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Narrative Places Poems | Narrative Poems About Places

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

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Details | Narrative | |

Neverland

On the southern side of the old cemetery, corner of Gilmore and 1st, there was a field claimed by children. It was riddled by gopher holes, and nettled with blackberry bushes where bare feet constructed cupped paths, trampled deep in tall amber grass. It wasn't far beyond a patched wire fence that hemmed my Grandmother's russet old house. Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed and seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes would race with the tumbleweeds, once tossed into rows like last winter's snowmen, the sun decomposed Traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose from Grandma's old arbor, which loomed in the distance A rusty old weathervane, cruised 'round, and 'round The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy dog snoozed But, deep in the field, was a land of our own A place we called 'Neverland', our loft in the wind In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed, And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands from my brother's wild brainstorms, while his black plastic hook, assigned him the Captain, and me of his crew of a ramshackle ship, like the old storybook While I dangled in air, from the tired old swing "Tinker" my name...in this all-boy domain.... I would push off, he'd pull me right up to the sky and into the branches, brittle leaves in my eyes...... I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky I could grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........ for he was much older, much wiser than me and I would play like a tomboy,.....shoving doll-drums away, on those hot summer days......with red hot splintered rays in the dry summer sun, that would spotlight our play. We would play until twilight, and watch the day fade Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity Tootsie Pops clinging to the tip of our tongues while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
____________________________________________________________ Inspired by Charlotte's Contest "Places" 8/22/14


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Pride of the Motherland

Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak

Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands 
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept

Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity

Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~

Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~


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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?





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Mississippi Moments

History journeys along with its meandering flow as
a wide birth from bank to bank has eyes straining
trying to see across to the other side, far too wide.
Muddy rivulets stirred up by the river boats drift by
and my dreams become intertwined with what
I have read and the sleepy house boats floating near 
the banks that the river dwellers call home.

A huge stainless steel arch with its catenary curve 
looms gracefully nearby as a gateway of welcome,
built as a monument to Thomas Jefferson and the
pioneers who braved making their way to St. Louis, 
why it is fondly called “the Gateway to the West.”
I felt as if the Arch was paying homage to the mighty
Mississippi with its tall shadow falling on her erratic waters.

Children were waving from the banks at contented tourists 
waving back as they drifted slowly by and time stood still 
with the music of the river taverns mingling with the 
contrasting sounds of riverboat whistles, and I drifted along 
with them sensing serene pleasure into another time and place.


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King and Queen for a Day

We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in 
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to 
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds 
away, over the hill.

Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on 
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we 
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our  way to the 
rocky mantle below .

There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling 
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’, 
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.  

We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun, 
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and  listen to the sound of the 
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift 
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on 
the ‘Fundy Bay’.



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The Wedding

Wedding Night in Raqqa

 

 

Cyclonic violet vision

 

Etheral and immortal

 

She swirls her sand baked torso.

 

Evoking the initial collision of primordial seed,

 

Swathed in gossamer purple veils,

 

Writhing to the stomping and clapping

 

Of jeweled ankles

 

And henna stained hands.

 

The tribes have united for my wedding to their son.

 

I ,foreign and naive, swoon to the power

 

Of ancient rhythm and verse,

 

Ripe, fertile gestures,

 

Pregnant with  throbbing pulses

 

And scattered beats of flailing arms,

 

Bleating tongues, spinning robes.

 

A cacophony of incessant chant rose from the dancing women,

 

Growning louder, feverish in their pleasure

 

And the nearness of release.

 

I join in the dancing.

 

They swath me in voiles and lead me to the center

 

I dance, and I succumb to my wedding night in Raqqa.



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VISITING OUR LAND DOWNUNDER

written 28th June 2013


The place downunder, I'm happy to call my home
 if you plan on a visit, here's somethings you do "need" to know

Kakadu is a place 'you' need to take the time to see
 such magic you will never won't to leave

But...if your arms "outside" the boat...
It...WILL end up down, a crocodiles throat

 Ayres rock...is a must place to have on your list, simply this you can not miss
As the sun descends watch it's colours change, you'll be mesmerised by 'pure' bliss

Coober Pedy...for those slightly intrigued with the underground
 for it is here, a quiet town where all there house's are found

Ballarat...you can still find gold
Well... so I've been told

I recommend...."you" don't swim in the oceans at the top end..
 surrounded by oceans.... the rest, feel free to  jump in

"BUT" if you happen to see a 'fin' I highly 'recommend' you swim

With nights call..'when' offered pull up a chair, grab a beer and relax
 there's just....'one small' catch 

Don't ever be the 'first' to fall "asleep"
 Aussie's find 'extensive' pleasure in an innocent prank when asleep

Enjoy your stay....and from the Land downunder we 'all' say "G'day"
 and look forward to seeing you again, we know you had a great stay


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THE WILD HORSES OF ASSATEAGUE ISLAND

Upon Assateague Island freedom runs,
And its hooves stir the Atlantic ocean.
Wild horses gallop on long, sandy shores,
Defying the controlling ways of man,
His shameful need to dominate and tame,
His short reins, sharp spur and saddle too tight.

They munch on saltmeadow hay and beach grass,
Heads lifting and lowering as they eat,
Grazing on abundance, gazing at sea.
Often they stretch their necks and paw at time,
But they do not regret their history.

A shipwreck left them stranded and alone,
Fighting to survive far from what they’d known,
Those sheltering prisons, those filled feed troughs.
Centuries pass, nature changed their stature,
And they became shorter, tougher, wiser.

The herd is separated by a fence,
Dividing Maryland and Virginia,
Isolating descendants that canter.
Bands of ten sing songs on their home ranges,
Heard in the nickers of mothering mares,
Echoed by the proud stallion’s whinny,
Repeated in the bleats of wilful foals.

Summer’s mosquitoes send them from the marsh,
And they frolic in the cool, soothing surf.
Then fall pledges the bliss of bite-less days,
Breezy nights, a reprieve that restores strength.
When winter nears they amass to thickets,
Chew on shrubs and gather against the cold.
Spring is filled with freshness and greenery,
Permitting them to return to the marsh,
Inviting the bands to chew on new life.

Beauty remains there for all to witness,
Though we must stay our distance and be kind.
What is wild should be appreciated,
And we, the corralled, have obligations.
Leave them to rear at limits, let them be,
And let them remind us of poetry.


 


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Summer Scent

Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach

The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise

The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas 
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves

The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing 
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue

I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods

I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands

God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green

The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back

Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!


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Tallahassee Driving

upon hard grey streets of asphalt I drive
through morn’s muted orange glow 
white headlights shine, red brake lights blink in time
with changing signals red, yellow, green
disoriented city visitors a hindrance to the flow
why at seven a.m.

now stopped two cars back waiting for green
a woman in a minivan ahead primps methodically 
striving in effect to give herself a perm.
the man beside is engrossed in the news
early edition of  today’s tabloid spread over the wheel
will he know when it’s time to go

behind, a husband and wife, I assume
each talk animatedly on their phones
while obnoxious unrestrained children carouse 
a movie playing on the DVD
an ancient pickup stopped in the suicide lane
right turn flashing “let me in!”

green, the light changes, yet still we wait
one, two, three and horns start to blare
shaken are they from hypnotic states
virtual hair salons, libraries, and phone booths abandoned
traffic moves once again in earnest
until the very next crowded intersection.


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Family Camp

It was a special time of life
With my children and my wife
In a tent among the trees
At a place called Camp Louise

Sitting around a campfire Friday night
And the big old moon was shining bright
Putting marshmallows on stick ends
Just sitting, talking with some friends

Telling stoories about an old black bear
Trying to give the kids a scare
The stars were shining high above
A time filled with laughter and with love.

With our energy all spent
We crawled into our tent
The bags were musty and the tent was damp
But we loved it there at family camp

In the morning right after daybreak
You could find us boating on the lake
As we moored the boat along the pier
Right behind the shed, we saw a deer

Two more days of playing in the sun
Fishing, hiking, having fun
Plenty of food and a campfire at night
For a few days a year, the world was right.

Those days are gone and our children grown
We wonder where the time has flown
But no matter how far apart we'll be
We will always have that memory.


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Wellington

I found myself shedding a tear at a train seat upon seeing the sights leaving the Wellington city train port to Woburn.
I don't mind being called a sentimental freak, if I could just have any describe more than I can the beauty that leaves 
one more than enamored, bewildered and perplexed. How is it possible for nature to marry humanity and vice versa? 
How does it happen when the city buildings lay backdrop to the turquoise waters of the pacific ocean and vice versa? 
How does its waves recognize no rules to follow on where it comes and goes or the wind for that matter? How does the 
birds play so freely as if happily almost touching the great body of water, back to air, then back again to the base 
surface of the waters? How does the water vessels cruise peacefully with some other ships finding their places like 
home amidst the many other small boats around? How does the sun give off its summer heat amidst the windy air? 
How did I end up being in that rugged train witnessing all the massive spectacle of beauty in a country a million miles 
away from my homeland? Tell me why I should help myself to a silent tear.


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Autumn Evening

Tonight I found friends
Not in human form but;
In the land, sky and nature.
I strolled along a country road,
Taking in what the 
Good Lord bestowed.
The sunshine, green grass,
Birds of the air.
One could almost hear
Our Father's voice in the
Gentle breezes.
A deer ambled 
Out on the road,
Not noticing I was there.
Thoughts of Him that put
Us both there.
The locust sang their
Songs in the trees.
The glorious afterglow
Of the evening, as the
Sun bids a farewell 
Good Night.
Oh, thank you Lord 
For friends like these.


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The People's Voice

The people's choice, not the people's voice,
this is what I hear in a country so lost.
Who do we elect to stand for what's right,
how do we know they will, when they are out
of sight.
Ron said it best with his poem, "ReUnited,"
and he can count on me, to always, be right
beside him.
He touched on life, the war, and death,
and he tells America, don't be led.
God made us equal, at least in His eyes,
we never have to stand for deceit, and lies.
We can lie down, and take what we get,
or we can join hands, and stop this regret.
Silence means acceptance, and no one cares,
but how can we let them betray us, do we dare?
I'm with Ron, stand up for what is right,
polygraph them all, on T.V.  tonight.


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Reflections of Coventry (2005)

“Send them to Coventry”! I often hear them say
Please send them, send them right away!
We tend to tar people and a place with the same brush
Stop, look and listen your pre-conception is under crush

Difference can tear some places apart
In such a small Coventry, diversity pulsates to the same big heart
On the outside you may say it sounds grim
But if you open your eyes it brightens an opinion that was once dim

I often climb the cathedral spire
It’s a journey that takes me higher
Why? I can see the whole of Coventry
In each corner I see a reflection of you and me


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Pacific Bay

Fog rolling in,
Making the sea go a gray,
Kid’s body surfing all day,
In a cold pacific bay,
The children are laughing,
To the sway,
Of the ice cold waves roaring away.

I hear my mom calling to me faraway,
To come back to shore,
And stay.

For I was tiring in this pacific bay, 
Because of the numbing cold,
That could not let me stay, 
In the icy water of this pacific bay.


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THE RICHEST HERITAGE OF HUMANKIND

Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same, 
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.


The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,  
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.


Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.


Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.



Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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The Singer (Narrative Dialogue)

The singer looks at the now empty stage
His voice guarded deep in his warm throat
Shielded by a high neck shirt he wore
Singing with passion from down within
Rehearsing day and night until it’s right
Blended rhythms and notes run the scales
Clinging in smoky night clubs like a shadow
Getting your pay with crumbled dollar bills
Go from gig to gig if it makes you whole
Your songs will make them dance and spin
Like a magic spell being cast far and wide
Allow your words to heal wounds and scars
And when you have earned your keep
Collect the spoils from your conquest sweet
Gobbled champagne and fancy caviars
And your heart beats crashed musical chart
Find the singer who was once loved
The brilliant heart that once lived in joy
Consider yourself a singer without a heart
Who has traded his soul from the start
As it ends the conquest will lose its spark
Come to your senses and stop this slide
You may be witted and sharp as a tack
Don’t get eluded and slip—stay on track


Comments:  This is a narrative dialogue poem.  It sets the stage one may 
probably find in a conflicting situation. It develops into a complication, reaches a 
crisis then falls into a resolution.  It displays connections, alienation, 
disconnections, and a turning point where a change takes place between a 
protagonist and antagonist. The ending brings about a resolution after a 
dramatic point has been reached.  Give it a try one day, and I will give it a review 
for you.  It must be very interesting and relates to real life.







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A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE hubris or BIRD BRAIN

                     A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE ( hubris)
                       

In the Arctic nights the jazz born North Lights sound
with a music of their own. Fair winds ferry fragile birds--
take to the skies in search of sympathetic warmth profound

while white breathless silence magnifies each sound as it is heard
and few venture forth, like bears they dash to find a haven
where they can hide until reluctantly the sun has stirred--

But, there is one jay bird who is not one of nature’s craven
creatures-- Waiting for a spring call from his mate, he hops into the hungry snow
to dance a dangerous dance in icy morning with the ravens.

There is a God flung magic that dashes high above the haughty human know
among the ancient secret kingdoms of the mystery sky--
And there it is that Wisdom’s Word is spread by wing and wayward winds that blow

their way in worldwide splendor and intricate magnificence that defies
the mind of man.  It is a truth that dalliance in vanity is inborn---
Man or bird, into the nature of some spirits-- it low lies

and becomes incited when grand fame or imagined glory has been shorn
by another .  And , so-- in Persia when the Prince of Peacocks heard
murmurs of the razzing ravens and the sassy sparrows high sky airborne

a proclamation that the World knew now there lived a peerless bird--
plucky-proud, surpassing the peacock -- Jay magnificent with a spirit daunting, a weight
of valiant blue in shades escaped of double rainbows, color-blurred

who bedazzled all nature’s eyes and winds of ear, that judiciously beheld each trait.
The peacock, no longer Highest Prince of Birds, screamed a terrible and cosmic sound
of jealousy.   Ignoring all the glory that still made him great--
the vain and foolish peacock fell-- stunned and breathless to the ground.




Victoria Anderson-Throop  2012 ©
Written in Juja, Kenya
Bird is Stellar Jay, common in Valdez, Alaska


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The Depths Of Hades

I have seen the depths of Hades!
And it is not a place of tranquility; 
Neither is it a place of rest, 
but a place of unending cursing, 
and the gnashing of teeth is everlasting.

The multitude was too great to count -
Souls served as fuel for the unquenchable fire.
Hot coals were the bed for this place,
and flames covered Hades as a blanket.

Before encountering this beast,
a very long fall takes place -
Into a vast and immeasurable darkness.
There is no point of return!

Guilt, pain, sorrow, 
and hate obscures the minds of the afflicted.
Their eyes are blinded by their unclean conscious,
and regret is all that is left.

My heart was shatter into pieces -
To see hell boundaries expanding so rapidly!
It’s mouth is wide open,
and in the top fangs - 
Were Inscribed two words: “ETERNAL - PUNISHMENT”

The scorching fire,
the burns, the sores, and wounds,
and the desire to die is a punishment too great to bare.
But the greatest punishment of all -
IS SEPARATION, FROM GOD, FOR ETERNITY.


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The Median Death of the Red Delicious

“God bless us all when the door is shut behind us, 
only then will we breathe our first breath,
and awake 
from the long dream…”


Forging past the indisputable summit onto the 
shelf of the perfect medium (ah, ‘tis noble here!)
he sits, contemplating his balance. He does not sweat. 

The winds breath breaks upon his predestined neck, 
bestowing the gift of lily white scent upon a lapel that’s 
stiff, yet pliable – just stiff enough. A 72 degree sun 

shines its neutrality, (fueling his desire for nothing at all, 
just the concept of sun giving heat, like a heartbeat, 
unnoticed in its certainty) upon his stagnant face. 
He is wearing his favorite pants (soft, worn jeans with 

a little give, but not enough so that he forgets to hold 
in his stomach), and from the ample pocket, he takes 
an apple. It is a Red Delicious. Not quite living up to its 
name, but unassuming and secure in its redness – he eats. 

It’s not the best apple he’s ever had, but its good enough. 
The vultures, native to this coveted desert waste circle, 
vying for the core of his Non-Delicious, yet edible fruit. 
And as he Bites into the last white taste of just fine, a glint 

of sunlight flashes briefly – like infinity within dreams, 
off of the vultures black eyes. And all at once he knows – 
everything is. The death birds orbit the terracotta desert 
peek (red and inviting in its dry and unforgiving reality), 

the bird turns away so fast after catching his eye, 
he forgets that he’d ever seen its pulsing recognition. 
The forgettable sunset mollifies him - sedates him,
pacifying his every forgettable non-movement.

It is then, when the last dripping light of day descends 
behind the obvious rock mount; the definite edge 
of darkness falls. Shadows creep slowly and quickly
across the terrestrial rock spine, (engulfing its redness

in its totality) leaving just the remnants of burgundy
skin between yellowing teeth, and a deafening black desert. 
As the sound of raucous wings and ripping jeans dominates
the guttural desert - the vultures take their coveted prize.


*Reposted for Deborah's Something Wicked This Way Comes, Wickedness Contest. :)


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Soul of a Son, Life of an Addict '

There in a small town in Mississippi, a very poor family of (7) seven are yes struggeling but are yes abound. Jimmy the youngest of them at now 17 tell his father that he wants to be a Preacher The desire to teach is a privilledge that he inherited from his Uncle, and nowat that prunitive age he goes to his uncle (home) town. The soul of a son is one thing, but the life of a addict is another. My Brother, my brother he sit's down one day and listen in on one of his uncle's lectures as this friend of Jimmy is being lestured too.  You don't need to be weak at the knee's in this stage of dealing with certain issue's and as he comes to the end of his lectures he himself (jimmy) is in need of some "tissue". Jimmy is a member of the debate team(at school) one of the student is this friend, who is dealing with crack-cocaine habit that he just began doing for about a month now.  So this-this-ss partic-ular day jimmy takes him to see the preacher (his uncle) after this young friend said to him, "help-me". {I believe you can be of some help}. "Don't be afraid to seek God as your first step".
So after the two of them have elaborated over the matter for and hour, Jimmy feel's a
need of concern, so they leave together.  My Brother-my brother. "Life of an Addict",
will carry you places you never thought you'll be and keep you in situation's and you
will never be free.  Free to enjoy (life) and freedom from the depentacy of drugs
and living on the streets!!....
 These phrases becomes a part of the mindset in one's attempt to go forward with the
"Power of Prayer", and the belife of knowing you're not a "Coward".  "Soul of a Son",
is to surrender your all onto the source of everything(Faith).  And "Life of an Addict",
is knowing that God places people in your life to possitivily restore your faith in your-
self.  So when life throws you a "Nippy", (storms) that is when you're not to give up,
because the enemy wants you to think that you are always running on empty!!.
"For he is everywhere (Jesus) even there in this small town of Mississippi".


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Dedication to Everyone

I feel that I have found a home in this cyberspace
with full of hearts and ideas in a special place
I wonder of all the people in the world to make me smile
with antics that help me grow in every mile
I do want to say to all of the people with respect
because of all of you my mind is not in a wreck
I would lie if I did not get ideas from all of you
without you my poems would not come true
I bless everyone with care 
with kindness and without dis-pare
I hold my hands high and put them together
with this I bless you with good weather
I do read some of the poems that people put out
sometimes I feel with out a doubt
I feel the pain in the poems that some has revealed
with hopes that they can read with their mind not sealed
I smile a bunch with every word
it is like a music in my head making a cord
I do want you all to know that you have made my day
to be a better day in every different array
I cherish my time with all the people in my heart
the words flow in my mind is just but a start
I'm happy with everyone in PoetrySoup.com 
with hardship that came this cyberspace makes me calm
I cannot choose five cause if I do I don't think it's right
just to tell you that is just my own insight
I thank all for helping me grow with all the poems that are shown
with faith and humor, with views of kindness this site has grown

If I had to say or dedicate my poems to who 
would be the first five who reads my poems with a point of view


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A missive from the damned to whoever have a little time to spend with this nonsense - Page 1

And so, I have made up my mind, once more.
I have decided to depart, to bid this husk farewell.
In order to do that, I must save coins if I desire to save myself.
For with it, I will be able to buy my ticket out here to a more blessed realm or the eternal void. Either way, I will be winning.
I mustn't, any longer, feel the starvation of affection and no more I shall be fed by the crumbs of fleeting joy they toss at me.

Thoughts of finishing are always in my mind, flooding it, making hard to go day by day, making hard to sleep, to have hope.
I fail to see where the hope is, I like to think that it can be find inside of one's heart.
But even so, I think I am mistaken, and when I glance at myself in the mirror, I quickly lose any spark of what could-be hope.

With the aid of the metallic sling, I shall leave this husf behind, heavy with its sins and sorrows, to no more nourish hatred.
For it does only to hinder my advance towards elevation.
With my metallic sling, I shall pierce, first, my heart, where lies the sorrow, then, my mind, where resides the sins.
Whilst the life in me start to wane, regrets I will not have, when my consciousness fade, my spirit will be no longer be trapped inside this imperfect cage of flesh.
Being free, my spirit shall roam far and beyond to, before, unseen places by men, to  untouched places by men.

Another day,someone inquired me "Are you happy now?" and for that I just said "Yes". How else could I have responded if not with a lie?
How could I tell them that I yearn for a premature closure in order to stop thinking and feeling but I also yearn for love.
"I am not absolutely happy, as per say, but I do suffer less when I am asleep" I could never say that to anyone...


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Football

It won't be long now, and football will rule,
those die hard fans, and there are quiet a few.,

One wrong word, and they are ready to fight,
can't miss this, grownups acting a sight.

They get painted all up, looking cute for TV,
the true fans stand out, ready for all to see.

Soon, very soon, football will rule,
so don't be on the wrong side, if you scream out boo.


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Summer Waterfall

Deep in the woods I hear an angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
Where the oaks and wildflowers shade the creek,
reflections fall to earth from rays of destiny,
refreshing my soul and setting my spirit free.
I smell the aroma of rain mixed with the paradise breeze.
Tranquil and serene, a natural wonder and rainbow of peace.
A cascading sparkling jewel,
above a wave rippling whirlpool.
Upon the wind rides the angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.


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vignette-LINE DANCING

A New England country dance
In a 'contre' version from France
Evolved in a solo line-
From Connecticut to Maine
This style found worldwide fame


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The Apple City New York

While listening to Schumann’s “Arabesque” 
and “Fantasiestüche” for the Mozart B flat Sonata,
I feel the warmth and love that’s powerful within;
a moment of instrospection, a source of intervention.

I live in a wonderful country, beautiful and well-known;
its historical significance and cultural diversity,
define those experiences with charm and closeness
that make something special how New York stands now.

The Statue of Liberty with its wide attraction to many,
a perfect landmark that speaks volumes about migrants;
as a gift from France that took a long voyage to arrive
between two countries there’s friendship and assurance.

The Ellis Island Immigration Museum is just close by,
where photos and experiences of the early immigrants
are showcased and memorialized as treasures of the land
so interesting that makes everyone know how they were.

In all five boroughs from Manhattan to the Bronx, Queens,
Brooklyn, and Staten Island, there’s a look of sheer delight;
great attractions and endless events scheduled for all seasons,
breathtaking sights with Broadway theatres and the brightest -
Times Square that has always been a rendezvous for tourism.

Oh, city of New York! filled with everything that one can claim
a known place in the world with so much to offer to all
like London in England, Madrid in Spain, or Milan in Italy;
all these cities have world-class shopping one can be interested in.

There are great places for dining, culture, tours, and transportation,
subways are convenient for everyone to explore Manhattan
with a number of museums, galleries, and centers for all promotions
like entertainment, history, arts, culture, music and literature.

Delighting audiences of all ages has got the Big Apple has,
it brings you up to date favorite and famous big-screen moments;
artistic and entertaining performances such as musical extravaganzas,
sci-fi fantasies, romances, sweeping epics, concerts and many others.

Trendy boutiques, funky cafes, velvet-roped nightspots and delis
are some places full of culture that one can probably explore;
their stories and history provide us with vistas and attention
Truly, places of glamour, excitement, entertainment, and much more.

Oh, city of New York it’s a great adventure to explore this, so far,
its fascinating neighborhoods with a variety of cultures involved,
a great experience, an enriching reality with multi-ethnic groups;
with legendary history that celebrates and shapes humanity.


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THE YOWAH ADDICTION

Midst the mulga and the gidyea out beyond the old Paroo 
runs a road which leads to Yowah and a great place it is too. 
Where the populace is smitten by an urge they can’t withstand: 
Its the lust to find the queen of gems, beneath a timeless land. 
 
With her tantalising beauty and her taunting, twinkling eyes, 
Its the radiance of this desert child her lovers highly prize. 
Suitors come from every walk of life, from countries quite diverse 
and she keeps them courting tirelessly exacting quite a purse. 
 
And the charm of her charisma casts a spell they can’t escape, 
so they’ve built a little township there amid that red landscape. 
Quite relentless is their quest to toil,  a constant ritual, 
and they love their leisure moments like their Opal Festival. 
 
Chris and I were asked to join them and present our bush verse show 
through the festival proceedings and replied, “We’d love to go.” 
First we entertained the children at the school there for a spell 
then our host, Gwen Burney, took us for a tour that went down well. 
 
We were shown the local opal fields and dug for Yowah nuts, 
then we lunched and watched some golfers sink some rather dubious putts. 
But the opal bug had bitten and we sought a licence out, 
for we planned to do some noodling or at least just poke about. 
 
But the torture of the digging with just handpicks proved too tough 
and we chucked the towel in quickly as we’d simply had enough. 
Down in spirits we decided to search out the mulberry wine 
there at Roy’s, not far from Gwen’s place, which was said to be real fine. 
 
After scoffing down a sample we were feeling mighty good 
and old Roy was sympathetic to our plight and understood. 
He produced a bar and shovel and a bottle of his brew, 
then we headed back to noodle with our outlook all anew. 

Well we dug and sipped and dug and sipped, oblivious to pain 
and the next two days we carried on and did it all again. 
We were up each morning early and sat cracking all our nuts, 
though our hands were full of blisters and a mass of little cuts.  
 
We were both now surely smitten and could not resist her will, 
for the bug had surely bitten and we talk about it still. 
Yes, its tantalizing colour and its taunting texture’s fine   
and we’re flamin' well addicted to Roy’s home-made mulberry wine. 



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Friday night in the Ghetto



It's Friday night 
In the Ghetto
Screams 
From the dark ring out
A little girl crying
Daddy don’t hit mama
Sit down and shut up
Yelling
Banging 
On the walls
As neighbors threaten
To call the cops

Drugs in the hallways
Drugs on the streets
Who will that pretty girl meet
To make the money 
To feed the habit or pay
The bills or just to eat.

And still around the corner
Near the shops
The people stand 
And talk about the promise land
Its Friday night in the ghetto and the
Promise land is
The pawn shop
Fried chicken
Peanut butter and jelly.

The music from the barber shop
Makes a fellow stop
And touch fists
With a friend 
From around the way
Hey remember the day
Then out of the night air
Shots ring out

That little girl
Sitting on the floor
Playing with her dolls
Ken and Barbie
Dreaming of a time 
When she will meet her
Ken and maybe
Falls on her face
This is the place
The ghetto
And its Friday

Poem by SGSteverson
From the book"Four Pieces of a Silver Coin"
Posted 09/14/2011