spinning on down, every twist, every turn changing the moment......without being heard Small bitter pieces are coming our way changing small fragments, and the heart of today.
______________________________________________


Details | Narrative | |

Red

Little Red was riding all alone

but she lost her way back home

Sweet Mommy, ready with her jam and pancakes

waited for her dear Little Red all day

but where did she go?

where did she go?

that night was starless

and the wind was blowing so cold


Sweet mommy got so worried

so she called up Little Red on the phone

and asked the little brat where did she go

"mommy dont worry, please be calm", she answered

"i'm here at the city to hang out.

got a new baby, and by the way, grandma's ok, the wolf is dead

I'll be fine. i promise... I'll be home at ten"

So Sweet mommy stayed awake

waiting for her dear Little Red

But no Little Red came at ten

"that stubborn brat...", sweet mommy said

Again she called up Little Red

but the daughter's phone was unattended

It was already past eleven

"tomorrow, she'll have a good beating..." the mother said


It was past twelve already

when Sweet Mommy's phone rang

It was Little Red with a trembling voice

crying to her out loud

"Mommy, mommy...i'm so scared...please pray!

My baby's drunk and our car lost its brake

Mommy, i'm so sorry for what i've done and said

Mommy, mommy...I Love you...Oh shit!!!"..then the phone was dead



That night was starless

The wind was so cold

Where's Little Red now?



Nobody knows.


Details | Narrative | |

Silly Blind Ant

Tim Ryerson is:
like a blind ant
without his antennae
who rams against a wall
too slippery to climb over
so he runs along the wall
first to the left
then to the right
searching for an opening
he never gives up
running along that wall
searching for that opening
somewhere…

Tim Ryerson you are:
such a silly blind ant
without his antennae
who rams against a wall
too slippery to climb over
you’re in the right place
at the wrong time

He knows what to do Tim:
go backwards now
retrace your steps
to where you began
to that wall He calls home
you will find His opening
somewhere…

and He knows Tim:
He knows you are a silly ant
He knows you are a real ant
He knows you are a true ant...

Tim Ryerson


Details | Narrative | |

From Great Pain Comes Great Inspiration

A total Jedi mind f*ck from Hell is what this is. I feel like a nuclear bomb has exploded in 
my mind of Hiroshima proportions and I am on the brink of a Chernobyl meltdown. 
Bewildered may be the best description of what I am feeling right now. I cannot process 
anything; I feel like I am in total and utter f*cking shock. I apologize for the expletives; 
I normally never curse when I write because I find it uncouth, but I have to get these 
feelings out; I know if I don't, I will want to cut, which is the last thing in the world I want to 
do. God knows I have enough scars; I don't need or want anymore.

From great pain comes great inspiration, I believe. Even though my mind is positively 
reeling at this very moment as I type, I feel exponentially inspired. I am completely 
overwhelmed emotionally, and I have just now stopped sobbing and weeping enough to 
write; to get these horrid feelings out of me.

Even the smallest of troubles or strife turn into absolute tragedy and catastrophe in my 
mind; I cannot help or control it, and God knows I wish I could. I "catastrophize" everything.

My best friend of 15 years just called me and told me she was moving to Alabama. I 
shouldn't even say "best friend" for she is more like a sister to me. Always, always she 
has been close by and been there for me as I have been for her, and now she is moving 
what seems like galaxies away from me, and the pain I am feeling is so tremendous and 
shocking; so unnerving and vexing and tormenting and afflicting...I could go on forever 
with melancholy and exasperating adjectives and descriptions. In my mind, she is dead 
and I am hosting the funeral in my brain. That's totally insane; I understand that, but at 
this moment I am NOT rational. For a moment after I stopped crying my eyes out, I 
almost felt catatonic. In my partner's arms, I just wept as he held me; I was shaking 
and shuddering furiously. I feel lost. I haven't felt this powerless or helpless since my 
grandparents died. She is moving away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am 
a horrible and selfish human being for I want her to stay, so desperate do I feel. 
Wendy, my sister, my best friend, my partner in crime; my cohort, consort, comrade, 
co-conspirator: you who know me best, inside and out, like a book...you are leaving me,
and my sorrow is swallowing me whole- devouring me like an angry, rabid beast. Don't 
go; don't leave me. With every fiber of my being I wish you to stay, but you've made up 
your mind and told me your decision at the worst possible time, when I am already too 
stressed to deal with or process this kind of pain and anguish in a healthy way. I'm ready 
to hit the bottles: whisky and Lortab. They will ease the pain and will quell the compulsion 
to cut.

This is the most personal blog I have written. I didn't know what else to do but turn this 
despair into words to help ease the heartache and suffering. If anyone cares, I need 
support right now. I need prayers and well wishes and good vibes; I am about to crumble 
to pieces. I feel like the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I don't 
know what to do. This is the worst feeling in the world. Uncertainty is truly the worst of all 
ailments.

~Chan 


Details | Narrative | |

Blind Light

I open my eyes to a beacon of light calling my name. I reach out my hand only to awake from my dream. I'm on the ground with people surrounding me, I reach out my hand and they turn their backs. The sun in my eyes create a silhouette behind someone as they reach down towards me. I take hold as they lift me up, and I'll never let go.


Details | Narrative | |

This is a girl

This is a girl. She cried. She died everyday. Over and over again. 
 "Why is she still walking around if you say she is dead?"
That's not her. That's her body but her soul is missing. Along with her mind. That's why she is stupid. She is a zombie enslaving the human race. Her heart has also gone away. Because of her missing heart she can't get hurt anymore....that's a lie. With no soul she can't feel sympathy. That means she can't feel anyone's lies. 
 "Is she scared of anything?"
Yes! She is scared of rejection. She is full of fear. She cries fear, screams fear,she even bleeds fear.


Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Who is this Princes

The night air made her feel tired
As she looked out side all the fences were wired
In the distance she hears crowds yelling
As she was to young to know they were rebelling
Father she asked where are we going?
Mother said to keep quiet and keep walking

Mother yelled in the night air
Father gave out a blank stare
They yelled run my princess run as far as you can
As that moment past her little feet pushed off and she ran
She ran to the nearest bushes and crawled into it to hide
She never smelled the air before as if someone just had died

As she lay on the ground under a bush she heard 
A loud yell in the distance almost to absurd
My name is Angelica, I am just a young girl who does not know 
Angelica just wants to live her life with help to grow
Angelica did not know what just happened she notice a figure in the distance
A little person just like her, a strong but gentle presence

Angelica saw the people who were shouting run off toward the voice
She was scared and she knew that she had to make a choice
Angelica fragile state was so confused and lost
She knew it will take burden on her at a cost
But in that moment of quietness a young but strong voice called out
Can you trust me just because? will you come with me with no doubt

My Story Telling  Together In A Strange World


Details | Narrative | |

RESTING

A day of weary mind and body, 
She found herself in a comfy bed, 
So soft and relaxing, she lay back. 
Then both eyes started to rest, while 
hands were together on top of her stomach. 
So comfortable feeling, she started to snore. 
Sign of tired and stressful days she absorbed. 
She began to sleep so deep and dream suddenly occur. 
Her soul started walking a long narrow pathway. 
Taking slow motion and feet couldn't move so fast. 
There's a tiny light shining in a passage. 
She can barely move and reach the end of the road. 
She saw an old woman waiting for her at the end. 
The very familiar face she longed to touch and kiss again. 
"She's my mom!" she shouted aloud. 
"Mom, wait for me! I wanna be where you are." 
But the image suddenly disappeared. 
So she tried to run as fast as she can. 
When she reached the end, she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. 
A voice of a young lady saying,"Ma'am, wake up!" 
"Are you gonna take this bed?" 
"Is it for cash or thru credit card?" 
She stood up hurriedly and blushed. 
"No. Thank you! Your bed is soft and comfy, but I should go back." 
And her rest was over, now full recharged. 
 
 



Details | Narrative | |

The Stump Mystery

Early this morning, at around about four forty five, five o’clock;
I heard somebody knocking on my front door.
I reluctantly forced myself to get up, fussing and cussing
all the time and went to see who the darn fool was.
There stood one of my neighbors, Lonnie Ray Crawford.
So I said: “Lonnie Ray, what the hell are you knocking
on the hot dang door for at this time of the morning?”
He said to me: “Hey there Butterbean,”
(most all of my friends and neighbors call me Butterbean)
 “there’s a big ass tree stump in your front yard.”
I stepped outside and looked and sure enough,
there it was, bigger than Dallas. So I asked old Lonnie Ray:
“Where in the dadgum doggone hell did the tree go?”
Neither one of us could figure that one out, so we drank some beer.
There hadn’t been a tornado or nothing like that last night,
that either one of us had read or heard about,
so we mulled the situation over and drank some more beer.
About seven thirty Lonnie Ray said he had to leave to go to work,
so he got up awkwardly and staggered out the front door.
The point being, if anyone finds a big old hickory nut tree in their yard
that doesn’t belong to them, it’s more than likely mine.
I surely would like for you to return it, if you please.


Details | Narrative | |

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET                                 11/24/2012


He was lost in white surprise
Of drugs and doctors quips
His mind was filled with flapping sails
Of white that guide the ships
To dance among the white capped rocks
In North white nights of June
Bring in the catch to catch the maid
Who’d be his wife so soon.

Wild hair so white it shamed the sheet
That soft caressed the grass
The grass-plagued daisies held her there
As clouds triumphant passed
In columns white the bossy clouds
Marched brisk across the sky
But none of them could match the spark
Of whiteness in her eye.

Fishing was the fruit of life
their land bore little green
the joy and danger that it brought
left little in between
and men who braved those waters
better be prepared to die
for reaping nets and filling holds
bows to a fickle sky

And then his shocked brain shifted
Jigged timed across his life
How many white nights had escaped?
The maid now was his wife!
Saw breasts so white that milk they gave
Seemed paltry in contrast--
To feed the babe that snuggled there--
The fruit of love surpassed.

Then shipwreck banged into his head
The white-flashed lightning zing--
He tested feet and moved his legs
Seemed he’d  survived this fling
Of nature’s whims again he’d live
To tell the lusty tale
      of how north winds had jumped from waves
      to grab their ship's main sail.
Before the White-Christ
Had emerged from his Semitic genes
The sailors would have cried for Thor 
To ease his hammerings.

Sailors lost were prices paid
To live in Arctic shores.
And, lost at sea was ever feared
By them, and wives adored.

He’d play a trick, they’d think him dead--
Would make a crafty tale!
By his hearth and in his bed
would sound a mourning wail.
His house would be a feast of black
Mad weeping would impress--
Then his imagination called her tears
He vowed each tear to bless

He smirked to think of their surprise
When he stalked through the door--

       An unsuccessful leap from bed—
                       He’d rest a little more.

And being man-- he pondered sex
And pleasures it would bring
There was no sizzling passion like                            
His lover’s offering.

a putrid glass forced through his teeth-
Morphia drew him in
To dream the dreams of healing arms
       prickles kissed his skin
       He found her face beyond his pain, smile that could disarm--
       In dreams , with wife, in languid bliss
       he caught a fish of charm



Details | Narrative | |

A Kind and Gentle Man

I had a dream that I walked behind
a man in white cloth - so gentle, so kind;
he told me his name with his fatherly voice
and asked me to follow, though it was my choice

He talked in stories which made me think,
while he told large crowds to take of his drink;
he walked among beggars, cripples, and thieves,
and he only asked us that we all just believe

I watched his miracles bring back the dead,
and I wept as they shoved thorns upon his head;
I watched him be beaten, spit on and cursed,
and on the day he died - the clouds rained with a burst

I cried because I had lost my very dear friend,
although, he told me that it was not the end;
I didn't understand this man, this begotten son
was the way to eternal life - for me and everyone

I walked alone without him there,
and felt so lonely because my soul did care;
this gentle man they did kill for me,
so I could live on and really be free

When I awoke from my dream I had a plan,
to live my life - to be a better man;
for what I learned from this only one
is that He is truly God's only son

I know my friend will always be,
even at times when I can't always see;
for a life is lost - without the One,
a kind and gentle man we call the Son.



For "What Easter Means to Me" contest sponsored by Gwendolen Rix.


Details | Narrative | |

What Would You Take Contest Entry

If deserted, was I, on an island, and was allowed only three integral items to take with me, what would they be?

If we are speaking of material things, I suppose I would take my favorite book in the whole world, "Ask Dr. Mueller" by Cookie Mueller. It is a book I cherish, and can read perpetually because it's just that good.

If, by some strange coincidence, there happened to electricity on the island, and an old, abandoned, yet functional CD player just so happened to be found, then I would want my favorite album in the world with me: "Live Through This" by Hole. I worship Courtney Love and her music. She is a grunge Goddess to me. I love every song on that album.

If pen and paper could magically count as just one item, then I would take mountains of paper and a plethora of pens so I could record everything and continue writing poetry while hoping to be rescued.

My acoustic Gibson Epiphone means the world to me; I cannot imagine not having it with me. I know how to play all the songs off "Live Through This", so perhaps I would choose my guitar instead; that way I can still enjoy those songs as I still compose more of my own; that makes sense, right?

If, by Divine Intervention, there was an abandoned, yet functional TV and DVD player, I would have to consider taking all seven seasons of "The Golden Girls"; I don't think I could survive without the Golden Girls; it's my favorite show ever. And also all of the "Star Wars" movies; those I cherish, too.

And also, since I am an addict/alcoholic, I would want to take tons of pills, whisky and Cola with me; I'm sure I could not survive without those.

I understand that perhaps people or pets may not be considered as "items", but if I could choose among them, well, I would have to take my loving partner, my best friend of twenty years and my two dogs, Sammy and Bilbo, and my three kitties: Marley, Archie and Punky (of course I count them all as one because I like to break the rules).

Since there are so many things I do not think I can live without, it's an impossible decision. But these are my considerations, nonetheless.

*What Would You Take Contest Entry
10-11-13


Details | Narrative | |

The Ong Civilization

If unable to read, see translation at end of poem!


THE ONG CIVILIZATION

Wonghongilonge songailinonggong tonghonge Pongacongifongicong, I dongisongcongovonge rongedong a songunongkongenong rongeefong.

Itong wongasong tonghonge longononggong longosongtong Isonglonge ofong Ononggong.

Mongy dongisongcongovongerongy longedong monge tongo fonginongdong tonghongatong
tonghongisong tonginongyong isonglonge hongadong bongeenong tonghonge hongomonge ofong tonghonge Ononggong congivongilongizongatongionong.

Tonghongrongee mongilongesong anongdong tongwongomongilongesong wongidonge,  itongsonganongkong bongecongausonge tonghonge Ononggongesonge wongeronge songo hongeavongyong tonghongeirong wongeigonghongtong wongasong songogongrongeatong tonghongatong itong wongasong longosongtong fongorong congenongtongurongiesong 
unongtongilong mongy dongisongcongovongerongyong anongdong itongsong longanongonguagonge wongasong tongronganongronglongatongedong.

Translation:  While sailing the Pacific, I discovered a sunken reef.  It was the home of the long lost Isle of Ong.  My discovery led me to find that this tiny isle had been the home of the Ong covilization.  Three miles long and two miles wide, it sank because the Ongonese were so heavy and their weight was so great that it was lost for centuries until my discovery and its language was translated.


Curtis Moorman
28 January 2012

For contest:  New Language


Details | Narrative | |

had to shorten it for contest.

Sidney Lee Ann reporting live on the soup, with Worlds most wanted criminal poets.
Standing here with the  POETS. MOST. WANTED. Tipsters Host John (What ?) 
With an exclusive update on criminal poets, captured and on the run.
Switching over to you John,. 
"Thank you Sid, lets give thanks to all the P.M.W. tipsters."alerting the poet authority.
Here we have our lovely F.B.I. agent Andrea Dietrich (Andy) & U.S. Marshal Shirley Harrison
(S.H.)

P.M.W. Tipsters helped the capture of one infamous fugitive Nikko Palmario, a  poetess going 
contest crazy. 
F.B.I. Agent (Andy) ended the manhunt tracking her down in the Philippines.
(Andy), says" this convicted poet addict and comment crusader, gave us a fun run"

Christopher Brantley, still at large U.S. Marshall (S.H.) says, "This brilliant fugitive leaves no 
trace."
A dangerous poet posting comments longer than his poetry. Leaving a distinction of 
excellence 
in any short form.  P.M.W.tipsters Demand him to be brought down to poetic justice.

P.M.W. Tip, led Marshall (S.H.) to the most notorious blond bombshell on the soup.
Captured on her vacation Linda Marie Bariana, lost control of her blond moment.
Paralyzing her laptop with sand. Covering to other crimes with to much poetry rhyme.
Her # 1 crime, entering a dark poet contest, to bad for this SWEET HEART who has to much 
shine.         

Wanted in all nations Lynette Chachere a realistic poetic criminal against reality & dreams.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says"Our sweet Lynn, carries a weapons against all Enigma wonders."
A shameful crime to bring down a poets spirit with an intervene of her intense poetry.

F.B.I. Most wanted poetic lunatics, Billy the Kidster, with a Mental Poet Disorder.
A maniac on the rampage, a poet who lost it, with a crime slamming him self.

                                 had to break it down for contest....