Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Sister Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Sister

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

Details | Narrative | |

Remembering The Children of Beslan

It was the first day of the new school year
The children of Beslan had no need to fear
In anticipation they eagerly left home for school
Some walked hand in hand with Mom and Dad
Others skipped along the well known path
Excitement filled the sidewalks and the streets
As fleeting thoughts collided in mid air

Some thought of new friends to be made
Others of old friends with whom to play
A little sister left at home 
Of baby brother asleep in his crib
Much too young to run and play
Some favorite lullabies which Grandmama sang 
As Grandpapa played his violin

The first day of the new school year
Mothers beamed with such pride
How their little ones had grown
Never would they ever want to let go
Others gave in to their children’s cries
‘Mamma, I do not want to go to school.
May I stay with you today?’

On wings of hate evil had already arrived 
With diabolical plans and bombs in hand
To maim and murder the children of Beslan
Who became captives in their little school house
After the dastardly deed was done
Dreams and aspirations lay splattered 'cross the floor 
Childhood innocence forever vanished! 

On the day of internment the sun in his temple hid
Earth wept pouring rain, her bitter tears
As Mothers’ voices cracked and strained 
Cried out loud, their children’s names
While others pleaded in vain for death
Fathers in a state of shock stood stoically in the cold autumn rain
Wearing faces carved in stone

The blood of children cried out to Heaven
Where at the throne of mercy 
Sits a God who is just 
Though their bodies lay broken in tiny white coffins
On angels' wings their souls did ascend  
He will judge all men and their deeds 
All, on one appointed day

A tribute to the children of Beslan, No. Ostetia, Russia 9/1-3/ 2004


Details | Narrative | |

We Are There With You

You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit

We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you

You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love

If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
 


______________________________________________________________________
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.


Details | Narrative | |

The Day My Sister Broke Her Finger

One day my mother, my sister Debbie and I were out in the parking lot at school.
My sister Linda came to the car crying. She had an ice pack on her hand. When we got home,
my dad, who works at the hospital looked at her finger. Then my dad took Linda to the hospital.
When they got home, they told us that her finger was broken. The next day, she got a cast on 
her hand. Four weeks later, my sister got her cast off. I was happy that she was happy.




                                                        THE END







March 23, 1998
©2014 Honestly JT


Details | Narrative | |

Battling Addiction

No one knew his background, he did not speak of family 
Not even the one left, whom he felt was a burden
His younger sister with whom he’d been out of touch

Financially, he was doing alright, handsome and perfectly fit
Friends wondered why he wasn’t dating
When asked, he’d merely laugh it off

If they only knew the burden he bore, haunted by his crippling addiction
A demon that had seized his body now hungered for his soul
Making its lustful demands at will by day or night

At first he seemed to keep his secret well, appearing as, just one of the guys
While apart, he rode the subway daily
With eyes of a hunter he surveyed

A different girl he took each time, In his home or some dark street corner 
When he had no access to girls, alone, he’d easily play “solitaire”
Or browse the magazines and internet

Secrets like acorns take a while to grow, his were no different; just biding 
time
Til the day of discovery arrived unannounced
Hidden files on the office hard drive

Confronted, he walked away in shame, and some ray of light seared his mind
At home he bagged and trashed his toys
Especially his favorite, the laptop

Temptation came fiercer and with maddening force, took him on a binge
That night he sank to the lowest belly of the beast
Ignoring his sister’s desperate call for help 

When he'd had his fill of a sordid, assortment of lust, a flicker of conscience 
emerged from within
Off he ran in the cold, pouring rain to find his sister alone 
Alone, in the bath with her wrists cut; her precious life slowly ebbing away

It was mercy which kept her alive, barely, and by her hospital bed he sat for 
three days!
Later, outside her room in the parking lot as he left, beyond broken he fell 
upon his knees 
And through his tears and the rain, he cried out loud , “God have mercy!”

That’s how a man, bankrupt; without love or self worth gained a second 
chance...
At a most pivotal time in his life; in need of redemption
The shackles of addiction laid broken in torrent rain...free once more to be 
himself.
~*~
02/25/13
Inspired by the HBO movie, "Shame"


Details | Narrative | |

Remembering When

I remember when...
We'd run around the yard.
And play 'til the sun set.
We had so much fun.
Never had any regret.

I remember when...
We had all those fights.
With every word that was said.
I wish I could take it all away.
No longer feel this dread.

I remember when...
We use to be so close.
When we had it all.
Let's forget the past.
Our love was never small.


Details | Narrative | |

Curve Balls --re-posted in paragraph form

When I was ten I went to England with my mother and younger sister.  It was the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. For 
Monarchists, you’ll know what a lot of fanfare goes on.  There were “block parties” everywhere—streets closed off and 
whole neighbourhoods dancing.  And then came the Royal Procession—that golden carriage, the Queen with her little 
wave, Price Phillip smiling to the crowds of screaming people. Like rock stars, but with really with good manners.  

We did a lot of stuff in England: went to the Tower of London, where people used to get their heads cut off or get 
stretched on the rack till they split open; we ran through Trafalgar square, with the pigeons that no one is allowed to 
feed anymore. 

Going home, my Nan came with us to the airport.  I started to cry and she said; “now there, brave soldiers don’t cry.” I 
wasn’t sure that I wanted to be brave or a soldier but I tried not to cry when we had to go on without her.

The next thing I remember we were at the airport, probably in Vancouver, and my mum was in a phone booth.  My 
father was saying; “don’t come home right now.” He’d decided to leave my mother and put the house up for sale.  
Mum, never one to hold it together under pressure, began to sob, incessantly.  I don’t think it stopped for a year or 
more.  

There wasn’t a “For Sale” sign on the lawn when we arrived home. Apparently Dad had not got that organized.  
Nonetheless, he had managed to pack a few things and find somewhere (I think a girlfriend’s), to stay in the interim—of 
whatever this was.  My mother, looking for consolation and a shoulder, understandably reached out to her eldest daughter of twenty-one, only to find that she had eloped with her boyfriend.  

At ten, almost eleven, the last weeks of summer lay before me.  Things were changing rapidly—most notably, my father 
would move to a different city, where he’d stay for several years.  I’d get a paper route and buy my first bike with the 
earnings.  My younger sister withdrew into her art and my older sister became increasingly isolated living with an 
insecure husband who, when laid-off from the mill, took to selling pot to make the mortgage. My mum cut her hair and 
discovered disco. 

Life has some strange curve balls.  Never could have seen these coming and not sure how their spin affected my swing.  
Sometimes, even with lousy pitches, we can hit those balls right out of the park.


Details | Narrative | |

The Scar

“Only girls cry!…Oh, boo hoo!” laughed my brother, (as big brothers often do)
 He had been taunting me, teasing me, heckling me, as I whined, complained.
 Neither of us would have won a prize, for being the angelic sibling pride, 
 of Kirby street one day outside, in hot July...
              “You jerk!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me.. 
               He smirked, while our brawl played out for all the world to see.

No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… I was the butt of his demeaning jokes 
and by then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!

So HUGE, was my disdain for this smug, big thug, that grinning face, 
so....in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw....! But then.....
it broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
cowering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…

Instead it left a gash, an ugly wound, I was aghast...!
Above his nose.........a bloody rose
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us 

Well, we would repent, with orders to spend the day becoming friends...

The afternoon sun was hot in the yard….  
Until, a sudden, lightning shot
..tires skidding loudly down hot asphalt
One unguarded moment fell, and things came to a halt

As if a horrible spell, was cast upon the day ….
 there was a car,.... around the bend 
  the game we played, about to end....
         his dog, (a sweet dalmatiion friend) was hit
               ....and then....  
                      all time suspends........

My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…with weight of the memory lingering on….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later

I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar,
above his nose.... can still emote…    
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.  
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
            we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
                    ..And hey,...ya' know what? ..That’s okay, too.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

Carrie Richards


Details | Narrative | |

Family

A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
she has lived in since birth.

Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed 
from where she belongs.

Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.


Details | Narrative | |

Curve Balls

When I was ten I went to England 
with my mother and younger sister.  
It was the Queen's Silver Jubilee. For Monarchists, 
you’ll know what a lot of fanfare goes on.  
There were “block parties” everywhere—streets closed off 
and whole neighbourhoods dancing.  
And then the Royal Procession—that golden carriage, 
the Queen with her little wave, Prince Phillip 
smiling to the crowds of screaming people. 
Like rock stars, but with really with good manners.  

We did a lot of stuff in England: 
went to the Tower of London, 
where people used to get their heads cut off or get stretched 
on the rack till they split open; 
we ran through Trafalgar square, 
with the pigeons that no one is allowed to feed anymore. 

Going home, my Nan came with us to the airport.  
I started to cry and she said; “now there, 
brave soldiers don’t cry.” 
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be brave or a soldier 
but I tried not to cry 
when we had to go on without her.

Next thing I remember 
we were at another airport, 
probably in Vancouver, and my mum was in a phone booth.  
My father was saying; “don’t come home right now.” 
He’d decided to leave my mother and put the house up for sale.  
Mum, never one to hold it together 
under pressure, began to sob, incessantly.  
I don’t think it stopped for a year or more.  

There wasn't a "For Sale" sign on the lawn when we arrived home. 
Apparently Dad had not got it organized.  Nonetheless, 
he had managed to pack a few things and find somewhere 
(I think a girlfriend’s), to stay in the interim—of whatever this was.  
My mother, looking for consolation and a shoulder, 
understandably reached out to her eldest daughter of twenty-one, 
only to find that she had eloped with her boyfriend.  

At ten, almost eleven, the last weeks of summer lay before me.  
Things were changing rapidly—most notably, 
my father would move to a different city, where he’d stay for several years.  
I’d get a paper route and buy my first bike with the earnings.  
My younger sister withdrew into her art and 
my older sister became increasingly isolated 
living with an insecure husband who, when laid-off from the mill, 
took to selling pot to make the mortgage. 
My mum cut her hair and discovered disco. 

Life has some strange curve balls.  
Never could have seen these coming and not sure 
how their spin affected my swing.  
Sometimes, even with lousy pitches, 
we can hit those balls right out of the park.



Details | Narrative | |

Biking to Telegraph Hill

My bike was transportation; Mom didn’t drive
But sometimes I sped off on an adventure
To Telegraph Hill the miles were only five
Big sis and I made the ride a joint venture

What she didn’t know was the trek was uphill
Although one could coast nearly all the way back
The journey before us sis tried to fulfill
Red faced, she screamed, “I’m having a heart attack!”

“Keep pedaling,” I said, “we’ve two miles to go.”
It was then we made the ice cream sundae bet
The last one home would have to shell out the dough
By determination my sis was beset

At the top of the hill I took a brief rest
I looked down the long road; sis was not in sight
I was just eleven and filled with such zest
The exhilarating ride gave me delight

Far down the road, sis was attempting to ride
Her pace was slow; on her face was a scowl
I called to her, “Hey, just put the bet aside!”
She was closer now; I thought I heard her growl

Eleven years older, she’d something to prove
Heading back I soared past her down the steep hill
When my sis reached the top, she could barely move
More than a ride, this was a test of her will

About an hour after I arrived at home
I washed up and changed for my big ice cream treat
She came into view; in her mouth I saw foam
Sis was walking her bike, her trip incomplete

At age twenty-two, she collapsed in the yard
Mumbling something about sibling rivalry
She’d never dreamed a ten-mile trip would be hard
Mom tried to take her to the infirmary

The sundae? It was yummy, but sweeter still
Was beating my over-confident sister
My big sis had failed in this arduous drill
Her aches told me this ride would not reoccur



*Entry for Gwen’s “My Bicycle” contest.  (True Story)


Details | Narrative | |

.College Bound (repost)

Kirstie Fonte's Blog...stirred up a memory... A repost of a mother watching her son grow up
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
COLLEGE BOUND
.    .    .    .     .   .


His small red car, a dent on the left rear side
     is parked in our driveway,.....loaded to the max....a full tank of gas
His duffel is crammed with rock-band t-shirts, faded torn jeans
    new underwear and socks, (that I insisted we buy),
        and that ratty old jacket with the hole in the elbow.
Guitar, books, sports equipment, and cardboard boxes
    fill the back seat of his little sedan.

On the passenger seat in front,
    is a battered old shoe box tied with string.
    Inside, (I've been told by his sister)...are private letters from girlfriend, Cindy
It is the same box (hence the battered state it is in)...that his sister found one day,...
    tucked it under her arm, and ran from him laughing...
    His long legs chased her through the kitchen and out the back door, screaming
    "You're going to die for that!!"....

On this sunny, autumn day, his sister is not laughing...she is standing quietly...pacing...
He reaches over, and tussles her hair a little, and she leans against his chest for a minute, 
then steps away, and looks at me with solemn eyes...
He and his father share a hug and an affectionate pat on the back

I stand there watching them, on that dreaded concrete driveway...
My eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but I'm determined not to cry
I knew this day was coming, we had planned to be cheerful....
My emotions are betraying me now....but I will send him off with a smile.  
I promised him and I will !

A neighbor is driving by, as if it's just another ordinary day, and waves.
We all wave back, and it breaks the somber spell for a moment.

I hand him the care box I made....laundry soap, toothpaste
    candy, energy bars, his favorite home made oatmeal cookies.

Hugs, extra tight.    One more....no tears....Oh, God, Help me no tears!!
"Be sure to call when you get there."   Drive carefully....Love you"


Love you


Details | Narrative | |

Remembering the Scar

“Only girls cry!…Oh, boo hoo!” laughed my brother, (as big brothers often do)
 He had been taunting me, teasing me, heckling me, as I whined, complained! 
 Neither of us would have won a prize, for being the angelic sibling pride, 
 of Kirby street that day outside, one hot July...
              “You Thug!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me, 
               and worst of all, our bitter brawl played out for all the world to see.

No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… As the butt of his demeaning jokes 
By then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!

So HUGE, was my disdain for his smug, big thug, that grinning face,
in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw……THREW HARD...
It broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
Hovering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…

Instead it left a gash, a bloody angry wound, I was aghast....!
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us 

Well we would repent, and spent the day becoming friends...

The afternoon out in the yard….  
One sudden, unguarded moment ….
 there was a car,.... came ‘round the bend 
  and as our game was 'bout to end....his dog, (his mongrel friend) was hit
       ....and then....
             all time suspended........

My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…and long is the memory that still weighs a ton….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later

I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar, can still emote…    
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.  
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
            we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
                    ..and hey,..that’s okay, too


Details | Narrative | |

The Man in The Mist

~~oooOOO The Man In The Mist OOOooo~~ Going to my cousins house, a long drive in the car Over the moors with dry stone walls, it was very far The house in the middle of a field alone and swathed in a mist The owls hooting, bats flying, but any trees I must have missed. “The sea mist is in” my cousin said, “lets go inside now quick.” A man was standing in the shadows, in his hand was a stick. The waves were nosily rolling in as she pushed us through the door A quick glance behind me as I entered, the man was no more. “Who is the man outside?” I asked as she drove huge bolts home That is Fred our ghost, we had a séance - and now he’s on the roam. What do you mean? He haunts this place, and his name cannot be Fred And people that died long ago do not come back - they are dead. Fred says he lived where the barn once stood there are owls and bats there too But since we called him he wants to enter the house – a chill wind blew. It’s when the mist rolls in, we find we must lock and bar all the doors If you hear footsteps in the night stay in bed until they pause. That night in bed the light went out; my little sister was afraid The sheets were damp the mist inside, so a small request she then made Mandy can I sleep with you I am scared and I am so very cold? I said "jump in but make it quick", but I did not feel really bold. Her footsteps came round the bed and she sat upon my feet "Get off my feet and into bed then perhaps this cold we will beat." Her little voice came to me - from her own damp dark bed I haven’t got out of it yet, I was looking for my teddy bear instead. I peeped over my bedclothes and saw a shape sat on my feet "Oh no" I cried "Fred’s in here, do you think he wants to eat?" My little sister whispered, "please don’t say that it's true What is he here for Mandy”, she whispered “what is he going to do?” My body shaking, my mind in tatters - a ghostly hump sat on my bed My heart beating loudly; the hairs prickling and standing on my neck and head. "Please Fred what is it that you want, please don’t hurt us here?" My sister whimpered under covers, "If he is dead, how can he hear?" The ghostly hump of Fred lifted suddenly from my feet I saw him shake his stick I thought us he was going to beat. He waved the stick, the misty room cleared, the light suddenly came back on I put my head under the covers and when I peeped over he had gone.
By Mandy Tams 22/04/12


Details | Narrative | |

A Sister's wish

"It has to be a girl," she had firmly announced,
My sweet little daughter, always craved for a sister!
So the news of a would-be sibling, did make her glad.
She had jumped and bounced.

"A girl would be perfect, boys are messy,
"I'd play my dolls with her and read princess stories",
Said my daughter, who was all girlie-girlie
She kept things in order, was neat and tidy, even a bit fussy!


She'd shopped for pink blankets, rompers, spoons and forks!
Smart girl that she is, she very well knew
"Babies don't come from hospitals nor gifted from temples
Neither are they dropped by visiting storks!"

She would be there for pregnant momma, a helping hand to lend.
She'd pat the sick mother and soothe her with a touch
Fetch her a glass of water
would not allow her to bend!

"My sis would look like me", so said Sara
Ecstatic she was about the brand new arrival
she promised even her stuff to share!
Found a rhyming name, "I'll call her Aura."

One fine day, mommy gave birth to a son
Hale and hearty, Sweet and chubby.
The family rejoiced but the sister said,
"Its not going to be fun."

"Give him back to the doctor, We won't keep this boy",
She said over the phone and with a frown on her face
She came visiting. Took the baby in her lap,
Saw his Angelic face and was filled with joy.

"He is cuter than any baby in the world can be", said she
Stroking her brother
"His skin is so soft and his fingers so tiny,
Well, we'll take him home, he looks just like me!"


Details | Narrative | |

My sister and me

When I was three my parents gave a special gift to me
Small and pudgy, wrapped up so tight
So precious, this gift, it was love at first sight
A gift I would treasure for the rest of my life
She touched my hand and smiled at me
I knew in that moment always together we would be
Best friends forever, my sister and me

Her first day of school our mum looked at me
Why put your boots on, she asked curiously
Anyone touches my sister they answer to me
Always by her side in case she needed me
Never did she stray too far in case I needed she
In that moment anyone could see, always together we would be
Best friends forever, my sister and me

Together we laughed, suffered and cried
Holding her hand as her child is born
Losses of love, together we mourn
In times of sorrow her tears I wipe away
At my weakest moment she helps me to my feet
Forever, through these moments, together we be
Best friends forever, my sister and me

In old age I wonder what we will be
Two crazy old ladies sitting under a tree
In our rocking chairs with cats in our laps
Laughing and talking of the places we have been
Every story beginning with remember when we?
No story ending, life one big adventure for you and me
All these moments to cherish when you and I made we
My best friend and my sister, forever you will be 


Details | Narrative | |

Sister Elizabeth


Incomprehensible are the 
Petty landmarks that linger in a person's life
It happened so long ago
That I'm surprised I still remember.
In St. Thomas' parochial school
When Sister Elizabeth held a ruler
In her pale white hands
Any signs of mercy 
Mysteriously vanished from her blue eyes 
Religion was her weapon
Corporal punishment it's end 
Fueled by frustration
She held the class 
In fear.
Every school day
Was a grey morning
Of my longing to be somewhere else
Standing by the door
In a robe
Of darkest wool
Sister Elizabeth counted us in
One by one
As we walked in silence
Hair combed
Little backs held straight.
From her glance
The message was clear
Grade school was not about deep thoughts
Or clever ideas
Originality was not in vogue
It was about small things
That grown-ups winked at
And often ignored
Issues, important as the color of beige.
One dull morning 
I whispered to a classmate
When I shouldn't have
Called to the front by Sister Elizabeth 
I was given the ultimate punishment
The ruler and then some 
In her capable hands my palms were lacerated 
When I cried out 
She turned my hands over
Until my knuckles bled
Darkening the cuffs of my white shirt.
That evening my mother cried at my bruises 
And my father uttered a string of curses
Long into the night
True
Sister's time was not easy
Teaching mindless brats
Such as myself
Only added to her
Disappointment.
Over the years
Attitudes changed
Commitments weakened
And Sister, childless and alone, realized 
Much too late
That her days of sacrifice and Catholicism
Chastity and prayer
Had been a life against nature.
Even now my hands cringe
To a fist
When someone holds a ruler
For the wounds are marked deep
In memory.



Details | Narrative | |

Daddy's Letter

Mommy, could you help me write a letter to my dad? There's some things I need to ask him, things, that make me feel real sad Like, why all the sudden did he stop coming home? and when he's not with us, tell him, I get worried he's alone Ask, how come, you do the things he used to help me with, and when he visits next time, is he gonna bring another gift? I need to know, if I'm still his, or just yours, Mommy... I always thought you were both mine, not just one at a time Daddy, can you answer these questions and get them off my mind? My little sister started walkin' today. I can't wait until she's big enough to play. I try my best to teach her things and help her when I can... Mommy always calls me, her "little man" Being around girls all day isn't too much fun at all So, when I pray to God each night I ask for you, to come play ball I wonder, did I do something wrong? Something you didn't like? If you come home, I promise, to try and do things right... Cause', I really miss you being gone and now I feel, a little scared at night Mommy, just one more thing, before you finish my letter... Ask him, if, I'll always be missing him or when, my heart will start feelin' better Oh! and say -- Daddy, when you come and visit me, you can sleep in my bed Then, you and me can talk about all the things I haven't said Love, Blake Thank you, Mommy


Details | Narrative | |

On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 3

Another boring, Protestant Traditional, Sunday Family Dinner 1:00 pm sharp
This week it’s at Uncle David’s  house in Alford, Mass. I haven’t meant Him
Actually the only Family I met so far “Momma“, Poppa, and Big Sister Brenda 
YOU probably thought I was going to say “Momma, Poppa, and Baby Bear
Went for a walk in the forest“. Sorry I’m reading Goldilocks while I’m trying to Write
Brenda ( B B ) , and I use to wonder why they had to be called Momma and Poppa ?!! 
Pizza for dinner, on a Saturday night ,Baths, pajamas, robes, and slippers out to the car
Alright kids, It’s a 3 hour drive to Uncle Dave’s Let’s play “Grandma’s Suitcase” 
The subject Grandma is infatuated with is her : LOVE of Animals
Harry you start, Grandma went on a vacation , in her suitcase she put an alligator
Brenda, “Grandma went on a vacation, in her suitcase she puts a female Baboon 
“Poppa, it’s your turn, “Grandma went a vacation, in her Suitcase she put a Catamount
I challenge You  Poppa, Mount is Mountain ,not Animal  I brought my dictionary, Read;
The definition of catamount; a mountain lion, Cougar  A feline animal born in nature
Harry your out of the game; “Momma” Your turn “ Grandma put in her suitcase The Devil”


Details | Narrative | |

Love Her or Leave Her

Let me tell you something jack
Now that my little sister has taken you back
I think you’ve been sleeping around
With all the loose women in this little town

If you think you can walk all over her;
A woman so sweet and pure
Then you better think again
I don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been

Just do not hurt my sister
How can you just one day kiss her,
Tell her how much she is your only girl
And then cheat on her with every other woman in this world

If you don’t want me to hurt you
Then you have to be true
This I want you to know:
You either love her or leave her


Details | Narrative | |

I lost me I lost you (Part 1)

It was so long ago
But my mind doesn’t see it that way
And like a channel that only plays reruns
Images of you keep repeating in my mind over and over again

Over the years I tried to reach out to you
But I learned that you didn’t want to know me
We last spoke on the phone with forgiveness in my voice
But the love I once knew was replaced by bitterness

You said I thought you were going stop trying to contact me
I promised that this would be the last time.
I said I just wanted to wish you the best and give myself peace of mind.
But in your voice it was the seething anger and resentment that I could not deny

I said I was sorry for all the hurt, pain and sorrow and if I could correct it I would.
Why cant you forgive me what did I do that was so wrong.
And that is when I learned about what was truly told to you  
To my surprise a giant lie, your sister said I raped her, now I understand why

She covered up her actions and turned me into a beast
This explains the hatred, the anger, and resentment you have felt for me.
However it doesn’t excuse the lust of my actions and what really happened 
For days, weeks and months your sister groped, kissed and hounded me until I gave in.

Yes I confess to having an affair I tried to be faithful, I tried to be true. I loved you
But your sisters’ sexual lust took control over me she pressed my buttons for her own sexual 
need
And even though I tried I was so guilt stricken I lied and said I didn’t love you anymore. 
Our break up was created by your sisters’ lustful attraction she lied to cover up her jealous 
actions 

But with a burning in your voice you didn’t want to believe and so you poured salt onto me
but the next day your phone call confirmed the truth, your older sister confessed to our 
agony
but she also said that she was in love with me of which I never knew
suddenly you want to stay in touch, I said that would be too much, again you persisted 

Haven’t we endured enough pain to develop a friendship now would be insane, but you again 
insisted
All those years ago the lie you were told now I understand why you hated me so. 
and with a giant sigh I just started to cry and my heart just melted away
Unfortunately you said time has replaced me with someone new for you 

(continued)


Details | Narrative | |

On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 2

Are you strong, young man? Can you help me keep this Farm going?
Do you fear hard work? Calluses on your fingers and hands “tough Love”
You will be a great man, you follow my directions , People watch You growing
You can have  “ A Real Life “ something to Love; Love from GOD Above 
Dad I appreciate Your taking me in; giving me, shelter through a Stormy Life 
Yes I accept , the rules of Your House; I will be diligent in my chores 
The day starts at 3:45 AM , milk the cows; out to pasture before 5 O’clock
Muck out the stable, feed the chickens, Slop the hogs, breakfast at six
Your tutor will be here  from nine ‘til noon; Have a shower, he’ll be here soon
I( walk to the house, and what do I see; Brenda’s Eyes, Red like fire, a serene Blue
I hear the Pain : “She Screams” I feel the Violations She had to Endure 
Brenda, What’s wrong, I have seen pains of fear, pains of life, pains of Death
Your face shows all, from the mountain top, to the deep Waterfalls Depths 
You are my Older Sister; “I’m concerned : Is that blood on Your Dress??

                                         To be Cont. 




Details | Narrative | |

Faked

I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me 
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!" 
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it  everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat

He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face

I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there 
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them





Details | Narrative | |

Sunday Morning

While everyone sleeps 
I shave quietly 
Gently tapping the razor against the sink 
Staring in the mirror 
Studying the lines 
In my face 
My mind drifts 
And I say to myself 
Life is too short. 
  
One early morning 
My sister Monica 
Called 911 
Desperate 
For help. 
  
That day I faced 
A blur of strange faces 
Different accents 
Waiting for answers 
Amid the chaos 
And neglect 
Of an indifferent hospital 
Too late 
For anyone
To stop 
The flow 
Of life 
Slipping away 
From somewhere 
Deep in her heart 
My sister died.  
  
The mirror clouds up 
And I recall 
Another memory 
Back when 
My sister and I were young 
Using the money 
Collected from a newspaper route 
I bought snacks  
That we devoured 
In her room 
Gossiped 
Listened to records 
Laughed at school 
Ignored our parents 
All the while 
Safe from the scrutiny  
Of others 
Impatient 
And quick to pass judgment. 
  
I finish shaving 
And release the water 
Watching it bubble  
Until it disappears 
With a last gurgle 
Memories travel 
A jagged journey 
Across a divide 
Of good news and bad times 
Closing my eyes 
I ask myself 
How could I have known 
That those days 
When we were young 
Would always stay with me? 
  
 


Details | Narrative | |

When Goodbyes Were Silently Sleeping

His small red car, a dent on the left rear side,
   is parked in our driveway, all loaded,  a full tank of gas.
His duffel is crammed with rock-band t-shirts, faded torn jeans,
   new underwear and socks, (that I insisted we buy), 
      and that ratty old jacket with the hole in the elbow.
Guitar, books, sports equipment, and cardboard boxes
   filling the back seat of his little sedan.

On the passenger seat in front, 
    is a battered old shoe box tied with string.
Those are private letters from girlfriend, Cindy. 

(Oh yes!...The  same box, that his sister found one day,
   when she tucked it under her arm and ran from him laughing. 
His long legs chased her through the house, screaming, ...
   "You're going to die for that!!!!")   

But...that was on another fall day....   A day that now seems forever ago....
While today was silently sleeping...

On this sunny, autumn day, his sister is quiet, she is not laughing.
He and his father share a hug and an affectionate pat on the back.
I stand back, watching them, on that dreaded, concrete driveway.
The trees rustle, and someone's lawnmower is humming
A neighbor is driving by, as if it's just another ordinary day.

I give him the care box I made...laundry soap, toothpaste,
   candy, energy bars,  his favorite home made oatmeal cookies.

Hugs, extra tight.  One more, and then another.....

                                                   (Hold it in!....Hold it in!....I can do this!....)

"Be sure to call when you get there.  Drive carefully.  Love you."

Love you



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted for Debbie's "Emote" contest....(sadness/love)



Details | Narrative | |

Invisible Music

My ears are ringing, singing
to the tune of invisible music
as I fall into bed after a
short, scalding shower after a
long, exhausting night of dancing at the clubs
after I left the game with that beautiful,
beautiful young black-haired lady after
I spirited her away from her friends in an old sedan
after I called to see if it was okay after
I spent an agonizing hour eating in silence in a
restaurant with my friends who all had dates
after she called to say she couldn’t come,
her little sister needed her, her friends were coming over,
after I thought we’d set our plans into stone
after we spent hours on the phone talking the night away
after I had asked her to Homecoming,
after I had first laid eyes on her,
after I had changed my schedule from Film
Studies to Creative Writing
on a whim.